Anya opens the door to Mr. Hawthorne’s studio, her palms sweaty and knees shaky. Today is the big day. Mr. Hawthorne is holding auditions for his advanced acting class, the class hundreds of students are determined to get into every year. Anya doesn’t know exactly how many people are going to audition today, but she does know that she is up against some stiff competition.
As she steps inside the studio, her heart begins to race.
“Hello, Anya. I’m so glad you came here to audition,” Mr. Hawthorne says, smiling at her.
Anya gulps hard. She knows him well because she had taken his acting eleven class last year and acting twelve last semester, which was less than half a year ago. Mr. Hawthorne is the best teacher she has ever had: he had been hard on her at times, pushed her to the point of exhaustion, but that is because he likes her. Mr. Hawthorne believes in her potential, unlike most other people in Peach Valley. For this reason, Anya cannot understand why she is feeling this way.
“I’m glad I came here too because this means everything to me,” she says in one breath.
Mr. Hawthorne’s eyes flit from Anya to the notes on his clipboard, then back to her. “So, what are you going to perform for me today?”
Anya stares down at the paper in her hand, the one that has a short monologue written on it. “I’m going to read ‘Lonely Girl’. I wrote it, and don’t worry. I have it completely memorized.”
“I look forward to hearing it.”
Anya walks over to his desk and hands him the sheet of paper. She then returns to her spot in the middle of the room. Anya has rehearsed this monologue so many times that she can dramatize it in her sleep.
She strike a pose, clears her throat and then…
The short time passes by in a blur of emotions, facial expressions, tears, hand gestures and vocal variety. Anya finishes, slightly out of breath and feeling dazed. She notices the incredulous look on Mr. Hawthorne’s face, but for some reason, she is not worried. Anya feels rather calm and–jubilant. It’s as if some unseen force has reached its invisible hand inside of her and drained all of the fear from her body.
“Anya. That was amazing; the best audition I’ve seen today, by far.”
Anya beams all over. “Thank you, oh, thank you, Mr. Hawthorne. This means the world to me. I can’t wait to hear from you.”
“In one week,” he says, smiling at her.
Anya almost dances out of the studio, her feet light on the ground. She is elated because of what Mr. Hawthorne has just told her, but also because she knows that, regardless of how well everyone else performs, he has reserved a space for her in Advanced Acting twelve. Anya can’t wait to tell Patrick. But first, she has to find him.