Page 123 of The Failed Audition

I’m not being dramatic about this either. The longer title is a butterfly dropintoa death drop with some alterations. Honestly, I’ve never even heard most of the tricks he’s taught me so far.Some he flat-out created from scratch. And others, he’s tweaked so they appear more dangerous.

Modified straddle slidereally does not encompass the fear that I feel from this one.

“If I thought you’d die, I’d never let you try this above twenty feet.” He steps back from me. “Climb.”

I inhale a motivational breath and start my ascent. Since the beginning of my training, I doubt I’d be able to scale the silk this easily and this fluidly. Nikolai’s instruction has been invaluable. When I begin wrapping my legs in the silk, I try to harness whatever grace I possess.

“You look angry!” Nikolai calls up from the bottom. “Relax your face.”

He knows that’s my “concentration face” and he says if I exhibit that expression during auditions, no one will want to hire me. I open and close my jaw.Go away, bitch face.I think it’d be more amusing if I didn’t just refer to my own face as a bitch.

Now fully wrapped and facial muscles softened, I’m ready for the drop. I think.

Catch yourself, Thora. You can do this.

Nikolai is at the base, his arms crossed over his chest. With a fixed gaze, lines crease his forehead, his focus only on me.

Do it, Thora.My heart slams into my ribcage.

Wait.

“Am I wrapped right?” I ask Nik, just double-checking.

“You know you are.” Though his eyes flit around my body, just to confirm it himself.

Do it.

I hesitate.

“Drop, Thora.”

I pull my knees through loops in the silk, and legs spread, I shoot downwards without the support. I squeeze my eyes closed, scared. Rarely am I ever scared about heights in general. Then Ifeel my body jerk upwards, the silk tightening around my thighs and catching my fall.

I open one eye. And then two.

I’m upside-down. And still too high up. About seven feet, maybe a little less.

Nikolai approaches, straight-faced. When he stops, our lips are in perfect symmetry, but he stays still, a commander that refuses to kiss his soldier. A teacher unwilling to make a pass at his student.

At least not in the classroom.

“Your face should be an inch from the mat, not right in front of me.” He grips the fabric above my foot.

“I realize this,” I say softly.

“When you begin the wrap, you need to give yourself more slack, more than you think is necessary.”

But the terrifying part is what happens if I give myself too much slack.

He reads me well. “Don’t be afraid.” His gaze flickers to my lips, like he may break his own rules this once.

My heart is on its own death drop.

“Nikolai…?” That’s not me. The voice, with a string of Russian jargon, comes from a petite, willowy platinum-blonde a few feet behind him.

I recognize Elena from tryouts months ago, and I’ve had the good fortune of never running into her here. Nikolai spins around and listens to her talk. I roll out of my position, climbing down from the aerial silk. Elena jabs her finger in my direction, her cheeks flushed with what appears to be anger.

Nikolai runs his hands through his hair, pushing back the longer strands. He replies in gruffer Russian.

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