reticent

1

• 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.