Free Silhouette by Thalia Kalkipsakis

finished while I was in the middle of a step!’
    In the pause that follows it’s as if Izzy only now accepts what happened. Saying it out loud makes the nightmare become a reality, and she sobs.
    ‘It’s just the one audition, Izzy.’ I kneel in front of her, ignoring wet tiles against my shins. ‘It happens to everyone.’
    Tears fall freely now, shoulders shaking. ‘The audition for the grad performance ? Of all the times to mess up.’
    I glance at Paige. Her look of helplessness says it all. She’s searching for words that will make it better.
    ‘Oh, Izzy.’ Paige shuff les closer in the seat, one hand on Izzy’s knee.
    ‘It’s okay. I know there’s nothing you can say.’ Izzy sniffs before wiping a cheek with her palm. ‘It’s my own stupid fault.’ There’s a wet gasp as Izzy looks at me. ‘What time is it?’
    My audition.
    Paige is the only one with a watch. She grabs my shoulders, spinning me around and pushing me out of the cubicle. ‘It’s five past eleven! You have to go!’
    I only just managed to stay upright through all that. I look back at Izzy. ‘Sorry, I have to …’
    ‘Go!’ they both scream.
    The bond is released and I bolt out of the shower block, catapulted down the corridor. Five minutes late, and I still have to change. I’m not even thinking clearly now, sprinting down the hall with only the theatre in mind, then skidding to a stop, spinning around and bolting down a side corridor to grab my gear from my locker.
    Doors slam in the theatre change rooms. Don’t care if they can hear me. My tights are wet but I keep them on, praying that wet black won’t stand out next to dry. It’s only luck that makes my leotard go on the right way. Jazz shoes laced in record time.
    It feels like only a few minutes have passed since I was in the shower block but I have no way of knowing the exact time. I pause for a moment outside the main theatre door, sucking in air and letting it escape while I try to reconnect with my headspace after rehearsing last night.
    Now, it’s my turn.

EIGHT
    The stage is lit and empty, somehow lost without its performer. Halfway up the centre tier of seats, two reading lamps have been tilted with faces down so that they illuminate four sitting figures. Their heads are beyond the circles of light but I know already who I’ve left to wait. Mr Winchester, Miss Penelope, Jack, and the only one who I haven’t annoyed at one point or another, Mr Ingleby. Don’t have much to do with the careers counsellor.
    Quickly I move to centre stage, making sure I remain composed. From now on, my body has to say more than my words. I turn to the front and there’s a silence as I wait for them to acknowledge me. I know they can see me.
    I clear my throat. ‘Sorry I’m late. My friend was upset and I lost track of time.’
    More seconds pass and I fight against a need to fidget.
    ‘I thought that you of all people, Scarlett, would have made a point of being on time.’ It’s Mr Winchester. The tone of his voice is like a warning, and the words he last spoke to me come back: Best behaviour from now on.
    ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ But that sounds weak. I clear my throat again. ‘I just want to explain. If I’d been on time, it would have meant leaving my friend upset.’
    There’s still no response, just a cluck from the seats as someone knocks a lamp and readjusts.
    ‘And which role will you be auditioning for today?’ It’s Mr Winchester again.
    ‘The lead,’ I say clearly. Of course. Everyone is.
    ‘If we decide to consider you for the lead, Scarlett, what confidence can we have that you will arrive at rehearsals on time? Take direction? Do as you’re told ?’
    ‘I understand your concerns, Mr Winchester. But everything I do, everything , is about becoming a dancer. I’m impatient, I know, but you really don’t need to worry that you’ll get anything but total dedication from me.’ Again, silence. I’ve almost had enough of this. ‘Please, just watch