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The Final Audition
“You ready?” Zoey asked, hugging Aiden tightly.
“Not at all,” he replied, chuckling slightly.
“Aww, come on. You got this!” she encouraged.
“I envy thy talent,” Aiden called as she walked towards the wings. “Break a leg, Saldana!”
Grinning, Zoey pushed through the double doors, standing out of the line of sight from the stage. Waiting for the song to end, she admired the framed cast shots of previous shows: Annie, 1998; Godspell Jr., 2003; Seussical, 2005. Her eyes paused on Anastasia, 2008 . After the 10-year wait period, they could finally produce it again. Zoey stared at the lead’s costume, her dress, her crown, her shoes . They were golden, designed so the intricate flower petal detailing formed the heel. A delicate butterfly rested at the tip of the vamp, fine orange wings complementing the warm metal tones.
“Fit for a star,” Zoey whispered. She glanced down at her audition forms, trailing over ‘Zoey V, Senior. Past Experience: Wicked Jr, Glinda, 2019 . Matilda: The Musical, Matilda, 2020. Grease, Sandy, 2021. Special Skills: Ra-’
“NEXT!” came a shout from onstage. Zoey shook her head, breathing out. You got this. You’re gonna be amazing, just like always. You’re gonna wear. those. SHOES!
She stepped onto the platform wearing a bright smile, papers in hand.
“Hi,” she said, passing a copied form to each of the three assembled directors. “My name is Zoey Valthorne.”
“Hi Zoey,” a monotone voice responded. “Which two songs have you prepared?”
“A Rumour in St. Petersburg and Journey to the Past,” she responded, recalling the last-minute-practice-that-was-actually-two-hours-of-thorough-memorization.
“And which one would you like to sing first?”
“Um, A Rumor in St. Petersburg please.” Deep breaths Zoey. It’s all about confidence. “They can call it Leningrad, but it will always be Petersburg! Same name, new empty stomachs!” Crap. That was wrong. It’s fine, just keep going. Wait, why is the music playing? Focus Zoey, where’s the track at? “Uh…um…uh…not…empty…bet…” The music stopped. Why did the music stop? It’s over. I missed it. Crap. Zoey stood there, desperation painted on her face as she scanned the auditorium, searching for a glimpse of a chance. Please, please, please, please anything! Her eyes met the person behind the speaker. Can I start over? she pleaded silently, too frozen to allow words to escape.
“Would you like to try again?”
“Yes, please,” Zoey replied instantly, relief flooding into her tone. As the computer clicked, loading the song, a simultaneously bored and critical voice from her left added,
“And we don’t need the line at the start this time.”
Oh. Zoey’s cheeks flushed red. She tried to brush it off and focus on latching onto the broken notes floating through the audio system. “Uh…times…better,” Wait that’s wrong. Where am I supposed to be? The director was mouthing the lyrics as she tried to catch on. “Um…say…uh…not!” No no no wrong place. “...empty promise…Empty pot!” Crap, that was so late. At least I hit the note? “The skies are grey, the walls have ears, and he who talks disappears!” That was so rushed, there’s no way my enunciation was even half decent. “Hail our brave new land!”
Silence.
“Alright, thank you.”
Zoey stalked quietly out the backstage doors, grabbing her backpack from the crowded hallway. A cold wind rushed in, and she pushed past the hand holding the door open. Tears streamed down her red face, coming too fast for the bitter wind to turn them solid. There were no thoughts, no explainable emotions. The solid push of the freezing bricks against her back was the only thing keeping her upright. Sharp sobs sliced through howling wind, but her mind was painfully empty. Minutes bled by as the sniffles grew further and further apart. A familiar black car caught Zoey’s attention as her eyes were assaulted with blurry red light. Brushing away her tears, she slid into the backseat.
“Good day?” Dad asked, trying to catch her face in the rearview mirror.
“Yeah. Fine.”
Zoey found herself breaking down on the living room floor, less than an hour later. Crying. Again. How did she get here? I have to practice my jazz pieces. I wasn’t prepared earlier, I gotta make these perfect for the concert tomorrow. She’d finished one, and had migrated to the floor to finish a Spanish essay. Gotta stay productive. The inverse pyramid of pressure surrounding her skull had augmented throughout the day, and she cracked. Years of trauma, memories buried so deep they were almost forgotten, harsh words she wished she could forget; it all came flooding back. Her scars burned, itching to be reopened as fingers fought the urge to gouge a hundred fresh ones. Let me die. Please let me die it hurts so much.
I deserve it.
Zoey rolled over in her bed, mindlessly staring at the black ceiling as saltwater stained her grey pillowcase. She was just so tired . Tired of trying, tired of smiling, tired of getting out of bed just to be shoved down again. The tears barely stemmed as her eyes closed, every part of her wishing for it to all go away.
A muted buzz near her forehead cleared the sleep-inducing haze. Zoey flopped over with a whimper. Cole? Why the hell is he calling?
“Hey what’s up,” she asked in a dead tone, wincing at the bright glow of the screen.
“Not much. I’m bored and you were texting me so I’m annoying you now.”
“Okay,” she accepted with a half-smile. “What are you doing?”
“I just took the BDSM test and it says I’m 79% a brat.”
“Oh-”
“Yeah and then I told my ex and he said it should be way higher.”
“Cole-”
“Okay but like hear me out. All my friends were talking about it and I hadn’t taken it yet and so I did and then-”
“Cole,” Zoey interrupted, affectionately exasperated. “Why are you even still talking to him?”
“Okay it’s complicated. Let me start at the beginning…”
As Cole continued to talk, Zoey smiled– genuinely smiled– for the first time in hours. She needed this, a chance to laugh. The pressure slowly eased from her shoulders as she just breathed with her friend. Eventually, she excused herself, feeling just strong enough to go downstairs and refuel her tired body.
It was going to be okay.
She was going to be okay.