Kimberly Wyatt - Billie's Big Audition

‘Wow, check out Buddha here,’ Tilly said, a little too loudly, nodding in the boy’s direction.

Billie pulled on her ballet shoes and to her horror, her big toe burst through a hole in the tip! Panic churned inside of her. What should she do? She didn’t have any other shoes. But how could she dance with one of her toes hanging out? It looked terrible. Billie felt like crying. She was about to audition at WEDA – one of the top dance academies in the world – and there was a massive hole in her shoe!

‘If I were you, I’d go barefoot,’ Tilly said, shuffling closer. ‘You won’t be able to dance properly like that. You’ll be way better barefoot. Take it from someone who knows.’

How did Tilly know? Had she had this happen to her too? But before Billie could say anything, the door opened and a tall, athletic-looking man with cocoa-coloured skin came striding in. Billie took off her shoes and stuffed them in her bag.

‘Good morning, everyone,’ the man called as he made his way to the front of the studio. He was wearing sweats and a scarf and his feet were encased in socks, legwarmers and sandals, making them look more like a pair of moose’s hooves. ‘My name’s Mr Marlo and I’m going to be your audition choreographer. First of all, can I ask you to place all of your belongings over in the corner behind the piano, then take your positions ready to dance.’

Billie placed her bag in the corner then, as she made her way to the front, Cassandra shoved past her.

‘Hey, I was there –’ Billie gasped.

‘Welcome to WEDA,’ Cassandra said with a sneer, before looking down at Billie’s bare feet. ‘You need to make way for the serious dancers.’

Burning with anger, Billie moved back to the centre of the studio.

‘Welcome to the World Elite Dance Academy,’ Mr Marlo said, looking around the studio at them all. ‘Here at the academy we’re looking for dancers willing to work hard, try harder, and aim to be the best in the world. Today’s audition will be all about finding those dancers – finding those who have what it takes. This is your chance to shine. To prove yourself. So stay focused and on your game.’ Mr Marlo nodded to an assistant, who tapped on her laptop, filling the studio with classical music. ‘Let’s start with ballet, beginning with an adage,’ Mr Marlo said. ‘I’ll show you the sequence first, then I want you to join in.’

The next hour passed by in a blur. At first, still shaken from her encounter with Cassandra, Billie felt a little stiff and unsure. But pretty soon she started to relax. Even at WEDA, with so much at stake, she was still able to lose herself in the dance.

‘OK, guys, good work,’ Mr Marlo said, walking around the studio. When he got to Billie he stopped. ‘Where are your shoes?’ he asked her quietly.

‘One of them broke as I was putting it on. I thought it would be better to dance barefoot,’ Billie said, her face flushing.

‘I see. Well, good job,’ Mr Marlo said, his brown eyes twinkling. ‘Your technique could use a little fine-tuning but your determination and attack is impressive. Try to let go of the nerves and surrender to the music even more. I can tell there’s a lot of potential in there. Keep up the good work.’

Billie flushed with happiness. A teacher at WEDA had praised her dancing! She looked up and saw Cassandra scowling at her.

Mr Marlo took off his scarf and leaned back against the barre. ‘Next, I’m going to call each of you to the front of the studio and I want you to say your name, what you love about dance and three adjectives that best describe you as a person.’ He picked up a clipboard. ‘OK, first up, let’s have Cassandra Ivanov.’

Billie sighed. Typical that Cassandra would get to go first. She watched as Cassandra strode to the front of the studio.

‘My name is Cassandra Ivanov and I love to dance because I was born to dance – obviously , with my family background.’ She looked at Mr Marlo knowingly.

Mr Marlo looked back at her blankly.

‘My grandmother danced at the Kirov in Russia. So you could say I’m ballet royalty.’

‘Yeah, or you could say you’re a stuck-up snob,’ Tilly muttered.

Billie bit down on her lip to stop herself laughing. But then her heart sank. What hope did she have competing against someone like Cassandra?

‘And could we have three adjectives that best describe you?’ Mr Marlo said.

Arrogant, rude, smug? Billie thought.

‘Driven, determined, talented,’ Cassandra rattled off immediately, like she said it every night in the mirror before she went to sleep.

‘OK, now show me what we are working with. I want to see your posture in fifth position. Take four pivots, then go sit over there,’ Mr Marlo said, gesturing to the side of the studio. It was slightly reassuring to see that he didn’t seem overly impressed with Cassandra.

‘Jonathan Cross,’ Mr Marlo called next, looking at his clipboard.

‘It’s MJ,’ a pale, blond-haired boy wearing a fedora hat muttered.

‘MJ?’ Mr Marlo said.

‘Yeah.’ The boy got to his feet and walked over to Mr Marlo.

‘MJ short for Jonathan Cross?’ Mr Marlo said with a grin.

‘No. Michael Jackson.’

A ripple of laughter passed across the studio.

The boy frowned. Billie had noticed him during the dance. It was impossible not to notice him, his ballet was exquisite. But now he seemed like a different person. Twitchy and nervous, his eyes darting all around.

‘So, MJ, what do you love about dance?’

‘I don’t know. I suppose I love that I don’t need to – to speak when I dance. I – I can speak through my body.’

‘Amen to that, brother,’ Mr Marlo said. ‘And do you have three adjectives that best describe you?’

MJ looked at him blankly. ‘I don’t really . . . Dancer. Male. Autistic.’

‘Thanks, MJ,’ Mr Marlo said softly. ‘Go take a seat.’

As Billie watched MJ go and sit down by Cassandra she felt filled with admiration. One of the regulars in her mum’s cafe had autism. Her mum had explained to her how hard he found social situations. It must have been so difficult for MJ to stand up there and speak in front of them all.

‘Rafael Garcia,’ Mr Marlo called.

Billie almost gasped out loud as the boy with the black beads got up. She’d heard of Rafael Garcia. DANCE magazine had done a huge profile piece on him. He was some kind of child prodigy, supposed to be the next Mikhail Baryshnikov. Like MJ, he looked unimpressed to be there. Billie felt butterflies in her stomach as she thought of having to dance in front of him. What if she made a fool of herself ? What if she fell over? She took a deep breath. Don’t worry about him , she told herself. Just focus on you and being your best.

‘I am Rafael Garcia,’ he said in a thick Cuban accent. ‘I love to dance because dance is where I come alive.’

Billie wasn’t sure if it was because he wasn’t speaking in his first language but he didn’t seem like he quite meant it.

‘And your three adjectives?’ Mr Marlo asked.

Rafael shrugged. ‘Tired. Jet-lagged . . . Bored.’

Billie froze. How could he talk to Mr Marlo like that? Didn’t he realize how prestigious WEDA was?

‘Hmm, well we’ll have to make sure we put you through your paces in the next part of the audition to make sure you don’t get bored again. Sit.’ Mr Marlo was clearly annoyed.

As the next few auditionees were called up, Billie felt increasingly nervous. What should she say when it was her turn? Everyone else seemed so polished, like they had been practising for days. The more Billie tried to find the right words, the more they wriggled from her grasp. And then, finally, her name was called. Somehow she made it to the front of the studio, her skin burning from the lights and the stares.