“Right,” I said, watching him carefully. “So does this mean that you’re going back to work tomorrow?”
“Yes, probably,” he replied, turning his back to get the glasses. I sighed inwardly. I was glad that he was feeling better, and indeed, he looked much better than when I left him this morning. But the school was my favorite place in the world, even if it meant being in the kitchen all day long.
Sarah and I had once devised a plan that required me to fail out of school and have to take a job in the kitchens. However, that lasted about half a day. The hell my father rained down on me when I told him I flunked a test taught me to devise another plan, and quickly.
“Well, that’s good,” I managed, sitting down as he brought out the food.
“Do you have much homework?” he asked, spooning out spaghetti. I shrugged.
“I probably have a few things I can do, but I’ve been ahead for a while, so nothing urgent,” I said, digging into the food. It was good, but everything seemed so bland and boring since I got out of the audition.
“Well, you should continue to get ahead, you never know what is going to happen.” Dad gave me a pointed look, and I nodded, wincing. He was referring to the fact that I might get sick again at any moment. Last semester, I was unable to even sit up enough to work on the computer for a good week. Still, I got it done before the deadline, I always did.
“Sure.” I replied, shovelling food into my mouth as quickly as I could. Suddenly, I didn’t want to be at the table any more, or even in the house.
As soon as dinner was over and I had done the dishes, I hurried upstairs, under the pretense of doing homework. Instead, I pulled up my favorite statistics site: www.whatarethechances.com.
What are the chances of getting a job out of 400 more qualified candidates? I typed in, selecting the appropriate drop down menus. And then I waited a moment while it processed.
0.001% was the number that flashed on the screen. I sat back and sighed. Somehow, I thought that my chances were even lower. What I needed to do now was forget about it.
Logging into my school site, I clicked open an assignment and started to mindlessly type. Downstairs, I could hear my father rattling around in the kitchen, and I could still smell the sweet aroma of basil from dinner. Despite myself, a tiny smile formed on my lips. If this was all there was for me, would it be so bad? I didn’t think so.
Except for that nagging feeling of the greatest moment of my life - which I left on the stage today.
Forget it, I told myself, and turned on some Broadway show tunes as I worked. Eventually, singing along to Cats, I did.
CHAPTER 4: LIAM
It always amazes me, the lack of talent that comes out for auditions; any auditions, not just this one. When I was in Hollywood, anyone who had a smidgen of actual talent was light-years ahead of the pretty faces that just showed up with a dream. And when we hold open audition here, dear God, it’s a nightmare. Even girls who are supposed to have tons of experience can barely convey emotion. It truly makes me wonder how they got to where they are now.
Beside me, turning on the lights as we got back to my apartment, Porsche immediately laid out the choices we had narrowed down. Fifteen girls who had made me raise an eyebrow when they read.
“Did you sense anything in there?” I asked, pouring myself a drink and watching the sun begin to set. She rolled her eyes.
“It doesn’t work like that. I can only tell you if a spell is being cast or something, not if there’s just a magical being hanging about.” She accepted the drink I handed her, and sat down on the couch, her long limbs taking up little space. Still, her position was awkward, and I couldn’t help but laugh. Porsche was always folding herself into strange positions, the mark of a true dancer.