It was down to six performers when the music stopped, and I finally caught my breath. She’d made it past the first hurdle. There was only one other girl in the group I thought was a threat. The girl was gaunt and bony, but there was muscle hidden in there somewhere. She’d been spinning like a top, reminding me of an ice skater.
“Please reset,” the judge with the headset said. “You can spread out and use more of the stage now. The music’s coming back on in thirty seconds.”
Spinner Girl glanced down the line of dancers, and her mouth fell open when she saw Tara had survived initial cuts. Everyone was dressed for traditional ballet, their bodies covered in utilitarian outfits, but Tara’s bare midriff and sultry makeup only emphasized her sex appeal. Spinne
r Girl looked barely eighteen, and it was obvious she felt Tara didn’t belong. She wasn’t even subtle when her eyes narrowed.
Fire burned inside me, but then the music resumed, and I immediately forgot all about it. I stopped thinking about anything else.
Because with her newfound freedom, Tara now had room to let loose. She floated, leaped, and soared. She fucking flew across the stage, gliding on her tiptoes as the top half of her was still as a statue. My pulse picked up, matching the rapid set of jumps and turns she executed. Tara threw everything she had into the audition—no matter what happened, at least she knew she’d put it all out on the stage.
The first two minutes had been nerve-wracking, but not this time. I forgot she was competing and simply enjoyed the show. When the music stopped, I jerked back to the moment, the smile frozen on my face.
Every muscle in me twisted and corded.
“Number one-twenty-two,” the announcer said, “please see Michelle at stage right for a blue pass.” Perhaps he thanked the rest of the performers, but I didn’t hear it. My brain emptied at Tara’s brilliant smile.
She’d done it.
-26-
Tara
Physically, the blue pass wasn’t anything special. It was a printout on teal paper with my number written in a box, instructions about my pending interview, and a signature from a producer. But it might as well have been printed on gold. I held it gingerly as I left the stage, moving swiftly down the steps and up the center aisle.
I still hadn’t caught my breath from performing, and I heaved air into my lungs, walking in a daze.
“Congrats,” a woman in the seats whispered as I walked by.
“Thank you,” I breathed. I didn’t know her, but the genuine gesture made reality feel further away. Had that just happened? Had I really passed the first round?
Grant stood from his seat and stepped out into the aisle. I wanted to scream, run, and throw my arms around him, but another set of auditions was about to start, and I needed to be respectful to those dancers.
His smile was dazzling. I didn’t think I could be any happier until I looked at him. His eyes glittered as if he were fighting back emotions. He was thrilled for me, and . . . proud. I had to tear my gaze away for a moment to hold it together.
I probably looked like a diva as we silently made our way to the doors at the back of the theatre. He was carrying both of our bags and his large cello case, when all I had was a single slip of paper.
But it was blue.
And it was proof I’d made the right decision on not giving up on my dream.
We made it twenty feet out the door and down the empty hallway before he set down his case, dropped our bags, and swept me up in his arms. I gasped and laughed, but then his mouth was on mine, and the world stopped.
The kiss was over too soon. His forehead pressed to mine, his eyes closed. “You did it.”
“I was so fucking nervous.” The advantage to going early meant I didn’t have all day to psych myself out about the audition. Of course, the clock had been reset. As long as I didn’t fail the interview, who knew how long I’d have to wait to perform my solo?
“Why?” He opened his eyes and grinned. “I told you that you were going to be amazing.”
I used my thumb to smear away the red stain of my lipstick from his lips. He relaxed his hold, and I slid down his body until my feet were back on the carpet.
“What happens next?”
I looked at the paper. “I have to report to interview taping.”
“When? Now?”
I nodded.