They don’t move.
They just watch, pens scratching faintly against paper, eyes flicking over every line, every angle.
I push harder.
Stronger.
The final crescendo of the music swelly, and I rise into my last sequence, legs slicing through the air, arms arcing high and proud, the final turn pulling everything tight and clean and perfect.
I land in my final leg extended behind me, chest lifted, arms cursed elegantly overhead, and hold it.
My chest heaves with the effort, the fe in my muscles burning so hot it feels like my skin might split open, but I stay there, frozen, a stalije of blood and bone and willpower.
When the last note fades into silence, I lower my arms shinsly, the world rushing back in around me, the sound of my own breathing food in my
I turn toward the judges, heart still hammering, and for the first time since I walked in, I see it.
Tiny smiles.
Subtle.
But there.
And they y weren’t there before.
Relief floods through me so fast and so fierce I almost sway on my feet, but I catch myself, pulling my shoulders back, lifting my chin.
I did it.
I did everything I could,
I bow, deep and graceful, and murmur, “Thank you, my voice steady even though my legs feel like they might give out any second.
They nod, their pens still moving, and the volunteer gestures toward the side door.
I walk offstage, my steps slow, deliberate, my heart floating somewhere above my head.
The moment the door swings shut behind me, I let out a breath i didn’t realize I was holding, pressing my hand flat against the cool metal, my eyes stinging with the force of it all.
I did it.
I really did it.
And no no matter what happens next-whether I make it or not-I know, deep in my bones, that I gave it everything I had.
TCO
The second the heavy auditorium doors swing shut behind me, I can’t hold it in anymore.
I let out a squeal, half laugh, half relief, throwing my arms up over my head and spinning in a full circle on the cracked pavemand outride, not caring for once who sees, not caring about anything except the pure, reckless Joy flooding through me,
I did it.
I danced my heart out.
I gave them everything.
And I didn’t choke.
Td
I didn’t let the fear win.
I bounce on the balls of my feet, the thin fabric of my bolero sliding up my arms as I move, my sweat-slicked hair falling loose from the tight bun I shoved it into hours ago.
I’m still wearing my leotard, still have my jogging pants pulled over my tights, my pointe shoes swapped for battered sneakers that squeak slightly with every jump, but none of it matters.
I could be wearing a trash bag and I’d still feel like the sun’s burning for me today.
I can’t wait to tell Tyler.
To text Mila
To breathe, finally, without that thick knot of fear sitting in my chest.
I skip down the front steps two at a time, humming under my breath, tugging my phone out of my bag as I head toward the bus stop across the street.
It’s still light out-barely-the sun starting to dip below the rooftops, the sky streaked in bands of pink and gold that look almost fake.
The bus stop is empty, the bench shining cold under the streetlamp, the sign creaking slightly in the soft breeze
I pull up the bus schedule posted on the metal pole and squint at it, my heart still buoyant, still too full to worry about anything
And then-
I stop.
I look from the paper schedule to my phone.
Back to the schedule.
Back to my phone.
This… can’t be right.
My smile falters, the first tiny crack spiderwebbing across the surface.
The I last bus home left twenty minutes ago.
My stomach tudits, a cold, uncomfortable lurch that has nothing to do with excitement.
It’s fine.
I tap open the deshire app, my fingers clumsy with nerves, and watch the loading wheel spin for a moment before the steren message that panches the breath from my lungs.
Buster then usual. No drivers available in your aren
I stare at it for a long second, willing it to change.
It doesn’t.
The air feels colder now, seeping through the thin fabric of my holero, making the sweat cooling on my skin feel clammy and uncomfortable,
I glance up and down the street, but there’s no one around, just a few cars rolling past, their headlights slicing through the creeping dark.
I bite my lip, tugging my sleeves over my hands, and call Tyler.
Straight to voicemail.
I frown, call again, pacing a small, tight circle around the bus stop.
Nothing.
I close my eyes, forcing down the rising tide of frustration, and scroll to the Hayes’ home number.
Maybe he’s at his house.
Maybe he’s just ignoring his phone like he does sometimes when he’s watching a game with his dad.
The phone rings.
And rings.
And then-
A click..
A voice.
Rough. Deep
Not Tyler. lo?’ the voice says, low and clipped and unmistakably Asher’s.
“Hello?”
I freeze, my breath catching, my mind blanking for a second before I stammer out, “Um-hi, sorry-it’s Penny-
There’s a beat of silence, heavy and stretched out too long.
Then he says, flat and disinterested, “Tyler’s not here.”
I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Do you know when he’ll be back? I ask, trying to keep my voice light, casual, even though it’s trembling at the edges.
“No idea.” Asher says, the words sharp enough to cut
I sigh, the sound escaping before I can stop it. “Okay. Thanks anyway.”
I’m about to hang up when his voice ruts through again, rough and impatient.
“What’s wrong?”
I hesitate, the phone heavy against my car, debating for half a second whether to just lie, to say everything’s fine and figure it out myse
But something in his tone-grill, almo almost… almost concerned-makes me pause
“It’s nothing, I say quickly. Thanks again.”
“Penny,” he says, voice firmer now. “What’s wrong?”
I swallow hard, shifting my weight from foot to foot.
“My audition lasted longer than I thought,” I say finally, the words spilling out in a rush. “And I missed the last buc. And there any rideshares around. It’s fine, though. I’ll just walk.”
There’s a pause.
A long, charged pause.
“Where are you?” he asks, low and sharp.
“It doesn’t matter,” I snap back, heat flaring in my chest, because the last thing I need is another lecture, another judgmental comment from someone who thinks he knows everything.
“You didn’t plan for this?’ he says, the incredulity threading through his voice, and that’s it, that’s the match that lights the fuse.
“I’m hanging up now,” I say through gritted teeth, and before he can answer, I jab the and call button and shove my phone into my pocket with a force that makes my fingers ache.
Asshole.
Stupid, judgmental, condescending asshole.
I plop down on the cold metal bench, pressing my forehead against my knees, trying to think, trying to breathe.
Okay.
Options.
I can wait it out and hope a driver frees up.
New Book: Back Home to Marry Off Myself
Loredana’s father left the family for his mistress, leaving them to fend for themselves abroad. When life was at its toughest, her father showed up with “good news” after 8 years of absence: To marry off Loredana to a paralyzed son of the wealthy Mendelsohn family.