Page 9 of Let Us Prey
Despite Rufus and Cori’s friendly chatter and enthusiastic encouragement, the closer we get to the theater, the more my stomach ties itself in knots. I’d planned on declaring English as my major before the prom disaster, mostly because Lucille thought I could get ‘a boring job somewhere I would only marginally screw everything up.’ With that in mind, I scheduled a library aide period this year to see if my love of reading could translate to working at a place like the Clawbrary of Congress in Washington, D.C. Todd always said he wanted to intern with the Council, so we’d be able to escape to the Capital, to start our life together and leave my asshole parents in the rearview.
Cue internal eye roll at my naïveté.
I’ll never get rid of Bruno and Lucille completely. I can only get as far away from their grasp as possible, and I doubt my future includes D.C. Now that I’m not a pred, I won’t qualify for a job anywhere near Council headquarters. Even though I do love the library, after my reinvention this summer, I’m not sure that’s the life I want, anyway.
My new trajectory is why I’m currently pondering throwing up in my Prey-far tote.
As a big middle finger to Lucille, I’m going to change my major to performing arts with a focus on music and theater. When she finds out, she’ll flip her fucking fur, and that image alone is enough to make my insides warm, despite the nasuea. Of course, I’m not doing this solely to get back at her; I truly love music and never had the chance to pursue it seriously before. If I can graduate with a degree from Apex in performing arts, I could audition for Carnage Hall or Clawway in NewYork City.
Okay, that might be a little ambitious, especially with how I’m already so nervous about meeting the theater and vocal professors here that I’ve almost turned tail three times.
“Dolly, you’re gonna love being in the studio program with us! I can’t wait to see you every Tuesday and Thursday. We’re gonna have the best time!” Cori gushes as she squeezes my arm.
I give her a tiny smile, my nervousness making it hard to match her excitement. I’ve never played piano in front of anyone before. I didn’t even show Todd my songs on paper because he and our ‘friends’ openly mocked all the theater kids at Shifter Secondary. My love of music and singing was my dirty little secret, and even though my keyboard wasn’t hidden when the Heathers came over, they never once asked about it.
Yet another red flag I ignored.
If I’m being honest, they barely asked about anything I did unless it directly affected them. I should have seen the ugliness beneath their facade sooner, but I was too wrapped up in dreams of running away to the big city with my douchey ex to pay attention to their glaring self-centeredness.
“Uh-oh, Coco. I can see the little frown lines forming as we speak. Oh, girl, are you scared about this audition? How can we help?” Rufus coos, stopping us in front of the large doors leading to the Aziz Shirdal Memorial Theater.
Chewing on my lower lip, I look between them, taking in the earnest expressions on their faces. I haven’t had the greatest experiences lately with showing people my underbelly, and outside of Bash, I haven’t considered giving anyone the opportunity to get close enough to hurt me. I know the crazy stalker wolf is an odd choice to place my shaky trust in, but his obsessive protectiveness has made me feel safer, for some reason. Not that we aren’t going to have a conversation about his family—because they’re known murderers with ties to my parents—but he hasn’t asked for a single thing in return, besides the kiss, which I was happy to give. He’s pervy, but I kind of like it, and he seems to be the only person in this hellhole who gives a shit about my safety.
Cori’s eyes soften as she watches my internal struggle. “Ru-Ru, she’s terrified. I recognize that look—someone’s done a real number on our girl.” She holds her hand out, clasping mine when I tentatively take hers. “Listen, sweetie… I don’t know who hurt you or why, but I swear on my Meemaw’s peanut butter pie recipe that we won’t do you dirty.”
Her pretty words are nice, but I’ve heard them before. It’s hard to accept anything at face value after you’ve grown up in a viper’s nest, and lost every ally you thought you had in an instant. “I... "
“I second that, sister. Give us a chance to help you through this, and we’ll prove we’re not the enemy,” Rufus cajoles.
“Okay,” I murmur, taking a deep breath. “Here’s the thing: I wasn’t allowed to perform in public. All of my experience with singing, dancing, or acting has been in front of my mirror with a SnootTube video behind me. I don’t know if I actually suck or not.”
Their eyes widen as they share a look. Twisting my lips, I drop Cori’s hand and stare at the marble floor beneath my feet, wondering if they’re going to take back their offer to help someone ashelplessas me. After a few quiet moments, I look up to find them both grinning at me.
Since I have no way of knowing what’s going through their heads, I hesitantly add, “So, if you don’t want me to possibly embarrass—”
Rufus snorts, cutting me off. “I promise, you won’t embarrass us, babe. The people we have to accept just to fill a production or show here at Apex arenotprofessionals. Preds heredespisethis building because it teaches ‘soft studies.’ Those of us who have thecajonesto major in the arts among ruthless business-types have a pretty thick skin. You’ll develop one, too.”
“Now, let’s go!” Cori says, grabbing my hand and dragging me through the double doors.
This time, my answering smile is genuine. If I can survive the horror of my prom night, I can survive a train wreck audition, right?
* * *
“What experience do you have?”
The tall, imposing woman glares at me as if I’ve wronged her ancestors by setting foot on the stage. Professor Bindi Sarabhai is related to dance royalty—her willowy frame, fluid movements, and the tiny remnant of sibilance in words with ‘s’ sounds give away her species immediately.
“Uh, well. I don’t haveformaltraining or experience outside of the required dance electives at Shifter Secondary,” I reply, discreetly rubbing my sweaty hands on my skirt. I feel like she’s going to ask me to show her something impressive, and I curse myself for letting Cori talk me into rolling the waist under on our way here. However, if Professor Sarabhai asks me to do some complicated step combo, I might just flash my finally dry undies at the world.
As a rabbit, I have no interest in pissing this woman off enough that she shifts into a King Cobra, that’s for damned sure!
“Hmph,” she scoffs, shuffling the papers in front of her.
I frown as she wrinkles the pile of sheets I just spent thirty minutes neatly completing. The professor wouldn’t even come downstairs to speak with me until I had a tree’s worth of paperwork finished, and now she’s crumpling it like a burger wrapper. “Is there something you would like me to show... "
“No. This is not an appropriate venue or time for a trial. You will report to Dance and Movement at the Leonidas Gym on Thursday at 7 a.m. sharp for our first class. We’ll see if you measure up then.”
The hissing makes everything she says even more threatening, and I wonder if she’s accentuating it on purpose. Are there any professors at this school who don’t torture their students for shits and giggles? I haven’t met one yet who hasn’t harassed me—physically or verbally. Shifter Secondary wasn’t like this at all, which makes me glad I didn’t get to attend the Apex Lower School. I don’t know if I would have survived teachers who scared the hell out of me every day during my younger years.
