People are whatever their dreams make them, that’s what her mother had always said. What she had neglected to add was the work people had to go through to achieve them. So there Sandra sat in the dressing area of the small theater, practically chewing her fingernails to the bone. Ten minutes until her slot. Number two thirty seven. Jesus! Two hundred and thirty seven plus people auditioning for this stupid ballet, maybe more. How the hell did she even expect to be looked at seriously. One could only critique dance for so long before going brain dead, which meant by the time they got to her it would be little more than a curt dissmissal.
Mustn’t think that way, she told herself. You’ve got to hold on to something. Remember all those years of training, the pain, sweat, and damn it, that wasn’t helping, it was just pissing her off. She looked around again, weighing the skill of the other dancers. They all looked good. Have to focus. That’s what it’s all about. Lose yourself in the dance. Let it control you, move you. Sandra could hear her instructor’s words coming back. That was the only reason she had come, not from any initiative of her own. Her instructor had said “Sandra, the only way you won’t be cast is if the director is a completely incompetent amateur.”
“Where did you study?”