The Audition Read online

  CHAPTER

  1

  I’m standing just offstage, waiting for my big moment.I know my mom and dance teacher are in the audience, holding their breath in anticipation. This will be the most challenging dance I’ve ever performed—not only that but the most challenging dance anyone at DanceStarz Academy has ever performed. There’s a lot of pressure on me.

  My costume is amazing—beautifully detailed with thousands of sparkling rhinestones—my makeup is flawless, and my headpiece is sewn in tightly but not so tightly it will give me a screaming headache later.

  “You can do it, Harper! Love you, Harper!” My new teammates are encouraging, but I know they’re questioning how this will go. This routine is nearly impossible! How could any twelve-year-old ever possibly pull this off? My adrenaline is racing.

  The announcer says:

  “Please welcome to the stage: Harper McCoy, performing a solo.”

  I walk onto the stage, my toes pointed, my head held high. I get into my opening pose and the music begins. Five . . . six . . . seven . . . eight!

  And I dance! I’m in the zone as I leap and turn and flip and practically fly. The crowd is gasping. I’m nailing it! And I go into my grand finale: my new signature turn series. I do an insane number of tuck jumps and pirouettes. Twirling, twirling, twirling . . .

  The crowd is going wild! The audience is chanting: “Harper! Harper!” My mother’s voice in particular stands out from the crowd.

  “Harper! Harper!” Mom was whispering loudly. “Stop twirling!”

  What? Stop twirling?

  I opened my eyes and snapped out of my daydream.

  “You’re twirling your hair,” Mom said quietly.

  Oops. I was spacing out. I let go of the piece of hair I was twisting from my ponytail. I wasn’t onstage at a competition, amazing the audience. I wasn’t even on a competition team—yet. I was sitting in a new chair, in a new dance studio, waiting to audition for a totally new competition team.

  “Oh, no!” My eight-year-old sister, Hailey, dramatically fake-gasped and pointed at me from the couch across from me. “It’s the apocalypse! Harper has . . . wispies!”

  My hand flew to the top of my head to smooth any wispies that might have escaped my tight ponytail. I wanted this audition to go perfectly, and that included the details that could distract the judges, like flyaway hair.

  “I’m just kidding!” Hailey laughed. “Please. Like Harper didn’t use half a can of hairspray this morning.”

  “Hailey, now isn’t a good time for teasing. Your sister is nervous.”

  “Harper, are you nervous?” Hailey asked.

  Um . . . YES?!!

  I was about to audition for a new dance studio. I’d be placed in classes (what if I choked and they stuck me in beginner classes with teeny five-year-olds in tutus?) and I’d find out if I could be on a competition team. So, basically my entire life.

  Okay, maybe that sounded overly dramatic. But dancing was my life. The dance studio had been my second home since I was two years old. My mom always said that when I was really little, I would dress up like a fairy princess or a butterfly and jump and twirl around and break things, so she signed me up for a little-kid ballet class to get rid of all that energy. I’d been at that studio ever since.

  I took every class they offered: ballet, jazz, tap, lyrical, contemporary. I loved lyrical and contemporary the most, felt confident with my technique in ballet classes, and did tumbling and hip-hop for fun and to help with my routines.

  I joined the precompetitive team when I was six and then made the junior competition team. Last year, I started getting solos—and winning with them. My BFFs were on the team with me, and we practiced together almost every day after school.

  Don’t get me wrong—I liked doing other things besides dancing: drawing, painting, baking brownies, hanging out with my friends, and watching funny YouTube videos (and videos of dancers like Travis Wall and Maddie Ziegler). But the dance floor was my happy place.

  A few weeks ago, Dad got a new job in Florida and we had to move pretty quickly.

  I cried for a week when Mom and Dad told me; Hailey cried for a week too; even my Mom cried when we packed up our stuff. I definitely didn’t want to leave. Eventually, Hailey and Mom said they were up for the adventure of it, but me? I didn’t want to say good-bye to my friends and my old life. I didn’t want to say good-bye to my old dance studio.

  Or hello to a new studio. And new friends.

  At least, I hoped I’d have a new dance studio. There was a chance they wouldn’t even take me on a competition team. When I told my dance teacher back in Connecticut I was moving, she told me that dance was a huge part of Florida culture. That sounded great! Then she told me that Florida had a highly competitive dance community. HIGHLY competitive. Eep.

  So yeah. I was nervous about this audition at DanceStarz.

  “Harper, don’t put too much pressure on yourself,” Mom said. “If this studio isn’t a fit, we can try another one. I just thought since DanceStarz is a newer studio that has only been open a few years, it might be easier for you to acclimate. Be a big fish in a smaller pond.”

  “Harperfish.” Hailey sucked in her cheeks to make a fish face at me. She cracked herself up.

  “Also,” Mom continued, “DanceStarz is the most convenient to our new house. There’s only a few weeks left of summer break, and once school starts, I want to find a job and it would be hard to drive you far. Plus, the other studios have already had competition team tryouts. We’re lucky DanceStarz is letting newcomers audition. Well, worst-case scenario, you could wait until next year. . . .”

  “Not helpful, Mom.” I raised an eyebrow at her.

  “Oh, I’m babbling, aren’t I?” My mom smiled at me. “I’m sorry. I just want what’s best for you.”

  I knew my mom got nervous for me too. I did appreciate my mom. Not only did she drive me to the studio practically every day, she had to do things like hot-glue thousands of rhinestones on competition costumes at the last minute and sew my hair into bizarre headpieces with feathers or things while I yelped in pain.

  “Mom!” Hailey waved to get my mom’s attention. “I need to get something from the car.”

  “Now?” Mom sighed, then turned to me. “Are you okay alone for a minute?”

  “Yes!” Remember how I said I appreciate my dance mom? I also appreciate having her leave—so I can get into my head and into the dance zone, I mean.

  I looked around the reception area as I waited. There was a huge DanceStarz logo above the main desk. DanceStarz colors were pink, white, and gold, which I had to admit looked pretty cool. DanceStarz was much brighter than my old studio, with white walls and huge floor-to-ceiling windows. (It was particularly strange to look out the window and see palm trees.)

  “Harper!” The woman working the front desk called my name. “Vanessa will see you in fifteen minutes. You may get ready and stretch in Studio C. It’s the first door on the left down the corridor.”

  Here we go.

  CHAPTER

  2

  Five, six, seven, eight.

  I counted off as if I were about to start a dance routine while I walked toward the room where my fate would be determined. I passed a vending machine and water fountain as I made my way down the hallway. It was bright too, with the Florida sun streaming in through the windows. I passed Studio A, a huge studio lined with more windows, and Studio B, a smaller one. Nobody was in either of them.

  And I reached Studio C.

  As I walked in, the scent of the dance studio hit me—a scent that any dancer in the world would recognize: sweaty feet. It smelled like home. Stinky, but like home.

  This was smaller than the other two rooms I’d seen. Nobody was in here, either. I slipped ou
t of my white tank and shorts so that I was wearing a black leotard, my most comfortable one, with the crisscross straps in the back.

  I could see my reflection in the three mirrored walls of the studio. Oh. Hailey was right. I did have the dreaded wispies. I decided to put my hair up in a dance bun. No wispies, and it would give me something to do to take my mind off my audition. I was an expert at dance buns. I’d done them so many times, I could do it with my eyes closed.

  I unzipped my dance duffel. Inside, I had packed all the dance necessities:

  Bobby pins

  Hairspray

  Hair elastics

  Extra leotard (black with cami straps)

  Tights—pink, in case I had to do ballet

  Hairbrush

  Bandages

  Tape for my feet

  Toe pads for my pointe shoes

  Water bottle

  Packet of trail mix

  Towel, because you get sweaty when you dance hard

  Deodorant, because see above

  Stretch band

  And, of course, I’d had to pack a lot of shoes: my ballet shoes, pointe shoes, jazz and tap shoes. Even though I was going to do a contemporary routine for my audition, I wanted to be extra prepared.

  I had also brought a few other things:

  Vanilla-scented spray (Remember the stinky studio? A quick spritz of this and at least I smelled better).

  Fuzzy socks with grippers to keep my feet warm. Black-and-white-striped with a zebra face on the toes. I know, super cute!

  Pins stuck on the outside of the bag that my dance team friends had given me as going-away presents to remember them forever and always! Except—sorry, guys—right now I had to forget about them. I had to focus on my future. Not just focus—hyperfocus, and dance my heart out.

  I grabbed some hairpins and my hairspray from the bag and went to the mirror to put my long, medium-brown hair up into a bun. I redid my ponytail (no wispies!) and twisted it into a tight “rope.” I wrapped the “rope” around the hair elastic, flattening it out a little and securing it with hairpins—lots of hairpins. Then I tucked the end under tightly and pinned it some more. I finished with a heavy dose of hairspray to freeze it into place.

  Bun was done.

  I unzipped the shoe compartment, stuck in my flip-flops, and pulled out my half-soles. These were shoes that covered the top half of my feet and had a strap across them but were open at the heel. These were the best shoes for a variety of dance styles, like contemporary or lyrical, so I wouldn’t slip on the floor. I sat down on the rubbery marley floor and pulled on a shoe. I winced as I hit a blister, but pulled the shoe on all the way. Blisters came with the territory. So did sore muscles, scabs, and bruises. Us dancers are tough.

  I was ready to stretch. As any teacher will tell you a million times, because it’s true, stretching warms up muscles, increases flexibility, and helps prevent injuries. I stood up and began with neck rolls. I could see myself in the mirror as I rolled my head to the left and then to the right. Then I did some shoulder rolls.

  Just as I started side stretches, the door opened.

  And a giant trophy walked in—with my little sister’s legs and slightly lighter-than-mine brown pigtails sticking out from behind it. Oh my gosh. Hailey. That trophy was almost as big as she was.

  “Weeeeeee are the champions, my friend!” the trophy sang. “And we’ll keep on fighting—”

  “Hailey, what are you doing with my trophy?” I asked her. “And what are you doing in here?!”

  “You were nervous, so I’m reminding you who you are. You’re a champion dancer!” Hailey triumphantly placed the trophy on the floor in front of me. “Like it says on the plaque. Top Junior Solo of the World.”

  “Not exactly the world.” I had to grin. “At nationals.”

  “Oh. Actually, I never really read the plaque. Well, nationals is still pretty good, I guess,” Hailey reassured me.

  Nationals was more than pretty good. It was amazing! It was held in New Jersey, so close to New York City you could see skyscrapers through the windows of the convention center. I had danced a lyrical solo. I’d loved my intricate choreography, the beautiful music, and my shimmery costume. After I’d danced, I’d watched the crowd jump up from their seats and cheer. Including my mom and sister. My sister might be annoying, but she really was my biggest cheerleader.

  “Thanks, Hailey. Seriously,” I said. “But now, please hide the trophy, and you need to go!”

  “Hide it?” Hailey asked. “But I was going to show your teacher. When she comes in, I’ll announce you like: Drumroll, please . . . introducing the top junior soloist of the nation: Harper!”

  Hailey proceeded to fangirl around me, jumping around and squealing and acting like she was going to faint.

  “Hailey, you’re amazing, but that’s enough!” I said. Someone might come in the room and see this! What if that someone was Miss Vanessa? Or other people auditioning? I didn’t want anyone to think I brought my trophy—and my own crazed superfan—with me! Uh, Mom? A little help here? Where was that dance mom now that I needed her?

  “I can’t believe I’m in the same room as Harper!” Hailey was enjoying this way too much. “I luuuuurve you!”

  I did what I had to do to get Hailey out of here. For some reason, Hailey hated hugs. So I grabbed her and squeezed her super tight into a bear hug.

  “I luuuurve you too,” I said.

  “Ack! You’re squashing me! Let me go!”

  “Only if you take that trophy back to the car,” I said.

  The door opened and I gasped. Fortunately, it was just my mother.

  “Hailey, where did you go? Are you two wrestling? And can you tell me why you wanted to bring Harper’s trophy in here?” my mom asked. “You know what, I don’t even want to know anymore.”

  “Mom, we gotta go back to the car! Quick!” Hailey said. I loosened my grip, and Hailey picked up the trophy and raced out the door.

  So sweet. But so potentially embarrassing.

  I sat down on the floor and did some leg stretches. The door opened again, and this time a girl came in. She had her black hair in a bun at the nape of her neck and was wearing a black halter-style leotard. She was looking at her phone and didn’t see me.

  “11:11,” she said to herself.

  “Make a wish!” I blurted out. I would have felt stupid about eavesdropping, except the girl said, “Make a wish!” exactly the same time I did. We both laughed.

  “Close your eyes,” the girl said.

  I closed my eyes. Of course my wish was that my audition would go well and I’d make the competition team. When I opened my eyes, the girl was opening hers, too.

  “Hope our wishes come true,” I said.

  “Me too,” the girl said. “Sorry to barge in on you, by the way. They told me to come and cool down from my audition. Oh, just so you know? The audition’s not too bad.”

  I let out a big sigh of relief.

  The door opened again.

  “Harper, Vanessa is ready for you.”

  CHAPTER

  3

  Welcome to DanceStarz, Harper.”

  Vanessa was younger than the owner of my dance studio in Connecticut. She had very light, short, slicked-back blond hair and stood with a dancer’s posture.

  I smiled at her, in my own best dance posture, showing I was confident, cool, and in control.

  “Hanks,” I squeaked. Hanks? HANKS? So much for trying to seem confident, cool, and in control. I tried again. “I mean, hello! Thanks!”

  Definitely not so confident, cool, or in control. Great way to make a first impression. My nerves were even worse than I’d thought they’d be. Vanessa was intimidating.

  “As you know, you missed the official competition auditions, but we’re making an exception for you and another member,” Vanessa said. “You both have strong recommendations from your former teachers and a nice track record at competitions.”

  Really intimidating.

  Sure, I’d
been judged a million times at competitions. But I’d never had to be evaluated to be a part of a dance studio. In Connecticut, my teachers had watched me grow up there and knew where I was supposed to be placed. This felt like my whole life was being evaluated. What if I’d lost my dance skills since I’d moved? What if they’d disappeared, like my old house and my old life had? I suddenly pictured myself trying to dance for Vanessa and freezing like a statue. Or falling on my butt. Or passing out. Or vomiting.

  “Let’s see you dance,” she said.

  I took a deep breath and got ready.

  Vanessa ran me through a warm-up, and went through the five basic positions of ballet, which were as natural to me as breathing. My mind might be blurry, but my muscle memory kicked in.

  “You have a natural turnout.” Vanessa nodded.

  In real life, people usually aren’t going around checking out your feet, unless maybe you’re wearing cute flip-flops or have a great pedicure. But in dance, your feet are judged. I was lucky to have a natural turnout—or what my dance teachers called “good feet.”

  But other things I’d be judged on weren’t about luck.

  Next up were splits: right, left, and straddle.

  Vanessa nodded. She put on some upbeat, jazzy music. “Let’s start with some leaps. How about a jeté?”

  I went to one of the far corners of the floor.

  I used all of my strength and sprang into the air as my legs split, hoping to impress Miss Vanessa. I glanced over to see her reaction, but her expression simply looked thoughtful. She wasn’t giving anything away.

  Next, I did a switch leap. I brought my left leg forward, to show I was just as good on both sides.

  “A turn series, please,” Vanessa said. The pirouette is one of the most difficult of all of the dance steps. You spin around on one foot, with your raised foot touching your knee. My pirouettes had been my shining move, and I’d worked all summer in my room perfecting my turn series of pirouettes so I could do even more in a row. I felt a surge of excitement to show Vanessa what I could do.

  I took my prep and held my plié for a second, making sure my technique was perfect, then pulled up spotting seven consecutive turns with a graceful landing. YES!