The walk back to the room where Alisha’s still rehearsing is almost surreal and definitely painful. Painful because I’ve been there.
I’ve done that.
The girl from the picture, the one who was hugging him so tightly, she clearly means something to him, even if I don’t think they’re together right now. I’m not getting in the middle of a relationship I don’t understand. My heart got stomped on when I tried that in New York. Back then, I thought…I don’t know what I thought, except Nick and I had so much in common and he always looked at me in a certain way. Nick was the star student of the School of Performing Arts, like me. He was dedicated, like me. He made it seem like he cared and I held on to that.
But soon enough it was clear I didn’t belong with him.
I can’t go through this again. I’m still working on so many issues and there’s the company and there are my parents who threw themselves in their work to forget the death of my little sister, and at the same time forgot about me.
I purse my lips, ignoring how loud my heart is beating, how fast my mind is racing.
I need to concentrate on the here and now. Otherwise, I can forget everything, pack my bags and take the next plane home.
And then what? I go home and everything I fought for, everything I missed, every mistake I’ve made has been for nothing.
I’m tempted to kick the wall or to scream, but I’m pretty sure that could get me kicked out of the auditions.
I need to relax my face into something that doesn’t resemble a scowl. Scowling can work in certain situations—but an audition isn’t usually the place to look like you’re about to explode any second.
I inhale and exhale slowly and push open the door to the rehearsal room. The light is dimmer and Alisha is the only one left in there. She’s stretching on the floor. Her legs in a split, she pushes her body on her front leg.
She shrieks when I enter and then giggles. “You scared the crap out of me.”
I turn on the lights. The darkness is almost complete outside and the small windows don’t help much. “Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you.” My voice is too robotic.
“Are you okay?” Alisha must have picked up on it. She tilts her head slightly to the side as if she can figure out what’s wrong with me.
“I’m okay.” I chew on my upper lip and then stop. It’s one of my tells that I’m really stressed. That and getting stomachaches. And man, my stomach hurts right now. “A tad worried. The girls here seem to be good. I think Erin and Nadia are here from our ballet company.”
“Really?” Erin is the newest member of the company, and Nadia is amazing. She quit the Opéra de Paris when Igor opened his own ballet company, and she’s been a star in the two previous shows.
“It makes sense. If the auditions are as big as Steve said on Saturday night and now that we have Igor’s approval, it does make a lot of sense.” She shrugs. “We just have to be better than everyone else.” She stands up and grabs her folder, bringing it tightly to her chest as if it can shield her from stage fright. “Are you ready?”
“As ready as I’ll be.” I want to tell her about Clément, about seeing him here, about seeing him fighting with that other girl, about my string of bad luck when it comes to boys. Granted, sometimes it may not have been bad luck, but bad timing or bad choices. Nick wasn’t the first one I tried to hold on to, and at least Nick was a nice guy. Not like others.
But again, I can’t really blame them.
Either I didn’t give them a chance or I tried too hard.
With Clément, even if it was only one night, I felt like myself. And it wasn’t as scary as I thought it would be.
We take a spot in the hallway, ignoring the stares. “Erin is over there,” I whisper, but Alisha isn’t as discreet. “Hey, Erin!” she calls, and Erin skips to us with a big smile on her face like she’s relieved to see us here. She seems pretty nice. I haven’t seen her sabotage anybody, but that could be a skill she’s only learning. Most of the girls at the company are ruthless.
“Hi!” Her voice is soothing. “I don’t know what the heck I’m doing here.” Her British accent gets stronger with each word. “Since Igor agreed we could audition outside of the company, my sister who follows everything music-related told me about this one. I thought why not…but I’m so not ready. What if they’re super famous? I might freeze.”
“You won’t.” My voice could be warmer, but I’m being pragmatic because the likelihood of her freezing is actually very low. To make it to this stage, she had to audition a thousand times, she had to perform in different places, she probably had to act in a certain way even when she felt sick to her stomach or when she didn’t want to move at all.
“Eight hundred and eight,” a tiny woman with the most piercings I’ve ever seen calls, and Erin glances from me to Alisha.
“That’s me.” She stares at the number in her hand, but doesn’t move.
“Eight hundred and eight!”
“You can do it.” Alisha pushes her forward.
I take one tiny step to Erin, whose eyes are still full of fear. “You danced every single day—rain, shine, holidays, sickness. Your feet bled, you cried, you probably even screamed. You put yourself in ice baths that didn’t help. No matter who is inside, what band it is, you can show them a thing or two about dedication.”
She nods and slowly moves forward without a word. But at least her head is high.
Alisha turns and nudges me. “You’re a pretty good motivational speaker.”
“Erin’s working hard. She’s always getting yelled at by Igor, but she’s trying and she’s good and she wants it.”
“Who isn’t getting yelled at by Igor?”
“You have a point.” I half smile before remembering that I may see Clément in that room. Do roadies stay during auditions?
I close my eyes. I need to concentrate.
But apparently, Alisha needs to talk. “What was your best performance ever?”
I could lie and say it was my last showcase at the School. I could lie and pretend my best performance was my happiest one. I could lie and say it was the one that opened doors for me.
But I won’t lie.
Talking about Mia is keeping her alive, and even though talking about her also tightens my chest to the point where I can’t breathe, telling the truth right now is more important than protecting myself.
“When my sister was at the hospital, I used to go all dressed up with a tutu and dramatic makeup and dance for her and the other kids. When I left for Paris, they thought she was doing a bit better, that they had found a new drug that would help her live longer. So my last performance there was the morning before my plane took off. I danced for her and with her and with her friends and she was laughing. She was smiling. It was the last time I saw her.”
I need to fight away the tears, and I’m not even sure Alisha can hear the last words I say.
A girl walks past us, shooting us death glares. “They’re already crying. Must be that article in Le Monde. Clearly, Igor should have thought twice about leaving the Opéra de Paris.” She enunciates each word slowly and loudly enough for me to hear but low enough so the guards at the entrance don’t.
I take a deep breath. If my voice breaks it won’t be as efficient. Alisha gasps but doesn’t say a word. I step up to the ballerina turned mean girl. “My little sister died three months and a half ago. That’s why I was crying. And trust me, in her entire six years on this Earth, she showed more grace than you ever will. And you’re a dancer.”
I don’t bother to check her reaction. Or to answer to her mumbled apologies.
Alisha squeezes my hand.
The tiny woman with the piercings comes back out. “Number eight hundred and nine.” That’s Alisha.
Her body stiffens but I squeeze her hand back. “You can do this.”
She throws her shoulders back and glides to the door like she owns it. The girls behind me now whisper about the latest gossip. Another one mentions the newspaper article and even though she’s more discreet about it, it still stings. “Those poor dancers. Clearly, they should have chosen another company. I guess the glitz and promise of quick fame was enough for them.”
I guess she didn’t hear me put the other one back in her place. She doesn’t know me. “I guess some dancers have too much time on their hands.” I step to her and eye her up and down. “You’re from the Lyon Ballet Company, right?”
Her eyes widen. People have a tendency to become much quieter if you actually call them on their bullshit. “I believe you got that spot because I turned them down. They tried to convince me for days.”
And I whip my head back away from her. Her friend is consoling her. Telling her I clearly have a problem. Yes, I do. Actually, I have way more than one. But right now, her not owing up to her issues is my issue. Because I know those girls. I caught myself once or twice being one of those girls. And I didn’t like what I was seeing.
I focus back on myself. I shouldn’t let all of them derail me. I’ve got enough on my plate.
The choreography I prepared isn’t too difficult, but I thought for a dancer in a music video, I should focus more on something that can transcend: a few visual movements that may look complicated, and trying as much as possible to convey emotions.
And after talking about Mia, my emotions are all over the place.
Erin took about five minutes. They make all girls exit via a different exit. To not spoil the surprise, I guess. It’s already been ten minutes and they still haven’t called my name. Alisha must be doing well.
Competition is cutthroat in this world, but I’d rather lose to the best than not show up. Some dancers may be better than me, but if they don’t have the passion for it, then it won’t work for them. That was the case for my friend, Emilia.
Dancing is my passion and it’s my career and it’s what keeps me together.
“Number eight hundred ten!” The tiny woman is back. And that’s my number.
I rub my hands and then clench them into fists. Only one second to put on my happy and confident face.
I take a deep breath and turn around to the girl who tried to derail me earlier. “May the best ballerina get the role.”
She purses her lips, but I don’t care. I enter the audition room.
The woman motions for me to stand in the middle of the room. I don’t look at anybody—even though I’m dying to check if Clément is there.
It resembles other audition rooms: the piano standing in the corner, the smell of anticipation. It’s a mix of deodorant and perfume and tears. Because I know for sure at least one person cried in this room today. I cried once during an audition and only once. That was the year I auditioned for the School of Performing Arts, and I wasn’t made of steel yet. I messed up one step and thought I had missed my chance. Svetlana—my favorite teacher there—came to talk to me after the audition, telling me I had talent and they saw it. I only needed to see it too.
Clément is here. My heart pounds. He’s at the table. The table in the middle with the people who will watch and judge every single movement. He stares at me with his mouth gaping open. Our eyes collide and I’m the one to look away. Because I shouldn’t feel this happy, this drawn to him.
Steve waves at me with a warm smile, but he doesn’t say a word.
“Laura?” Clément’s voice almost does me in. My feet itch to run away, but I use the adrenaline slamming into my veins to focus on what I need to do. I smile my sweetest smile, which also happens to be my fakest smile.
I inhale deeply, step forward with my resume, my headshot, my paperwork. We had to sign a Non-Disclosure Agreement.
Why is he sitting at the table? If he’s a roadie, shouldn’t he be doing roadie things, whatever those are?
And she’s here too. Can this day get any worse? At least she’s not sitting next to him. She’s on the other side of the table and she’s staring me down. She’s staring at me like she already hates me.
The older man with grayish temples taps his fingers on the table like my mere presence annoys him.
“Welcome,” he says with a voice that says I’m not welcome at all. “I’m Grégoire Sarant—I’m the manager of the band.” He doesn’t bother to introduce anyone else. “The name of her file says Jennifer. Jennifer Harrison.” His eyes roam all over my body and his index finger now touches his upper lip. I stay silent even though I have at least one thousand questions. He opens his mouth, closes it and then opens it again. “Wait, that’s the girl who was outside the club, the girl you went to look for?”
I remember him. Before Clément came to help me, he was walking by and turned away. “And you’re the guy who didn’t help when he saw that stupid meathead annoying me.”
“You seemed to have the situation under control.”
“Checking in wouldn’t have hurt.” And that’s not the way I’m going to get this part.
Clément turns to Grégoire. “You saw her with the guy who tried to mug her and you didn’t do anything?” He sounds more than pissed, he sounds outraged.
“I didn’t know he was mugging her, and that’s not the point.”
Clément takes a deep breath and rubs the back of his neck, trying to calm down, and I wish I could go up to him and talk to him but I stay put.
He clears his throat. And it’s like he can’t stop looking at me. And there’s so much confusion on his face, probably reflecting mine. “So, Jennifer.”
“Jen. You can call me Jen.”
“I’m Lucas Wills. Lucas Clément Wills.”
I frown slightly. I know that name. I’ve heard that name.
“She probably knows who you are. Probably planned this whole thing.” The guy next to Lucas is getting on my last nerve, and staying stoic is starting to be too hard. Lucas, it sounds good. He looks like a Lucas. I shake my head slightly.
The girl from the picture leans forward. “Clearly, they slept together, let’s move on.” Her tone is dismissive but there’s pain in her eyes.
“Olivia.” Lucas’ tone is a warning and she doesn’t say another word.
Talk about awkward.
“I’m here for the audition. Nothing more.” And I cringe at the sound of my voice. I sound annoyed and bitchy and like I don’t give a care in the world.
Lucas sits back, and the way he crosses his arms is a stark reminder of the way he crossed his arms when I first asked him to bake cookies.
“Well, you’re here,” he says. “So let’s watch you dance.” It’s like he doesn’t believe in my ability to impress them, or maybe he doesn’t believe me. Like me lying about my name was such a big deal. He lied too....
Lucas Wills—I can’t believe I didn’t recognize him. Granted, I only know his songs and not his face, but come on…
“I’m ready.”
And when the music starts, Lucas becomes my anchor point. He’s the one I look at, when I do pirouette after pirouette. The melody is sad, so sad. And it reminds me of everything I’ve lost, of all the heartache and the tears.
I feel every movement, every arch of my arm, every jump.
I feel the music resonate within me.
I feel alive.
His face doesn’t tell me anything. I’m not sure if he’s pissed or happy to see me. I shouldn’t even care. I shouldn’t want to reach out and touch his face, snuggle up to him, talk to him, make him laugh.
When the music stops, I’m out of breath. I’m waiting for a reaction. Any. The guys all look at Lucas, but the girl—Olivia—is staring at me. And she doesn’t look like we’re going to be BFFs anytime soon.
Grégoire—the manager—opens his mouth but Lucas touches his shoulder, stopping him from saying anything.
Lucas stands up and he owns the room. I’m not sure if it’s his confident posture, or his strong jaw, or simply the fact that he’s there, entirely there.
He strides to the piano.
“What are you doing?” his manager asks him. And he doesn’t sound pleased. The other guys at the table seem pretty chill. Steve even discreetly gives me a thumbs-up.
“I want to see if she can improvise to the song I wrote two nights ago.”
My eyes widen and my hand rubs the back of my neck. I rise on my toes, stretch, then lower again. A mechanism to stop my heart from beating too fast.
He walks by me, almost touching me, and warmth spreads within me. He’s got too much of a pull on me.
I manage to swallow my nervousness and my voice almost sounds calm when I reply. “Sure.”
“I’ll play the melody first so you can get an idea of the tempo and then I’ll sing with it.”
His manager stands up, sighing loudly—the same way my parents did when they thought I was being a spoiled brat. “No one else had to do that.”
“And?” Lucas sounds annoyed, but like he’s trying to reign himself in.
“It’s not fair.”
“I’ll still give a fair chance to everyone who has auditioned and everyone who will audition.”
“Every single one of them? And will you think about doing what’s best for the band?” His manager enunciates each word slowly, and they glare at each other. There’s some intense eye battle going on there.
Lucas sighs, giving in, it seems, to whatever silent argument they were having. “I’ll give a fair chance to every single one of them, and yes, I will think about what’s best for the band.” That seems to calm his manager down. He sits back down and takes out his phone, dismissing Lucas, dismissing us and whatever is about to happen.
Lucas’ fingers touch the keys of the piano and he looks more like the guy I spent time with. Why does it feel like it’s only the two of us in the audition room?
“Are you ready?” He’s staring right at me and then his gaze drops to my lips. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
I chuckle. He knows exactly what he’s doing by asking me this. Those were his exact words before…before we tumbled into bed.
I was sure then. But now? Standing in this room, looking at him, being so close to him? Wondering what his reasons for lying were?
I’ve never felt so exposed, so vulnerable, less sure in my entire life.
Lucas Wills could make my career.
But…he could also break my heart.