“All the way from where?”
“Clover City, ma’am.”
“Well, damn, that’s all the way out by Marfa.”
“It is,” I say.
She shakes her head. “But I’m sorry, Tillie—”
“Millie,” I correct her.
She smiles apologetically. “Yes, I’m so sorry, Millie, but our decisions are final.”
“Did you even see my audition tape?” I ask, and my voice comes out a little too accusatory.
Dr. Coffinder pushes back from her desk, like she’s about to stand up and dismiss me. “Well, no. Not in full.”
“What? Seriously?”
“Well, it’s not our process,” she explains. “Iris and Grant, my teaching assistants, do the application intake, and I’m their tie-breaking vote.”
“You mean you rejected me without even reviewing my application in full?” I think back to how awful my nerves were the day I sent in my application. What a big deal it was for me. How much effort I put in. And then how quickly it was probably just discarded.
She smiles again, but this time it’s a bit more sour. “Welcome to academia.”
“Can you at least just watch my tape? After I drove all this way, can you at least do that?” I wish I could channel Callie in this moment. She would know just what to say and just what to do. Callie’s the kind of person who doesn’t think of the perfect comeback five minutes too late. She’s got her response ready to go before the last syllable is even out of the other person’s mouth.
I take a centering breath.One thing at a time, Millie.“Please.” I persist once more. “It would mean so much to at least have your opinion.”
She checks the thin silver watch on her wrist. “Well, they’ll definitely be out of barbacoa by the time I get there and wait in line. All right. Let’s see it.”
Frantically, I dig through my backpack and hand her my phone with my audition tape pulled up.
She sighs and hits play, slumping back in her seat.
I hold my breath, studying every twitch of her face, but she’s unmoved entirely.
After I’ve done my sign-off, she tosses the phone back to me and I fumble to catch it.
“Well, I’ve definitely seen worse. Your puns were awful, but somehow... cute?” She studies me for a moment. “Iwas the tie-breaking vote on your application, Millie.”
“Oh.” Somehow I hadn’t expected that. She’d just been so warm and accommodating even though I had stopped her from going to lunch. But it was her. She was the one who rejected me.
She lifts herself onto her desk and crosses her arms. “Grant,” she says, “the Ken doll–looking TA out there, voted against you, and Iris voted for you.” She smiles at Iris’s name, and I can see she has a soft spot for her. “They both made their case for you, and I agreed.”
“Their case for me?” I ask.
“Grant said you’d be better suited behind the camera or on radio. Iris disagreed.” Her brow furrows, and I can see that for the first time she’s feeling a bit uncomfortable. “You see, Millie—and you should know I don’t agree with this—there’s just a certain look that reporters have. It’s archaic, but it’s what sells. And being on television is all about ratings and ratings are all about ads and ads are all about money.”
I don’t respond. I don’t quite know how to. I feel like I’ve walked into a brick wall.
Dr. Coffinder must see how stunned I am. “When I was a girl, the only thing I was serious about was ballet. I loved it. I breathed it. My parents spent so much money and time carting me to classes and sending me to prestigious camps and workshops, but at the end of the day, when the time came to turn pro, no one wanted me. Bad feet. Too short.” She says it so simply, like it’s been said to her so many times that she hears it in her sleep.
My heart aches for her. “That’s awful.”
She nods aggressively. “Yes, exactly. It was awful. Someone could have saved me years of pain and suffering. I could’ve spent all those years concentrating on something I was actually capable of achieving. Do you see now?”
“No,” I say quietly. “Not at all. What’s awful is that you have to be a certain height or have certain kinds of feet to be a dancer. Your height and your feet, though. Neither of those things is awful.”
