Page 49 of Rookie Season
I take her phone from her. It’s open on Backstage—a popular casting website that most dancers who don’t have an agent use to find auditions.
I scan the casting call on the screen in front of me, and as I read, anticipation gathers in my stomach. “No way.”
“Way.” Cora’s practically jumping up and down with excitement. “Can you believe it?Expressionsis opening in our city!”
A few short months ago, this would have been my dream opportunity.
Expressionsis a wildly successful contemporary dance production that started off Broadway in New York and then exploded on social media—mostly due to the powerful expressive performances and choreography that tell raw, relatable stories.
According to this casting call, they are soon opening a satellite production in San Francisco and will host open auditions for their first show on the west coast. It’s a big deal.
I bet every dancer in this city and hundreds of miles beyond will be auditioning.
“What are you going to perform?” I ask curiously.
Cora wraps her arms around her body like she’s hugging herself. “Well, the ad says they want original choreography that delivers a story about yourself, as well as showcasing your specialty, so I was thinking of doing a piece to ‘Confident’ by Demi Lovato…something modern with a bit of a hip hop flair.”
“I love it.” I nod in approval. Cora’s level of self love andself confidence is inspiring and I’m sure it will shine through on stage with that song.
“What about you?”
“Me?”
“For your audition.” She wrinkles her brow. “I assume you’re auditioning…right?”
“Oh, um.” I lift a shoulder. “Probably not, no.”
As I’m saying the word ‘no,’ memories begin to move through me—but surprisingly, they’re not the awful memories of Tyler’s heavy weight on top of me that make me want to clam up into my shell and never come out of it. This time, the first memory that jumps to mind is Noah, arms around my waist as we danced to that cheesy nineties love song in the loft.
How safe I felt. Comfortable.Myself again.
“What?” Cora squawks. “Why?”
I swallow, heart pounding. “I mean, maybe. Maybe I will.”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You better, girl. You’re good. Like,reallygood. In fact, I’d bet you have a great shot at a part.”
“No more of a shot than you,” I reply.
“Maybe we could both get a part!” Cora smiles. “Anyhow, I’d better jet. I have big plans with a choreography notebook for the evening.”
“Have fun,” I call as she blows me a kiss and walks towards the door with a skip in her step, smiling the whole time—even though it’s started to rain outside.
I get why she's so happy. The chance to land a role inExpressionsis a contemporary dancer’s equivalent to, well, a hockey player making it to the final round of the NHL playoffs, I guess.
Dear lord, less than a month of living with hockey players and I’m already thinking in hockey speak.
I look outside the studio and see the rain is steadily picking up pace. I should have driven to work today instead of walking. I’m going to have to call an Uber home and then another to the game. Good thing Fisher is cutting me a deal on rent.
On the bright side, though, this means I have a little bit of extra time. And for that reason, I walk over to plug my phone into the studio’s speaker system.
The last time I danced—likereallydanced—was a few weeks ago, back at USG. It was my solo contemporary piece I was working on for one of my classes, and it was going horribly—probably because I wouldn’t let myself feel anything at all as I danced to it, and in turn, my performance was forced. Robotic.
And I don’t know if it’s Cora’s enthusiasm, or the fact that the thought of dancing again didn’t immediately fill me with sickening reminders of Tyler. Tonight, I feel ready to try again—in the safety of my own company, with nobody watching or judging…to let myself lean into my art and feel it again.
Take a piece of my own advice for little Sasha and keep fighting for what I love. Even if it’s just for myself.
The studio is empty since the next class doesn’t start for another twenty minutes, and I have plenty of time to get to the game. On a whim, while I’m feeling confident, I open Spotify. I stare down at one of my playlists, thinking hypothetically about if I was auditioning forExpressions.What story would I want to tell?
