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My chest constricts.
“I can be better,” I cry out, panic in my voice. “I just need new shoes.”
“And do you have spare shoes with you now?” the judge asks.
“No, I don’t.”
“You only have those? You didn’t come prepared?”
I gulp.
“Yes.”
The judge sighs.
“You’re too old for training, anyway,” he mutters. “And we can’t have people who can only afford old shoes.”
“Bring in the next applicant,” another judge commands the assistant waiting by the door behind me.
I turn to look at the panel again.
“That’s it?” I ask, holding back the familiar tears that are already building. “It’s over?”
“Have a good day, Miss Tucker. I’m sure you can find your way out.”
I can’t humiliate myself any further. I simply rush over to pick up my things and duck out of the room as fast as I can, promising myself I won’t cry until I’m on the sidewalk outside the school.
46
EMMA
I only make it to the dance school’s parking lot before I’m crying. I told myself I wouldn’t break down until I hit the sidewalk, and I fail at even that.
Perfect, Emma. Just perfect.
I lean against the brick wall to support myself as I finally let myself go.
I spend a solid half-hour standing here with endless tears streaming down my face and dripping down onto the concrete around my feet.
I think about my life. All those years saving for this place, only to be ruined by my old shoes and the simple fact I cannot even afford any new ones. I think about all those dreams I had; all those days standing in front of the downtown theatre imagining what it would be like performing on that stage. All those dreams as I danced, alone, in empty hospital rooms. All that practice... All those classes...
And now those dreams will never happen.
It’s all over.
I’m nothing more than a cleaner.
“Miss Tucker? Are you okay?”
With the mention of my name, I spin around to see who’s dared to approach a pathetic crying girl in the corner of the parking lot.
It’s the judge from the audition – the one with the kind face. He surprises me.
“Yes, I’m fine,” I lie as I try, in vain, to wipe the tears from my eyes.
I must look a terrible sight. I bet my face is as red as a tomato and my eyes puffy.
“I thought that was you,” the judge says softly, taking another step toward me. “I’m Kenneth Thompson. We weren’t introduced properly in there. These auditions can be too fast for proper greetings.”
