Participant Page 24

  I can’t believe I’m here. Six months ago, I wouldn’t have guessed I’d be standing in this hallway with a folder full of headshots competing for an acting scholarship and trying to get a talent agent. My finances and life in general are more uncertain than ever, but I feel free, hopeful and more alive than I’ve ever been in my life. I might be singing a different tune afterwards, but right now, I wholeheartedly believe it’s worth a shot.

  I woke up with butterflies in my stomach and they haven’t gone away. I stared at my reflection in the mirror while I brushed my teeth that morning. Who do you think you are, trying to become an actress at your age? I smiled at my reflection and answered back, A girl with a dream, that’s who. I’m wearing another new outfit. A pale pink, relaxed fit, V-neck T-shirt under a waist length, black, open cardigan sweater paired with black skinny jeans and black flats. My makeup is simple, and I made sure to file down my ragged nails and put on clear polish. I sprung for a professional wash and blow dry, wearing my freshly trimmed hair simply parted at the side and tucked behind my ears. Breakfast this morning was egg whites with two pieces of toast and I have an apple and a protein bar in my purse in case I get hungry. I’m as ready for this as I’ll ever be.

  “There you are.”

  I turn around and see Tessa rushing towards us through throngs of nervous teenagers, each one more gorgeous than the next, and wonder again what I’m doing there.

  “Are you as nervous as we are?” I ask her.

  “From the looks of you two, probably not,” she says with concern. “You look terrified.”

  “How can you not be nervous?” Talya whispers sharply.

  “I’ve been a drama kid since high school. Nerves are something that never completely go away. You just have to learn how to channel all that energy and not let it take over. Just pretend it’s another day in class,” Tessa says, trying to calm us down.

  “How are we supposed to do that when it’s obviously not? And where is Sabrina? I can’t believe she’d cut it this close,” I snap. All participants are required to sign in by 7:45 a.m.

  “She’s right here,” Sabrina says, grabbing my shoulder. “With bells on,” she sings with an exaggerated tilt of her head.

  Callie, Mindy and Molly join us. I’m not really sure who started it, but the seven of us are standing around in a circle, holding hands. I squeeze Talya and Tessa’s hands. They squeeze back. God, I love these girls and I wish nothing but the best for all of us.

  Friends and family are allowed to watch, and participants are to wait in the hall until their number is called. They also set up a green room where we can relax and keep our things. Jamie moved back to San Diego a few weeks ago and wanted to come. I asked her not to. I know she only meant to be supportive, but it would feel like pressure to me.

  In the acting division, the categories are TV Commercial, Cold Read, Scene and Monologue. Sabrina decided on just modeling because all they have to do is two runway walks and a ten-minute photo shoot. Mindy and Tessa are the only ones tackling both. Mindy might’ve been able to convince Molly to partake in modeling if a bikini wasn’t required for one of the runway walks.

  The pictures I carry in my portfolio today are a far cry from those graceless Polaroids I took on day one, but I put all my eggs into the acting basket and as silly as it might sound, I haven’t wanted anything more since that day I wanted to stick my beam routine at the California State Gymnastics Championships. Four hundred two. Now I remember why that number jogged something in my brain. My mouth drops open, and I cover it with my hand. It was my number for that meet. Is this coincidence or fate?

  “What’s wrong?” Tessa asks.

  “Nothing.” I shake my head, still lost in thought. I dig a package of cherry lifesavers out of my purse and pop one in my mouth. Three years of trying and I finally made it to championships my senior year. I didn’t excel as a club gymnast, and had a slow start in high school gymnastics, but something had finally clicked. I’d only qualified because someone got injured, but I was on fire, doing better than I’d ever done on Floor, Vault and Bars. After each stuck routine, my coach and I got more and more excited. Just before beam, she told me I could place and maybe even win if I didn’t fall. I was a nervous beam worker, so that was a lot of pressure for me.

  I remember leaving the gym where I paced back and forth in the quiet locker room, trying to convince myself that I could do this. I was so terrified of screwing up. I was almost upset that I had done well enough to be in this stressful position in the first place. Lost in my own world, I closed my eyes and visualized myself doing a perfect routine over and over in my head. I whispered, “You can do this. You can do this.”

  When the football team qualifies for play offs, its front page news, but I doubted that anyone would ever know if I won the whole thing. Nobody at my school cared about gymnastics. There wasn’t even anybody there to watch me unless you counted my coach. I’d stopped making my parents juggle their work schedules for meets a long time ago. I loved gymnastics so much, but there was no gymnastics scholarship waiting for me. I was doing this for myself. It would be the last gymnastics meet of my life and all I wanted was to hit that one beam routine.

  I hear someone whisper, “They’re calling people in.”

  I look over as the double doors to Ballroom B swing open and Tami, the consultant who signed me up for Chloe Dillon, steps outside with a clipboard cradled in her arms. Acting division-TV commercials is first. She calls out a string of numbers including Molly’s. “Good Luck,” we tell her as she joins the group.

  Once everyone gathers, she sends them in and the doors shut behind them with a bang. My level of nervousness shoots through the roof. I lean against the wall, running my commercial in my head. About thirty minutes later, the group of ten comes out. Molly exits with a relieved smile.

  Tami calls out the next group, and I hold my breath in anticipation when she says the last number. It belongs to Tessa. Mindy and I glance at each other and exhale.

  Three more groups file in and out before Mindy and I are called in together. A white screen looming above the stage will display our image larger than life while we perform. Immediately, I spot the familiar white X in front of the video camera where we’ll plant our feet, and I remind myself to steer clear of the legs extending from the base of three large soft box lights. They’re draped with black sandbags as a precaution, but if anyone could trip for no good reason, it’s me. The judges sit straight backed and stern at a long table directly in front of the stage. Just behind that are a few rows of chairs filled with agents and industry people, shuffling papers and silently appraising us as we enter the room. Behind them are friends and family. Tami points us to a row of chairs along the left side of the room where we’ll wait our turn.

  I try to relax. TV commercial is the shortest and easiest one to get through, and if I can do well here, I’ll be more confident going into the rest. For each introduction, we’re supposed to say something different about ourselves, but the first girl forgot. I could tell she realized it two seconds after she spoke her first word because she paused, but realized she had better keep going, tacking her introduction onto the end. The room stays quiet, without applause, as each person completes their turn. When Mindy performs, I glance between her small figure engulfed by the lights and camera and the tight shot of her face on the big screen. She nails her Kozy Shack Pudding Cups commercial, just as I expected her to. I’m next.

  I march up to the stage, shoulders back and a broad toothy smile on my face, taking my place within the half circle of lights. “Hello, my name is Alexis. I’m twenty-five years old and I used to be a gymnast.” I run my finger over the solitaire diamond hanging around my neck one last time for luck, pause for a beat then launch into my TV commercial. I maintain a pleasant expression on my face, an even pace and keep my head still as I rave about the perfect PH balance of Power Deodorant. “Strong enough for them, but made for you.” The judges remain expressionless throughout the entire sixty-seven seconds.
I exit the stage and take my seat, relieved to have the first one under my belt.

  And so it goes. Compete. Wait. Compete. Wait. We’re handed our scripts for cold read just minutes before we compete, which is nerve wracking, but at least I could refer to the paper. I was most worried about scene, which is make it or break it because no scripts are allowed. We read with a volunteer actor off camera who can feed lines if we draw a blank, but if you mess up, you mess up. Dropping a line can’t be covered up.

  My heart pounds in my ears as I wait for my turn. When they call my number, it’s like an out of body experience. I watch myself walk to the stage, pretending to be cool, calm and collected even though I’m totally freaking out and anything but on the inside.

  “Hello, my name is Alexis. I’m twenty-five years old. I used to have no idea what I wanted to be when I grow up, but now I know.” I pause for what feels like an eternity, but is probably only ten seconds tops. I draw a complete blank on my first line, but then it comes to me. I watch myself do the scene then it’s over. I smile briefly at the judges and leave the stage. I do it all over again for monologue. I feel really good about it all, but it’s so subjective. You just never know.

  I walk out of my last competition in a daze, physically spent. Standing in the hallway with my back to the wall, I slide down into a sit. It’s what the lead character in a dramatic, emotionally charged scene on TV would do. I rest my head on my bent knees, hiding my face, replaying everything that happened, trying to figure out if I was good enough to get what I want. That’s what it always comes down to. Are you good enough?

  I feel someone next to me. It’s Mindy, sliding down the wall the way I just did. There are tears in her eyes.

  “Mindy, what’s wrong?”

  “I could have done better. And it sucks.”

  “What do you mean? Your commercial was perfect. I saw it.”

  “That was the only one that went perfectly. I don’t know. I stumbled on the scene and my monologue felt off. I just have this horrible feeling that I blew it and Molly is going to make it in LA without me.”

  “No, I’m not. You’ll make it without me if anything. I’m only in one division, so your chances are twice as good,” Molly says, sliding down the wall into a sit next to Mindy, wrapping her arms around her. “Seriously, she does this all the time. She’ll cry after her perfect dance solo then win first place... and I always get secondorthird. I’m the one who should be crying.”

  Tessa spots us perched against the wall like little birds on a ledge and slides her way down to sit next to me.

  “Oh, my god,” she says.

  We swing our heads in her direction.

  “That bad?” Molly asks.

  “I rocked it,” she says in disbelief. “Now I’m nervous because if I think I did too good, that has to mean I didn’t right?”

  “Not necessarily,” I say. I’m happy for her but my heart sinks a bit because if she did her best, I don’t have a chance. Not to mention all these other talented kids from all over. I’m in the nineteen and up age division, but it’s all ages fourteen plus for the acting scholarship. They’re only giving away one.

  “I think having Earl tell me how badly I sucked every day was a real blow to my ego, but I think I needed it. Let’s hope this means a call back.”

  Competition halts until after lunch when the Modeling division starts. Molly goes to find their moms and Mindy starts towards the green room to get ready for the next round of competition.

  “Don’t feel too bad,” I tell her. “You’ve got a whole division ahead of you.”

  “Don’t remind me,” she says dejectedly.

  Finding myself alone with Tessa, I decide to ask about this tiny thing bugging me that I want to go away. “Tessa, I’m just curious, why would you tell Angela that we all met at Chloe Dillon?”

  She appears startled by my question and bites her lip.

  I wait for an explanation.

  “I’m sorry Lexi. I shouldn’t have told her. I knew you didn’t want her to know but it slipped out...”

  “But why?”

  “Because you’re good. I figured it might rattle you a little bit, and if it did, then you probably don’t belong in this business.”

  I’m confused.

  “I’ve been nothing but nice to you. I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t look out for my best interest if we’re supposed to be friends.”

  She fiddles with her hands. “I guess that’s part of the problem. I’ve never really had any friends.”

  The incongruity in our sameness is confounding. We share a similarly friendless path but diverge in our temperament. I decide that our similarities are more important than our differences.

  “I’m sorry,” she says again, pleading with her voice and her eyes.

  I smile at her. “It’s okay. Go get ready for modeling.”

  She returns my smile and touches my shoulder, but says nothing more as she rises to her feet and heads towards the green room.

  I sit there on the floor a little while longer, alone. I can’t seem to get out of my own head just yet and my mind again wanders back to my last high school gymnastics meet. I arched my back and raised both arms in salute to the judges then faced the beam. I held my left leg, toes pointed, poised above the mat, then ran into my hop on mount, bounding off of the spring board onto the balls of my feet. No wobble. Switch leap series, stick. Back handspring, back handspring series, slight wobble. Arabesque. I was almost there. I went into my full turn, rising onto the ball of my left foot and whipping my leg up and around in passé, and as soon as I put my right foot onto the beam to finish, my hips fell out of line. I put my hands on the beam to try to save it, but in one second, I was off the beam and on the mat. I stuck my Round-off back layout full twist dismount, but it didn’t matter. Top six placed and I ended up eleventh all-around because I couldn’t stay on the beam when it counted. I was knocked out of the medals by a move I always stuck, and so bitterly disappointed in myself. Four hundred two. I have the same number but I’m not sure I can handle it if today doesn’t turn out differently.

  The modeling portion isn’t nearly as much of a pressure cooker as acting and runs pretty quickly. After watching the runway walks and photo shoots, the judges are sent to a private room to judge photos. I gave hugs and words of encouragement to those in need, but mainly paced and agonized my way through the rest of the day.

  Now that it’s over, Callie has her personality back and behaves like her usual bubbly self. I can tell Talya’s relieved to have it over with too. We all are. It’s been a long day and the only one completely unaffected by it all is Sabrina.

  “I smiled pretty for the camera and walked,” she says coolly.

  Everyone waits anxiously in the ballroom while they tabulate scores and organize agency requests. We wait for about thirty minutes, then it’s time to announce the winners. The moment we’ve all been waiting for has arrived and I’m pretty sure I’m not the only one who’s ambivalent about knowing the results.

  Chapter 34

  Agency Day is a daydream I don’t have to snap out of or dismiss because it’s real and it’s happening to me, even if I can’t believe it. I imagined I’d bolt from my chair, arms raised in victory, if Chloe Dillon called my name, but when she actually does, that doesn’t happen. I remain in my chair like an abandoned tree stump with my mouth slightly ajar.

  Someone whispers, “Go, go. That’s you,” but I can’t get my brain to tell my legs what to do. I’d already won second place in TV Commercial, first place in Cold Read, and third place in Scene. When I hear Alexis Conway for first overall in the nineteen plus adult acting division, I’m certain it’s a cruel, elaborately orchestrated practical joke because there is no possible way such a thing could be happening. No possible way in hell, and yet Chloe Dillon is on stage calling my name for a second time, and Tessa is practically shoving me out of my chair. In my daydream, I trot triumphantly like a thoroughbred horse with one of those gigantic bouquets draped acros
s its back and a blue ribbon stuck to its neck. But in reality, my legs feel disconnected from the rest of my body, and I amble aimlessly towards the stage in a daze. Heads turn in my direction as fellow competitors look upon me with admiration and congratulations. Me. I’m good enough. For once I rose to the occasion and it’s unlike any experience—any feeling—I’ve ever had before. I‘m not simply a participant. I’m a winner, and it means everything to me.

  My legs carry me to accept my award and back, but it still doesn’t feel real. I collapse into my chair, looking at Sabrina, wide eyed and in total shock. Seconds later, my face crumples with emotion and silent tears of relief. Happy tears are just as gut wrenching as sad tears, but so much sweeter, and this is when I realize that I really did it—not only for myself, but for Will too. The usually stoic Sabrina even has tears in her eyes, for me. The cut of polished glass clutched tightly between my sweaty palms represents joy, relief, vindication, and so much more. If I could go back in time, I’d tell that sad little girl in the closet about this. She wouldn’t have to suffer anymore, and she’d be comforted to know that bright days lay ahead.

  I barely have a chance to digest anything that just happened when Chloe Dillon announces that the callback list is up. Winning is nice, but agency callbacks is what really counts. We file out of the ballroom, then nudge our way through the pandemonium as high pitched whoops of triumph overlap hushed murmurs of dejection. The list of agents under Talya’s name is so long, she snaps a quick pic with her phone rather than attempt to write them all down. I’m relieved to see I have two. Tessa was concerned because she didn’t place in anything, but breathes a sigh of relief when she finds her name listed as well. We thread our way out as others press forward to get a look.

  Callie emerges from the crowd last. She scanned the sheets multiple times, frantically searching for her name, but she finally has to accept it isn’t there. Karen follows her where she stands on the other side of the hallway, next to a fake potted plant, wiping at her eyes with the back of her hand. Their mother angrily discusses what she refers to as bait and switch with another indignant mother whose daughter Jill also walks away from Agency Day with nothing. Jill stands glumly against the wall, watery eyes rimmed with smudged mascara, shoulders hunched with disappointment.