“Freak.” I ignored it. “Think she’s better than all of us.” I’d learned long ago if you reacted to the whispers they only tended to get worse. Worse as in, my losing my temper and starting a fight. It wouldn’t be too bad if I won, just I normally didn’t. It isn’t because I’m a weakling, just that the whole “anger clouds your vision” thing, is spot on. They can taunt me, but I can’t quite taunt them back.

“Bitch thinks she’s queen of the world or something.” I took a deep breath. Then threw myself into the spin, putting my anger into it. I ducked and weaved just as the instructor was doing. She stopped and started again, this time with something different. I watched closely, the taunts still coming out of nowhere and bombarding me. She did it once, then again. I joined in. Right arm, left, jump, punch. This was my one shot at getting out of here. I watched the expression on the instructor’s face, her feet, her arms. I watched it all.

She added everything together. Left, right, pop, twist. Again and again. It was the first part of auditions for being a choreographer. For a good band. Actually friggin’ awesome band. Falling Up Stairs or something like that. She added an arm. I didn’t even think, just did it. Dancing was its own form of signing. You didn’t need to be able to talk to dance. It was expressing who you are. I could do that. Two sharp claps rang out. Instant stoppage on the movements. New part. Scuff, heel, spin, left arm out, look up, down.

“Okay, all together.” We did it, from the beginning to the end, then again. The fourth time, I took my eyes off of her, and did it myself. Slide, brush, twist, stamp, stamp, twist. I blocked everything out, and let the music take me over. This was my life. Dancing. The other people here just wanted to get into the band, get autographs, go on tour. . . be popular. Me, I could care less, they could be the worse band in the world, everyone could hate them, but if got me out of this life, well then. . . I’d be good.

Then the music started, and we did it once with the music. It was faster, way faster than we had gone. The cue was too soon and everyone missed. Once, twice, a third time. Each time, I didn’t get it. The beat was too fast, but I was fairing better than most of the other kids. They were missing whole parts. I think they were forgetting it.

Then we got pushed into groups. I was with three girls and a guy. No one said anything as we were lead through different halls and doorways, out of the main part we had been in for the last two hours learning the piece, perfecting it. We stopped at a door that looked the same as all the other ones. It was opened up, and we were all but pushed into it.

“You’ll have about an hour to practice, before we take you on the stage. After you perform it, you can leave. If you don’t get a call you didn’t make it. You do, then, well, you’ll be back for part two.” The guy slammed the door shut behind us, making the other kids jump. And people say I have anger management issues.

Mirrors lined one of the walls and there was one CD player in the room, and guess who used it? The four kids who all knew each other. I watched as they practiced. I wasn’t really allowed in the group. Apparently the whispers of freak had reached them. Maybe they were even the ones who had started it. I only listened to the music till I got the beat. Then I blocked it all out. All of it. It was just me. I did it once, then twice, each time better than the last.

I pulled halfway out of a turn so that I was facing the mirrors, able to see the other kids. They were all watching me. I brought my gaze so that it never left their faces. Then they were following me as I moved, trying to copy me. They weren’t that great, they could do it, but they didn’t put themselves into it. I don’t think they felt it was like talking. Their expressions were the same. Always a fake smile plastered on. It wasn’t changing or moving. It wasn’t even the right expression for the beat, for the song. You were suppose to be mad, angry, pissed off at the world. Or even, at the very least, a neutral face. They were happy, it wasn’t right. I brought my arms up into the air, before twisting them around me to the back of my head. Two beats. It wasn’t in the piece we learned, but hey, it was funny watching the other people try to do it. I moved my body up and down, and they looked at me wide eyed. If I could’ve laughed, I would’ve, I tried to keep a straight face though. The one girl tried to copy it. She did a pretty good job too.

I turned around so I was facing her. I brought my hands above my head again, fingertips spread apart, and brought them slowly down. My face neutral. I turned my face to the side. Few seconds later, I swept my arms down and open, twisted my body, and then popped it back. I smirked. Pop and lock it girl. I watched as she tried to copy it. She couldn’t. I turned away from her, facing the mirror again, slightly disgusted. She shouldn’t be here if she couldn’t do even that.

I was here in an outfit that was probably older than me, passed through probably three different people. She was in brand name short, shorts and brand name cami. Her socks probably cost more than my whole outfit, hell they were probably brand name too. If I could do it and still look good, then she should be able to do it halfway decent in brand name things. At least make it look good. Hell all of the girls should be able to do it. Not sure if guy should be able to do it though, that might just be a little bit creepy. I watched as her friends moved closer into her, comforting her, and muttering things that I bet were all bad things about me, and how she was great, and awesome, and amazing, and I was just a bitchy slut. I snorted. Yeah, bitchy slut, that’s me. Ha, ha. The door banged open, and there was that anger management problem person again. I walked slowly out of the room. The others were glaring at me, yeah like I gave crap.

I walked in stride with my buddy in anger management issues. He looked pissed that I was doing it too. Well good for him, this is a test to see if you can control your anger. It seemed to take longer going back into the room with the big stage, but when we finally got there, the other group was just leaving. One girl looked like she was crying. God I hope we don’t get feedback, this isn’t American Idol.

We walked right onto the stage. The other members in my group lined up two in the front, two in the back. I stood off to the side. Not all the way front, but not all the way back, a nice happy medium.

I looked out into the seats, there were four different people. A guy in the front was holding a big stack of papers. He called out one name. “Jill Susarry.” The girl I had pissed off raised her hand. “Rachel Sarto.” The girl standing right next to her. Kyle Marro, and Jess Tyler were the other people, not that it matter. What mattered was that they all had last names, except me. I was just, wait for it.

“Maria.” I raised my hand. The guy who called my name looked down at my form again. “What to important not to have a last name?”

Not important enough to have one. They couldn’t understand me. I wasn’t using my voice, just my hands. I my voice didn’t really work too well. I think he just took it that I had nothing to say. I did have something to say, but I couldn’t say it in ways they would understand. I could sign it, but it didn’t matter, no one was able to read it. Besides, when you get shipped to foster home after foster home, you don’t exactly get a last name. The people sitting out front didn’t know that though. I didn’t write that down on the sheet. Why should I? It didn’t matter.

The music came on. I didn’t even look at the people in the front row, they didn’t really mattered. What mattered was the guy in the very back who was hiding in a seat. I don’t think he wanted to be here, even if it was probably his choreographer that was being picked. I couldn’t tell which band member it was, but it was one of the twin brothers. It was their band. Their songs. I glared at him, because what else was I suppose to glare out. He glared right back. Good. Let him think I hated him, just so that if I got picked, he would stay away from me.

I rolled my head, and threw my whole body into the turn. Bend, twist, arm up, turn, jump. It was just me on stage. Right arm, left, jump, punch. I lost sight of the guy, I was completely wrapped in my world.

Left, right, pop, twist. The world where it was just me on stage. Center stage, spotlight on me. Scuff, heel, spin, left arm out, look up, down. I was the one who was important, the only one.

Slide, brush, twist, stamp, stamp, jump, twist. I was the best of the best. Head, shoulder, jump, left right. Air flew through my hair, blowing it around me, pulling it out of the pony tail.

Skid, stomp, push. This was where I was suppose to be, where I belonged. Jump, fall, breath, stamp.

I looked up, breathing hard. End.

TBC