A flood of relief washes through me. I made it through to the next round. I haven't failed. Not yet.
I'll ignore the small fact that being here in the first place is a failure. I push that thought way down deep. Now I have to sing.
I pull out my sheet music, humming the tune in my head. My audition piece has remained "On My Own" fromLes Missince I worked on it that summer at camp. It's the piece I know best, so it's like coming home to visit an old friend when I sing it.
And it makes me think of an old friend. One whom I wasn't much of a friend to.
I'll be the last one to go since I have the highest number. I set my music down on the floor next to me and pull out my phone again. I should probably look this theater company up. I don't really know anything about them, other than they're north of the city.
Oh God, they're like two hours north of Manhattan in someplace called Hicklam. It even sounds like it's the end of the earth.
Shit.
How'm I gonna manage that? I can't commute there every day. And it's not like I can afford two places. I can barely afford my share of the rent right now. My parents still send me money for shoes, which I haven't needed, so I've been relying on that to augment.
Another problem to figure out. Who knew being a failure was so time consuming?
Before I can fully fall down this shame spiral, a name catches my eye.
Josh deChambeau, Musical Director.
I gasp, my breath involuntarily leaving my body as a wave of emotion crashes into me. It was like thinking of him conjured him back into my life.
Josh.
His smile instantly pops into my mind. God, I need to see it again. If I get this part, I'll get to see Josh. I'll get to work with him again. I'll get to apologize—finally—for what I did.
The pressure has just leveled up.
No matter what, Ihaveto get this part.
I did not get the part.
"Yeah, but you're the understudy. That's at least something," Imani offers cheerfully. "It's a paying job. And you know you'll get stage time. It's really great. You should be pumped."
I know my roommate is only trying to help. She's always trying to help. She doesn't understand the whirling vortex of thoughts inside my brain.
Hell, I don't even understand them most of the time.
"The pay is shit."
"You're a performing artist. The pay is always shit. But you can sublet here and save that money, so that's something. I bet my cousin Jade would take it. And you know she won't trash the place."
"Not really. It's only about four weeks. Not long enough to sublet."
"I bet I can talk Jade into something. Maybe she'll want to move in here permanently, so we can cut the rent down some more."
There's already two of us in a studio. I don't think I can handle one more.
Of course, there's not much I can handle right now.
"Are you going to tell your parents?"
I sigh. It's the question I've been grappling with for the past seven weeks since the day I was officially let go from the Five Boroughs Ballet Company. It shouldn't be a shock to them. The writing's been on the wall for several years.
On the other hand, it was still a shock to me. Part of me truly believed that if I showed up every day and worked and sweated and bled for my craft then it would be enough to be successful.
I'm twenty-six and only made it into the corps de ballet at the age of twenty-five because of a freak accident that put six members of the corps on the injured list in the middle of last season.
