• AMALIA •
Music is booming through the dance studio when I get there. I'm almost twenty minutes late, so I try to slide inconspicuously into class, only to discover that it isn't a regular one.
The blonde woman on the other side of the studio snaps her head toward me when I enter. She sighs and glances toward the man by the speaker, who turns the music of immediately.
"You're late." She snaps.
I furrow my eyebrows at the unfamiliar people stationed around the room, only finding a moment of solace in the faces of my friends. Edie smiles at me, but I can see the nervousness in her gaze.
"What is your name?" The woman questions, smoothing half of her long, platinum blonde hair over her shoulder.
"Amalia." I say quietly.
"Speak up, I can't hear you."
I clear my throat. "Amalia." I repeat.
"You're late, Amalia." She says, distaste coating her tone.
"I—I know, I'm sorry. I—"
"I don't wanna hear your excuse. You've already taken up enough time. Sit down."
I walk over toward Edie and Oliver quickly, cheeks strawberry red from embarrassment. I set my bag down beside me.
"What's going on?" I ask them quietly.
"We're auditioning for a magazine." Edie whispers.
I turn to her, wide-eyed. "What?"
"Shh!" The woman hisses from the front of the room. I internally curse myself; she's auditioning me for a magazine, and she hates me. There was barely any chance I was getting it before, but now the possibility is so slim that it's not even there anymore.
I might as well just walk out of the room now.
"A magazine?" I ask Oliver, my voice so barely audible I can hardly hear it.
"Yep. We got here and Kiera told us. Apparently the person they had dropped out, and they went for a whole new look based on a dancer."
My eyebrows are practically in my hairline. I came here expecting to have a normal rehearsal to practise for our next show, not to audition for a magazine.
I bite my lip wistfully. That could open so many doors for me.
I let the thought go. As if I'm getting it now. Even if I did better than other people, this woman evidently hates me.
"Jessica!" The woman shouts. Jess (who still hates me more than anything) gets up and walks into the centre of the floor as another dancer from another one of the teams in this studio exits and sits on the other side of the room.
"Are we supposed to improv?" I ask.
"Yeah." Edie whispers, stretching her leg to one side. I quickly copy her; I haven't even stretched yet.
I watch the woman's face and how she reacts to what Jess is doing. She looks incredibly bored, but perks up a little bit more when Jess shows off flexibility, but then sighs again. It's hard to see what she does and doesn't like, since her reactions keep changing.
"Oliver!" She shouts out, reading from a list.
"Good luck." I whisper. He smiles at me before standing, then walks to the centre. As he begins to dance, I grow more and more nervous.
"You okay, Amalia?" Edie asks.
I open my dance bag and pull my anxiety medication out, but then shove it back in. Lorazepam makes me sleepy, and that's the last thing I need right now.
I take a few gulps of water instead. Edie sends me a concerned glance but doesn't say anything.
"Amalia!" She yells next, shouting my name with a deep distaste. I stand up and rush to the centre of the floor. I have nothing planned out, so I just do an improvisation routine of my best moves, performing them one after another.
Some of the anxiety fades as I dance, reminding myself of the few corrections I've been told over the years as I move my body, trying to stay in beat with the music.
When she calls another name, part of me is disappointed; I wanted to keep dancing. I rush off to the side anyway, but just as I'm about to sit down, Kiera motions for me to come outside with her. I do.
"Hi, honey." She says. "You okay?"
I nod.
"How come you were late?"
I sigh and put my head in my hands. "Grayson was supposed to drive me, but then, just as we were supposed to leave, he suddenly remembered that he got his license taken away from him. He said he'd just drive slow so he wouldn't get pulled over again, but Elijah wouldn't let him.
"Then I had to ask my dad if he'd take me. But he was on a business call, so he couldn't. Then—"
"Okay, I got it." She says, smiling.
"I'm sorry."
"It's fine, honey." Kiera assures me. "Come on, let's go back in. You were great, by the way, I think you have a really good chance."
A small flicker of hope ignites within me at her words. "Really?"
She nods. I smile.
She pushes the door open. "Elijah ended up bringing me, if you were curious." I mumble as we walk back in. She laughs and returns to her position amongst the dance teachers. I sit down beside Ollie.
"I'm so tired." Oliver whispers.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
"Yeah," he says, exhaling a breath. "This is just boring now."
"What is, waiting?"
"No, I mean dance." He says. "I don't like it anymore."
"What? Why? You're an amazing—"
"I know I'm good." He says, cutting me off. "But I just don't like doing it anymore."
"I—are you quitting?" I ask.
"Probably."
I frown. Oliver is such an important part of the team that I don't think any of us would know what to do without him. He's my duet partner, he's one of my best friends. I never expected him to stop dancing, and I never expected him to bring something like this up so casually, as though it's an afterthought.
But if that's what he wants..
"W-well what are you gonna do?"
"Quit." He says, like it's obvious.
"Yeah, I know that." I reply sadly. "I mean, are you gonna start something else?"
Oliver has blossomed into a teenager nicely. His blonde hair is still perfectly curled; his glassy blue eyes are more mesmerising than ever, and he has the best, most comforting personality anybody could ever wish for. Most of the girls in our year adore him, but he doesn't notice.
He only has eyes for Edie.
"Maybe." He says softly. "I'm not sure yet."
"What about dance in school?" I question.
"I'll stay in that." He answers. "There's no point quitting that now, because then I'll be behind in P.E."
I shrug. "I guess."
He snaps his head up when Edie's name is called. She walks out onto the floor confidently, and performs just as. I notice Ollie smile as she turns, and when the next name is called, she walks over to us and sits down.
"I totally jumbled on that attitude—"
"No you didn't." Ollie cuts Edie off. She looks at him, letting out a soft breath. His lips tilt up. "You were perfect."
Relief floods her features for a moment. "Yeah?" She glances at both of us as she says it, but something tells me she only really cares what Ollie's answer is.
I nod.
"Yeah." Ollie says.
She grins and sits down beside me.
•
Half an hour later, once everyone in the studio has danced, the blonde woman—who's name I've learnt to be Cindy—stands in the front of the room. She clears her throat before she speaks, the authority radiating off of her commanding everyone in the rooms attention.
"If I call your name, stand up." She says.
Everyone waits anxiously as she pauses, turning the page in the notebook she has over.
"Evelyn." A girl stands up, grinning.
"Jackson."
"Payton."
"Kennedy."
"Mason."
"Jase."
"Lilith. And, finally.."
I bite my nails nervously. When she sighs and begins to look reluctant, I begin to have a feeling it's me.
"Amalia."
Edie turns to me, grinning. So does Ollie.
I stand up way too fast, making my head dizzy, but the butterflies leave quickly. I smile, wider than I ever have, as I look at everyone else.
"The eight of you have been selected to go to the next part of the audition. We'll be testing how you look through the camera. Follow me, please."
Edie looks up at me. She doesn't look disappointed her name was called out. She almost looks relieved. "You'll do great!" She exclaims.
I smile back nervously and follow everyone else out of the door. When we get into the hallway, Cindy stands in front of us all.
"We have some clothes that we'll change you into for some testers. We want the photos to be very elegant and.. dancer-y, I supposed, so the clothes will be very long and majestic." She turns to the young woman beside her. "Who's first on the list?"
She skims the paper in her hand. "Evelyn."
"Okay." Her eyes find a nervous Evelyn's. "Let's get her changed into something. The rest of you can sit out here." She says, nodding to the small lounge area. "Stretch, or.. do whatever you do."
•
I go last.
I'm put into a black dress; it's backless, and the skirt behind is lace. There's a thick piece of string around my neck that connects to the shoulders of the dress. It's lovely, and not too in-your-face.
Lovely underestimates it. This dress is gorgeous.
I also have my ballet slippers on, which makes me feel more comfortable with all the lights and cameras on me. They've transformed one of the barely used rooms completely into a photography studio.
Kiera walks into the room just as we're about to begin, like she has with everyone who was chosen to go onto the next audition.
"Okay, Amalia." Cindy says as someone moves hair to frame my face, then smooths out the small bit of contour they've put on my cheekbones. "Kiera's gonna direct you on what dance moves to do in a moment, but for now I just want you to do some simple poses."
"Let's see you stepping forward with both of your hands behind your back. Twist to the left a little bit so we can see the skirt. Okay, that's good." Cindy says. I follow her instructions with a smile that I don't drop—not even when the camera snaps and a light shines in my face.
I notice Cindy raise her eyebrows in something resembling surprise when she sees the photo. "That's nice, let's do a few more."
•
After three costume swaps and two hairstyle changes, Cindy lets me see the final—and best, according to her—photos. My jaw drops when I see the quality of them.
The cameraman clicks onto the next one.
Then the next.
I grin. "They're amazing!"
"I like the black dresses." Cindy says. "The rest are good, but the darker colours contrast with her fair skin."
I smile.
"Alright." Cindy turns to me, her expression bored again. "We'll review the rest, and everyone else's, and make our decision soon."
"Okay. Thank you." I say. I turn and walk out of the room, fluttered with nerves. She seemed to like me, but maybe she still doesn't like the fact that I was late.
Dance would be over in a few minutes anyway, so instead of going back into the studio I grab my stuff and walk out of the building, sliding down onto one of the benches outside.
I message my dad.
ME: Guess what.
His reply comes in a few moments later.
DAD: What?
ME: I just got auditioned for a magazine cover.
DAD: What?
My phone begins to ring with a call from my dad. I answer it and put it up to my ear.
"Hey dad."
"Hi, baby." He says. "What do you mean, a magazine cover?" He pauses. "Like with your friends?"
"No, like an actual magazine. I just walked in and people were getting auditioned. Only a few people got to move onto the next part of it, and I was one of them!"
"Wow, Amalia." He replies, "that sounds great. I'm sure you'll get it." He says. "Are you finished with it? I can come get you."
"Yeah." I say quietly.
"Okay, I'll see you in a minute."
I end the call and sit back, exhaling a short breath. I notice movement across the street, in one of the unlit houses, and sit up as the door swings open and shouts come from the hallway inside.
"Fucking asshole!" A masculine, youthful voice shouts as the door's slammed in his face. He turns around, and his face becomes illuminated by the street light.
I think I gasp aloud. His hair—a shade of brown so dark that it can be mistaken as black—is tousled, as though he's been running his hands through it. His jawline is so sharp it could cut through glass, and with the limited amount of light surrounding him I can barely make out a scar below his eye, by the top of his cheekbone.
He walks over to a motorcycle and grabs a helmet from the back before untying it from its post. He climbs on as he sets the helmet on his head, then glances to the side, meeting my eye for only a few moments before driving off. I can hear the loud sound of his engine long after he speeds away.