I lie there, cheek pressed to the ice, the cold burning into my skin.
I don’t open my eyes.
I can’t, because I know exactly what I’ll see.
Disappointment. The same expression I’ve seen on casting directors’ faces more times than I want to admit, but somehow, it’s worse now. It’s not just their disappointment I feel…it’s mine.
All that work.
All that practice.
All that hope.
For nothing.
“Can someone please check if Ms. Conners is all right?”
Before I know it, there are people on the ice—production assistants in sneakers with rubber guards—hurrying toward me, crouching down and speaking slowly as if I’m a wounded animal that might bolt if they say the wrong thing.
“I'm fine,” I manage, though my voice is barely a whisper.
They help me up anyway, their hands gentle but firm. I plant my skates on the ice and dust off my dress with trembling fingers, pretending that fixes the monumental embarrassment I just endured.
Pull it together.
Just get through the next thirty seconds without crying.
That’s all you have to do.
The judges are huddled together, microphones angled away, whispering to each other. I can’t hear them, but my brain fills in the blanks easily enough.
She can't skate. Why did she even audition?
My chest tightens.
Then I skate slowly back to the microphone stand and focus on the spot just above their heads so I don’t have to see whatever expression is waiting for me. Pity. Confusion. Mild horror. Take your pick.
“Sorry about that little misstep,” I say, forcing a bright smile that feels like it might crack my face in half. “I think there was… something on the ice.”
A weak joke. A pathetic attempt at dignity.
No one laughs.
I clasp my hands behind my back so no one sees them shake. I keep my shoulders square, chin up, pretending I’m not dying inside as I wait for them to dismiss me.
Any second now.
The sting of embarrassment crawls under my skin, settling in my ribs, my throat, my spine.
I know what’s coming. I’ve felt it a hundred times.
Rejection.
Another no. Another almost. Another reminder that I’m not enough—not talented enough, not graceful enough, not skilled enough to win the things I actually want.
Maybe I should just take the L.
Maybe that’s all I’m ever going to get.
