Juliana & Her Big Surgery 🩰

i. the stars of today meet the stars of tomorrow

♚♚♚

• New Orleans, Louisiana •
2012

My stomach churns even though my name hasn't been called. I would rub it, but I don't want my gross, clammy hand to peel sequins off my leotard. After the girl onstage completes her final pirouette, she whips out her arms and curtsies to a roaring, thunderous applause. Unlike everyone else who would rather scurry offstage when the music stops, she basks under the spotlights, letting every beam shimmer her blue tutu.

Once the applause ends, the girl prances behind the curtain. I stiffen when she eyes me up and down before forming a crooked, smug grin on her lips. I don't know if she remembers me from last year, but I remember her and her friends laughing at my tendus. She's probably thinking 'I did so much better than her!' even though I haven't gone yet.

But when she tried pulling her friends into a hug, none of them hugged back. Instead, all the girls peck her with air kisses to avoid ruining their stage makeup. It takes two seconds before they abandon her to stretch over the barre. I know it's wrong of me, but I can't help smiling at that grin being wiped off her snooty face. That's what she gets for thinking she doesn't have competition.

"Number 177, Emma Louise Davis from the Russian School of Ballet, New York, USA, Talisman," the announcer bellows.

"Oh my god," I whip my head to see number 177 clutching her stomach. Her red face matches her red bun. "I'm actually gonna puke—"

These were Emma's final words before dunking her head into the nearest trash bin. Hearing her painful belching causes goosebumps to prickle all over my skin. I guess I don't need to smile anymore. Just being here might be enough punishment for all of us.

You see, no one is competing for a trophy or prize money. This isn't some stuck up beauty pageant. The truth is, most of us are here because we bombed our chance to be at Lana Meredith's Professional Division, one of the best ballet programs in the world. Some girls got cut at the first audition, and the girls who mocked them got cut during summer school. Either way, this competition is our ticket back. If we score seventy-five or higher on the regional semi-finals, that means we go to the grand-prix, and winning the grand-prix means scholarships.

After all, that's what happened to my favorite YouTuber, Everleigh Rae. She won the grand-prix last year and got a four-year scholarship to any ballet school she wanted. I watch her videos everyday, imagining my face over hers performing on that polished, black stage. Finally making my mom proud just like she did.

"Julie! Come sit so we can set your bun," Mommy calls.

Speaking of her, I leave the wings to meet Mommy by the vanities, and the sandy soles of my ballet flats scratch the floor. But when I get there, I stop dead in my tracks. She looks less like the woman who raised me my whole life, and more like a scary, mommy-shaped silhouette because of the lightbulbs glowing behind her. The only thing I can spot from her shadow-casted body is the glint of a silver camera. Which means she's recording me. Again.

Not too long ago, we started our own YouTube channel to vlog my ballet journey. Just to be clear, we're not copying Everleigh. But Mommy did hope some of her magic would rub off on us. Or at least enough to be noticed by the Lana Meredith's director.

"Can you tell everyone where you are and say hi?"

I curl my lips into a thin, closed smile and wave. Trying to ignore that her warm voice is coming out of a dark shadow. "Hi, guys. I'm finally backstage at the Universal Dancing Competition Semi-Finals. I had to wake up at the butt crack of dawn—"