Horrified, I turn to him. "I am so sorry. My mind went blank."
He can't hide his grimace. "Don't worry about it. It's dress rehearsal." He leads me to the judges' table where three production assistants make random comments so the dress rehearsal will time out the same as the live show tonight. I'm such an idiot. Why did I think I could do this?
Minutes later we're backstage surrounded by glamorous dancers who look confident and avoid my eye contact. I don't know these people yet, but I'm pretty sure they know exactly who I am—the girl, famous for nothing, who stumbled through her number. My hands start to shake and go clammy. I see the EXIT door and bolt into the bright light of day.
"Chelsea." Dominic catches up and steps in front of me. "Don't panic."
"I can't do this." I wring my hands. Taking chances is not what I do. I'm a survivalist. I play life safe.
"Yes you can," he says.
"I need to go." I search for the direction of my trailer, but I'm surrounded by a sea of little white boxes.
A PA appears around the corner and throws up his hands in frustration when he spots us. "We need you guys set!"
Dominic waves him off and steers me further into the maze of trailers. "We're going to walk this off. Take a breath before we return for the final line up."
"I can't go back in there. I made a fool of myself." I stop, but he pulls me along to keep me moving.
"No, you didn't. I've been throwing a lot of moves at you. I've been pretty harsh and you didn't deserve it. I take responsibility."
But his words glaze over me as I try to think of ways to get out of the show, like faking an appendicitis or running into traffic. At the end of the row, he guides me back toward the studio.
"As soon as dress rehearsal is over, we'll find a quiet spot and mark through the number. You've done it a hundred times in the past two weeks."
"I just want to go home," I plead.
He pauses to study my meltdown. "I know." And for a moment I think he actually feels sorry for me. "But we have to."
I struggle to keep my breathing even, giving into the fact I have no choice. "Hopefully we'll be voted off and I won't have to do it ever again." I kick a pebble out of the way, stubbing my toe.
"That's a definite possibility," he says, and there's something about his tone of voice that makes me wonder if he wants us to go home too.