dance for you ~fransykes~

29

I walked into the unfamiliar building, my steps determined and with purpose. The bold yellow sign reading 'auditions this way' filled me with both nerves and excitement as I approached the line of dancers anxiously waiting outside of the fancy looking hall, the large wooden doors bolted shut as classical music streamed out from beneath them. The atmosphere was electric, buzzing with each dancers nervous chatter and twitching legs. I felt out of place amongst these people, like an outsider looking in. It was as if dance had its own culture, it's own life experience, and it made me feel out of place, almost like I was third wheeling.

Perched up against the wall, I gripped the small memory stick in my pocket like it was a life line. The clock on the wall slowly ticked, in sync with the line in front of me that grew ever shorter with each passing minute. I'm not sure why I felt so nervous all of a second, it's not like I was competing for my spot in next years ballet programme, but I really really wanted this. Not for myself, of course, but for the boy that I was sharply falling in love with.

"Aren't you going to get changed? I can hardly imagine you'll get very far in those jeans." An articulate, high pitches voice comments, their hand tapping on my shoulder. I turn around and glance at the girl behind me; short with a tight bun of bleach blond hair perturbing from her head.

"Oh, I'm not a dancer, I can't even do a cartwheel." I blush, feeling stupid in her presence for some reason. Maybe it's her intense blue eyes that scan me up and down analytically, or the sharpness of her feature that is beginning to leave me on edge.

"Here with a girlfriend?" She asks, nodding towards the random girl in front of me in the line who is currently warming up her legs using the window ledge. I shake my head, even more embarrassed now. God help me.

"For a boyfriend actually." I say bashfully, watching her features get even more sharp as her beady eyes scan the room for the boyfriend in question. "Oh- he's not here, he's injured."

Before she can reply, the grand doors pull open with a loud squeal, a gust of wind passing through the already icy room as a girl in a bright purple leotard scampers out of the room. She moves past the line so quick I almost miss the streaks of mascara marking her rosy cheeks. Shit. The girl behind me tuts, rolling her eyes like she's seen this a thousand times before, as the girl in front of me picks up her duffel bag and entered through the dreaded doors. Now I'm at the front of the queue.

"So what are you here for then?" The girl behind me taps my shoulder again. I turn back around to her with a silent sigh, already becoming irritated by her persistent  nosy-ness.

"I'm going to give something to the judges so hopefully they will still consider him, even if he's not here to represent himself. He's too talented to let this opportunity go to waste." I smile bashfully.

"That's cute." She says in a way that makes me thinks she's insulting me rather than being sincere. "But I can tell you've never been to this kind of audition before, this isn't the casting line for the primary school native play you know."

I scrunch up my nose in confusion. "What is that suppose to mean?"

"It means that even if your boyfriend was here and wasn't crippled, there would still be a hundred dancers here just as good as him, if not better."

"Okayyy." I drag out, turning away from here and towards the wall instead, pulling out my phone so that she won't talk to me again. My home screen lights up with messages from Tom asking if I've done it yet, so I send him a quick emoji in return before retreating to Instagram for some distraction.

A few more agonising minutes go by, alone with multiple taps on the shoulder from the girl behind me, before finally the doors squeal again and another girl walks out. She looks distressed and tired, but her face is plastered with sweat rather than tears like the last girl, so that must be a good sign.

"Oliver Sykes." The women calls. I raise my hand, and she gestures me into the room without another word. The doors slam shut behind me with a loud bang, and I suddenly feel like a caged animal at the zoo with a thousand snotty children watching my every move through the glass. Exposed.

The room is sterile and cold, the walls and floor a blank beige with along table at the front where three bore looking middle-age women are sat picking their nails. Windows line the far wall, showing the skyline of the city below and the grey sky. If this was a book, that would be pathetic fallacy for what was to come.

"You can stand on the cross in the middle of the room and then we will start playing your chosen music." The first women says, not even looking up from her note-board. Next to her hand is an array of dirty cups, each one rimmed by coffee stains. I falter, not sure what to do next. Fuck, i didn't exactly plan this far.

When I don't move, the second women looks up, her mouth instantly falling into a frown when she looks at my tight skinny jeans and plaid button up top. Yeah, not exactly the outfit most dancers would choose when doing ballet. I doubt I could even do a star jump in these trousers, let alone the fucking splits.

"Uh- I-I'm not Oliver Sykes." I confess awkwardly, scratching the back of my burning neck as my ears flush with heat. I should have thought this though, or at least come up with some kind of script of what I was going to say to them.

"Then we will have to ask you to leave, sir." The lady sat in the middle says, her eyes stormy and dark and her tanned skin creasing as her frown gets even more defined.

"No, wait! Umm- I'm his friend, no boyfriend, and Oliver's injured so he can't dance for a few weeks, but his foot will be better by the time the programme starts in September." I ramble.

The first women finally looks up, her eyes intense as she stares me down. "But the auditions are not in September, they are now. He will have to apply next year."

"No! Please, you don't understand. He's so talented and he's worked his socks off for this audition, and if he doesn't get in this year he's going to quit ballet forever and become a-"

"Save your sob story, it's nothing we haven't heard a thousand times before." The women in the middle interjects, leaving me deflated and defeated.

I sigh heavily. "Okay, alright. Well, I have this memory stick with his routine for the audition on it. It's a bit rough because he hadn't quite mastered it yet, but I assure you if you watch it you'll be impressed. Please, just consider him, it's all I ask for."

The panel share a look, their eyes speaking a thousand words. They don't care. I should have known, this is a cutthroat industry after all. What did I expect? I start heading for the door, memory stick burning my skin like fire as I hang my shoulders in shame. One thing. I have to do one thing to make Oliver happy, and I fucked it all up.

"Wait!" The lady at the end of the panel, who had yet to speak, shouts as my hand clutches the door handle. I turn around sharply, only to find she's right behind me, her hand extended. "I'll have a look at it later when I'm on break, I promise."

My lungs give way, as a smile stretches across my face. She gleams back, and I can practically see the compassion in her eyes. I slowly hand the memory stick over to her, still in disbelief.

"That was a brave thing you did there, I'm sure Oliver will appreciate it. Tell your friend-boyfriend to check his emails next Saturday." She nods, walking back to the table where the other two judges are sat motionless.

I smile in gratitude, my heart warm as it pounds against my rib cage uncontrollably. "Thank you."

And then I leave, walking straight through the squeaky wooden doors and past the nosy girl with the gigantic blond bun. I smile at her as I walk past, my head held high and my smile undeniable. She sends me a glare back, but I'm way too happy to care.

The fresh, cool air hits my face as I walk out of the building and into the bustling streets of the world. I pull out my phone, feeling as high as a kite as I restrain myself from skipping to the bus stop.

Josh to Tom: mission complete :)))))