Page 87 of Rookie Season
“Save the mushy stuff for later, and let’s eat. I’m starving.” Fisher’s voice is a welcome distraction from my thoughts, because this level of thoughtfulness from Noah is making me a little weepy.
I slide into the empty seat next to Noah, and as we all eat breakfast together, he places a hand on my thigh under the table—strong, solid, and supportive. Just like him.
Penn points his knife at us. “Don’t think we don’t see that.”
Noah flips him off with his free hand. “Don’t think I give a damn that you do.”
Penn laughs at this, and I smile as I watch the guys joke around together. Last week, when the boys got home from Canada and saw Noah and I come out of my room together, Noah informed me that he’d had no choice but to inform them we were together. I was honestly glad to have it out in the open. To be able to openly snuggle into Noah’s chest on the couch when we all gather to watch TV in the evenings together. And I was really glad with how well Penn and Fisher both took it—they seem genuinely happy for us. And Noah seems happy, too.
Too soon, breakfast is over and it’s time for me to go. I barely ate a few bites of eggs and a slice of bacon, since my stomach is swirling with nerves.
“You got this! We’ll be there cheering you on,” Fisher tells me as he gives me a big hug.
Penn hugs me next. “Go get ‘em, Ally.”
Apparently, all three of them are planning to come watch me audition, which is both sweet and nerve-wracking. But ultimately, I’m glad my little west coast family will be there—I can’t wait for my parents and brother to fly into town this weekend and meet them. Right now, life is good, and I’m loving being present in this moment, certain in the fact that I made the right decision moving my life across the country just a few weeks ago, which now feels like forever.
Noah walks me out to my car, my dance bag slung over his shoulder. When we reach my vehicle, he sets my bag in the back seat, then pulls me into his arms. “You’re going to knock them dead.”
I nod against his chest. “Damn right.”
He pulls back and smiles down at me proudly. “That’s my girl. And remember, if you get nervous, or start doubting yourself, just look for me in the crowd. I’ll be there with you every step of the way.”
I love you,I think.
“Thank you,” I say.
Noah stands off to the side as I climb into my car and wave before I pull out of the parking garage and onto the street. When I glance in my rearview mirror, he’s still standing in the same spot. Ever the protector, he watches me go until I’m out of his sight.
“Aghh!” Cora clutches my arm as we walk up the front steps of the downtown theater whereExpressionsis holding their casting call. Her auburn hair is braided, and she’s wearing a green leo that her pallid face currently matches. “I think I might puke.”
“As long as you don’t spew on me,” I tease, hoping to distract her from her nerves as we step into the lobby together. I’m surprised to see her so nervous, but in a way I’m grateful, because distracting her will keep me from focusing on my own churning stomach.
“This venue is insane,” my friend says, looking around in awe.
“I’ll say.” The theater is an older building with a brick facade, with elaborate vaulted ceilings, chandeliers, and scarlet carpet. Real old money vibes…kind of how I imagine Fisher’s family mansion must look back home in Georgia. Long tables line one wall, and I link my arm through Cora’s, tugging her towards them. “Come on, let’s go sign in.”
We join an almost worryingly long line up of dancersgiving their names to the admin staff seated behind the tables, and then receiving bibs with a number on them to pin to their leos.
When we finally get to the front of the line, we’re greeted by a friendly-looking woman with a severe gray bob. “Hi, girls. Names?” She asks as she flips to a new page on her clipboard.
“Cora Filipelli.”
“And Allegra Callahan.”
“Allegra Callahan?” The woman’s head snaps up, and she studies me for a moment. I flush, wondering if I should have used my mother’s maiden name, Donovan, as my last name instead of Dad’s, which I took after they got married.
But surely Callahan is a common enough last name that this woman wouldn’t automatically make the connection, so I smile and say, “Yes, that’s me.”
She frowns, tapping her pen against the clipboard. “There was someone here about twenty minutes ago, asking if anyone with your name had signed in.”
Despite her frown, I feel my body relax. I want to get this part on my own merit, not because I have a famous father, so I’m glad she hasn’t connected any dots.
I look over at Cora, who shrugs. “Probably one of the other teachers from the studio. Richie and Lynne are both auditioning, too.”
“Probably,” I say. Strange that my colleagues would have asked for me, and not Cora, but I soon forget about all of that anyway, because Cora and I receive our bibs and then head backstage, to the green room. While the audition is open to the public, the auditionees are required to wait back here for their turn onstage. It’ll likely be an hours-long process, which is why I already agreed with Noah that he will come later with Penn and Fisher—he suggested drivingme here this morning, but I didn’t want him stuck waiting around all day.
The green room is a hive of activity, practically buzzing with energy, with dancers scattered everywhere, talking on the phone, applying makeup at the mirrors, and lying on the floor stretching. I immediately welcome the organized chaos. I’ve missed this. Being part of an environment full of other passionate artists makes you feel like a part of something bigger.
