“Late.” He cut me off. “You’re also the only performer who isn’t wearing the mandatory white.”
“Yes, well…” I stammered. “That’s why I want to speak with you.”
“Oh?”
“I want to know if you would allow me to go home and change.”
“And why would I allow that, Miss Everhart?”
“So I can audition with the group this afternoon and be judged fairly. I just think that I’ve already—”
“Stop.” He pressed a pen against my lips. “Ladies, may I please have your attention?”
An immediate silence fell over the theater.
“I want you all to meet Aubrey Everhart.” He smiled. “She’s just informed me that due to the fact that she was late and decided to wear improper attire to her audition today, that there’s a chance she’ll be judged unfairly.”
The ballerina across from me folded her arms.
“Now,” he said. “Since the world of ballet is fair and has always been about catering to the needs of the unprepared, is there anyone who would have a problem if I allowed Miss Everhart to go home, change, and return for the auditions at six?”
Every dancer on stage raised her hand into the air.
“I thought so.” His tone was cold. “If you think a wrongly colored tutu is going to affect how well you perform, you should leave right now.”
I swallowed, wishing I could disappear.
“You can dance in the first group.” He shook his head at me and walked away.
Disregarding the soft snickering from the other girls, I returned to my former spot on stage and stretched once more. I tried to block out everything that had gone wrong this morning and pretended that I was in Durham again—dancing for one of the best directors in the world.
“Miss Everhart?” A woman said my name, snapping me out of my thoughts.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to take your place at center stage with everyone else, or do you need more time to find it?”
I smiled at the judge’s table and stepped into the line.
The woman signaled to the pianist and he played the B-flat scale before starting the piece. As his fingers forced the notes, my arms went high above my head and I slowly spun around on my toes—wincing as my right pointe slipper cracked.
I ignored the pain and continued the routine. Terribly.
Each time I attempted a jump, I landed off balance and slipped an eighth of a count behind everyone else. My turns were awkward—frantically paced, and my pointe work was so choppy that I bumped into the girl next to me.
Embarrassed, I murmured sorry and spun around, but I lost my balance and fell onto the stage. Headfirst.
I ignored the loud outburst of laughter from the dancers in the audience and stood up, attempting to fall back into the routine.
“Stop!” Mr. Ashcroft bellowed from the side of the stage, making the notes come to an end.
He walked in front of our line and stepped directly in front of me.
“I just looked through your file, Miss Everhart.” He looked unimpressed. “You recently studied under Mr. Petrova?”
I nodded.
“Use your words, please.”