Page 78 of The Failed Audition

So as I head out the door, into The Red Death, I know I’ve switched lanes. I’m headed in the same direction, but my route is slightly different.

The landscape has changed.

ACT TWENTY-ONE

My studio apartment has a single bedroom-kitchen-living area and a confined bathroom. One where I can sit on the toilet, use the sink or reach in the shower at the same time. The kitchen is also miniscule with portable counters, a hotplate, a microwave and a mini-fridge. Actually, miniscule is probably a forgiving word to describe the place.

But I don’t care much.

I lie on my mattress, an old one that Camila helped me pick out at a thrift store. Gross, yes, but I put new and clean sheets on top of it. No springboards. It rests on the scratched hardwood floors as is. I stare up at the ceiling tiles, yellowed and maybe moldy.

My lips tug up.

I can’t help it.

I’m here.

In Vegas.

I’ve made enough to have my own apartment.

Independence has never felt so satisfying. I’m grateful for every second of it. And I don’t ever want to forget this feeling,right now. I did something—I accomplishedsomething. I won’t let anyone’s realism take that from me.

This is the first strong foothold of my new life. The beginning of my dream and career.

I wipe the wetness beneath my eyes. “Well done, Thora James,” I whisper.

My phone buzzes on the floorboards, and I roll onto my stomach and grab my cell. I notice the name on the screen before I press the speaker button. SHAY.

“Hey,” I say, my face all smiles.

I can hear the sound of weights hitting benches and muffled chatter in the background. It’s safe to assume he’s at the gym. “Hey,” he replies. “So from your text earlier, I take it you’re not coming back.” His dejection sinks my stomach, my smile vanishing.

This morning I texted him a picture of my new view: the side of another stucco apartment complex. I thought it’d be funny. Especially since I told him I was apartment hunting last week. But maybe I should’ve known he’d be sullen. Friday he sent me a link to off-campus apartments in Columbus, Ohio.

I guess it’s just wishful thinking on my part—that he’d see the positives of why I’m here.

“I told you I wasn’t going back home,” I mutter, picking at the sheet on the mattress, dazed. My parents called for my new address so they could mail me some boxes of things: clothes, dishes, and stuff I took to college. When I gave them the address, I mentioned how it’d be easier to ship boxes to my “friend’s” place than have to pay The Masquerade the fee to receive large packages.

They bought the lie. They had no reason not to. I’ve always been truthful with them. Maybe that’s why it hurts to even think about.

“At least tell me you didn’t sign a year lease, Thora,” he says.

“I’m going month-to-month.”

“First smart decision.”

Ouch. I stay quiet, squinting at the ceiling. I know he’s just trying to leave a door open for me, so I can return to Ohio. But I need to be all in here.When he throws you a lifeline, don’t grab it.Even if it’s hard.

Shay sighs in frustration. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“It’s okay,” I breathe. “How’s conditioning?” Partly wanting to divert the discussion and partly wanting to hear more about him.

“Alright. Coach wants me to up the difficulty on my pommel horse routine.”

“You should,” I tell him. “You’re good enough to do it.”

“Thanks.” Voices escalate, and he muffles the phone as he talks to someone else. When he returns, he says, “I have to go. Some of the guys want to grab subs for lunch. Talk to you later?”

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