Friday had arrived faster than I'd hoped. The morning blurred by—Spanish class and literature passed in a haze of nerves and half-hearted attention. The excitement of the Costa Rica trip and finishing the Spanish project should've been enough to lift my spirits, but all I could think about was the looming audition.
It was finally here: the day I'd been working toward for weeks.

And I was a wreck.

I stood in the studio dressing room, staring at my reflection. Myr leotard and the flowing chiffon skirt, should've made me feel confident—ethereal, even. Instead, my stomach twisted in knots as I adjusted my hair for the third time.
My fingers shook as I reached for my dance bag, double-checking that I had everything. Rosin, check. Pointe shoes, check. A bottle of water, check. My nerves, unfortunately, were not packed away neatly like the rest of my things.

The studio outside buzzed with energy. Dancers stretched and warmed up, their chatter a mix of excitement and anticipation. It felt like the walls were closing in with every second.

"Amber, you good?" one of the girls asked as she walked by, her eyes filled with genuine concern.

I nodded quickly, forcing a tight smile. "Yeah. Just... the usual pre-audition jitters."

She smiled back, sympathetic. "You'll kill it. You always do."

I muttered a quick thanks, though her words barely registered. My mind was already spinning with what-ifs.

What if I forgot the choreography? What if I stumbled? What if the special guest judge, Clara Alessi, thought I wasn't good enough?
Taking a deep breath, I stepped into the studio. The polished wood floors gleamed under the bright lights, the faint scent of rosin and sweat hanging in the air. A line of judges sat at a long table near the front, their expressions calm but unreadable. At the center was Clara Alessi herself, the renowned ballerina whose mere presence was enough to make seasoned dancers quake.

My heart sank as I glanced around the room. The competition was fierce. Dancers were stretching effortlessly into splits, spinning into perfect pirouettes, their faces glowing with determination.

I swallowed hard, clutching my bag tightly as I made my way to the corner to warm up. My legs felt like jelly as I stretched, every movement stiff with nerves.

"Ballerina."

The low, teasing voice made me freeze mid-stretch. I turned slowly to find Bryan leaning casually against the doorframe of the studio, his arms crossed over his chest. He wasn't supposed to be here, and yet, here he was, dressed in his usual casual style that somehow still looked annoyingly good.

"What are you doing here?" I hissed, glancing around to make sure no one was listening.

He smirked, his dark eyes gleaming with mischief.

"Lily forgot her water bottle again. Lucky for you, I'm a good brother."

He held up the pink bottle in question, and I groaned internally.

"Great. Thanks. Now, can you go?" I whispered, my voice sharp.

"What's the rush?" he asked, stepping closer. "You look like you're about to pass out."

"I'm fine," I snapped, trying to focus on my stretches.

"Sure you are," he said, his voice dropping into that infuriatingly smooth tone he used when he knew he was getting under my skin. "You're practically shaking."

"It's just... pre-audition nerves," I admitted reluctantly, avoiding his gaze.

Bryan tilted his head, studying me for a moment. "You've been practicing for weeks. Stop freaking out."

"Easy for you to say," I muttered. "You're not the one being judged by Clara Alessi."

He chuckled, low and warm, the sound curling around me like smoke. "Relax. You'll probably nail it."

"'Probably'?" I shot back, glaring at him.

His grin widened.

"Hey, I don't hand out guarantees. But you're good, Amber. Even I can see that."

The unexpected softness in his tone caught me off guard, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. But before I could respond, his smirk returned.

"Just don't trip, okay?" he teased, turning to leave. "I'd hate to hear about how that went."

I glared at his retreating back, my nerves momentarily replaced by irritation. Of course Bryan couldn't resist throwing one last jab before disappearing.

"All right, dancers," Mrs. Lawson called, clapping her hands to gather everyone's attention. "It's time. Let's start with the solo auditions."

The room fell silent, the energy crackling with anticipation. One by one, dancers took their place in the center of the floor, pouring their hearts into every move. Each performance was met with polite applause, but I couldn't tell if it was genuine or just nerves on everyone's part.
As my name was called, my heart leapt into my throat. I took a shaky breath, stepping forward and trying to channel every ounce of confidence I didn't feel.

This is it, Amber. You've got this.

The moment my name echoed through the studio, everything around me seemed to fade. My heartbeat pounded in my ears, drowning out the soft murmurs of the other dancers. I adjusted my hair one last time and stepped forward, my pointe shoes whispering against the polished wood floor.

I glanced at the panel of judges. Clara Alessi sat in the center, her elegant posture and serene expression as intimidating as I'd imagined. Her dark eyes were sharp, observing every movement in the room, as if she could see through to my very soul.

Don't think about her. Just dance.

I took my position at center stage, my feet poised in first position, arms held gracefully. The music began—a soft, melodic piano piece that started slow before swelling into a dramatic crescendo. I inhaled deeply, letting the first few notes settle over me, and then I moved.

The opening movements were soft and deliberate. My arms extended gracefully, fingers brushing through the air as I melted into the flow of the music. The familiar choreography guided me, each movement etched into my muscles from hours of practice. My feet slid effortlessly into a pirouette, the studio spinning around me before I landed smoothly.

As the music swelled, so did my confidence. My body responded instinctively, every plié and jeté executed with precision. I soared into a grand jeté across the studio, the chiffon skirt of my leotard trailing behind me like gossamer wings. For a moment, I forgot about the judges, the competition, even my own nerves.
All that mattered was the music and the movement—the way my body felt like it was painting a story onto the air.

For a brief moment, the room was silent. My gaze flickered to the panel of judges, and I caught Clara Alessi's expression—a faint, approving smile curved her lips as she nodded slightly, scribbling something on her clipboard. The other judges murmured quietly among themselves, but their faces reflected the same quiet approval.
Mrs. Lawson clapped, her warm smile encouraging. "Beautiful work, Amber," she said, her voice cutting through the stillness. "Well done."

A wave of relief washed over me, my knees nearly buckling as I stepped back toward the group of dancers. Whispers greeted me as I passed—soft words of praise and admiration from the other dancers.

"That was stunning," one of them murmured, her eyes wide with awe.

"Effortless," another whispered. "I can't believe how clean those fouettés were."

My cheeks flushed with gratitude, but I couldn't bring myself to respond. My mind was still spinning, trying to process the surreal moment of stepping off the floor and realizing that I'd nailed it.

As I gathered my things in the corner of the studio, a familiar voice cut through the lingering hum of energy.

"Well, look at you," Bryan drawled, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed. He wasn't supposed to still be here, but of course, he had to show up again. "Making everyone else look like amateurs."

I shot him a glare, though the heat in my cheeks betrayed my pride. "What are you still doing here?"

"Lily wanted her bottle," he said, holding up the pink water bottle as if to prove his point. "And maybe I wanted to see if you'd fall on your face."

"Charming," I muttered, rolling my eyes as I slipped on my warm-up sweater. "Sorry to disappoint you."

Bryan smirked, his gaze sweeping over me in a way that made my skin tingle. "You didn't. That was... impressive."

The unexpected compliment caught me off guard, and for a moment, I didn't know how to respond. But before I could, he pushed off the doorframe and turned to leave.

"Don't overthink it, Ballerina," he called over his shoulder. "Just don't let it go to your head."

The door swung shut behind him, and I let out a shaky breath, clutching my bag tightly. My heart was still racing—not just from the adrenaline of the performance but from the way Bryan had looked at me. For once, his teasing had felt less like a jab and more like something else entirely.
I lingered in the studio for a while, stretching out and soaking in the quiet after the storm of the audition. The other dancers filtered out one by one, their whispered encouragements still ringing in my ears.

For the first time in weeks, I felt like I could breathe. The audition was over, and I'd given it my all. Whatever happened next, I knew I'd done something to be proud of.

The moment I stepped out of the studio, the crisp evening air hit my face, but it did nothing to cool the warmth bubbling inside me. My body felt light, my heart still thrumming with the exhilaration of the audition. For the first time in weeks, the knot of nerves in my stomach had unraveled, replaced by a heady mix of relief and pride.

I couldn't stop smiling. My steps, though hurried, felt almost like part of a dance, my feet instinctively gliding and twirling as if the music from the audition still played in my head. A grand jeté here, a small pirouette there—I didn't care if anyone was watching. This was my moment, and I wasn't about to dim it for anyone.
Despite my euphoria, one lingering thought buzzed persistently at the back of my mind: What part would I get?

The Nutcracker wasn't just a performance—it was the performance. Every role mattered, but there was one part I'd dreamed of since I first saw the ballet as a child. Not Clara, the bright-eyed heroine of the story, but the Sugarplum Fairy. She was elegance personified, the epitome of grace and poise. Her solo in the Land of Sweets was nothing short of magical, and it was the one role I'd fantasized about performing for years.
I felt good about my audition—great, even. But so did everyone else. The advanced dancers in my class were fierce competitors, and I couldn't deny that a few of them had nailed their routines too. There was no guarantee that I'd be cast as the Sugarplum Fairy, no matter how much I wanted it.

Still, as I twirled on the sidewalk, letting my chiffon skirt flare out with the motion, I allowed myself to hope. Just a little.

By the time I reached the dorm building, I was practically vibrating with excitement. My steps quickened as I climbed the stairs, my bag swinging at my side. The familiar creak of our door greeted me as I pushed it open, calling out before I even stepped inside.

"Izzy! You're not going to believe how it went!"

Isabella's head popped up from the couch, her blonde hair piled into a messy bun. She was in her usual loungewear: black leggings and one of Blake's oversized hoodies that she had "borrowed" indefinitely. She looked up from her laptop, her expression shifting from curiosity to a broad grin as she took in my flushed cheeks and sparkling eyes.

"Amber Lee," she said, closing her laptop and sitting up. "That is the face of someone who crushed it. Tell me everything!"

I laughed, dropping my bag by the door and flopping onto the couch beside her. "It was... amazing," I said, still breathless.

"I didn't mess up. The fouettés were perfect. And Clara Alessi smiled! She smiled, Izzy!"

"Stop," she gasped, grabbing my arm. "The Clara Alessi smiled at you? You're practically a star already."

"Don't jinx it," I said with a nervous laugh, though her words warmed me. "I don't even know what part I'll get."

"Amber," Izzy said, shaking her head as if I'd lost my mind. "You're getting the Sugarplum Fairy. It's practically written in the stars."

I hesitated, biting my lip. "I don't know. Everyone else was really good too. There's a chance I might end up as something else."

"Are you kidding me?" Izzy said, throwing her hands up. "Amber, you've been working on this role for years. I've seen your practice routines. Nobody else even comes close to how amazing you are as the Sugarplum Fairy."

Her confidence in me made my chest swell with pride, but I couldn't shake the nagging doubt. "I guess we'll see," I said softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. "It's out of my hands now."

Izzy sighed dramatically, flopping back against the couch. "Well, if you don't get it, we're staging our own Nutcracker. I'll play all the other roles, and Blake can build us a set."

I laughed, shaking my head. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculous, but supportive," she said with a wink. "Now, do you want to celebrate with snacks, or should I start planning your victory party?"

As the excitement began to settle into a warm glow, I stood to grab a bottle of water from the fridge. The reality of the day still hadn't fully sunk in, but it was starting to feel more real with every passing minute.

Izzy followed me to the kitchen, leaning against the counter with a sly grin. "So," she said, her tone teasing. "Did a certain baseball-playing tutor show up to cheer you on?"

I rolled my eyes, though my cheeks flushed.

"Bryan wanted Lily's water bottle."

"Uh-huh," she said, raising an eyebrow. "And?"

"And nothing," I said firmly, though the memory of his smirk and his unexpected compliment lingered in my mind. "He was his usual annoying self."

Izzy snickered, clearly unconvinced. "Sure, Amber. Sure."

Ignoring her, I turned back to the fridge to grab a snack, my mind already drifting back to the audition and the possibilities ahead. Whatever happened next, I knew one thing for sure: I'd given it my all. And for now, that was enough