The Hardest Cut Jamie Bennett (top novels TXT) 📖

it, I thought we might all regret what she would do.  I knew from my research on the audition process that cuts were happening today and how many of us would be leaving depended on how we performed.

At least it hadn’t gone as badly for me as it had for number seventy-six, Caitlyn (we had paused briefly to re-introduce ourselves to the group).  She had started to cry for some reason as we learned the last routine and had bawled through at least a few eight-counts.  Even though I knew I wasn’t doing my best either, I had managed to keep my own smile.  But besides my issues with the tumbling, they had just thrown so much choreography at us!  I had missed way too many steps, I thought, and shook my head, rocking it against my knees.

A drop of sweat slid from my forehead and onto the bathroom floor and I thought of number twenty-one, poor Kacie with a K and an -ie.  Once again, she had sweated so much that it looked like she had fallen into the lake.  All the discrete wiping she had been doing so that Rylah and the other judges wouldn’t see really hadn’t made any difference.  Sure, she needed some towels and a squeegee, but she was probably the best dancer among all of us.  Better than I was, without a doubt.  I stared miserably at the floor.  Who would they rather have, Kacie or me?  I didn’t want either of us to have to go home today.

The door to the ladies’ room opened and closed.  “So?  What do you think of the new girls?” a woman asked.  “Are they as good as we are?  Should any of us be worried about getting replaced in the squad or do you think they’ll just fill the vacancies?”

“I don’t know!  There are some good ones,” another voice answered.  “Really good.  Nine and forty-five.”

There were murmurs of agreement and I nodded too in the stall.  Nine, Bexley, and forty-five, Macy, were very, very good.  “But some are so bad!” a third woman lamented, and they laughed.  “What’s with the sweaty one?  Or the one who looks pissed off all the time?”

“That’s Danna.  I told her to smile,” the first voice said.  “She did for like, three beats.  Then she went back to the frown.”

“Rylah’s not going to like that.”

“Sam’s not going to like the one who doesn’t know the difference between right and left.”

“She’s directionally challenged,” one of the returning cheerleaders remarked, and all three laughed again.  “Did you see Sam’s mouth moving when she went the wrong way and hit that other poor girl?  I was glad we couldn’t hear what he was yelling over the music!”

“Addison can move,” the second woman put in.  She sounded a little reluctant, almost like she didn’t want to admit it.  “Her outfit, though!”  Murmurs of agreement followed that remark.  “What do you guys think about seventeen?”

My heart sped up as I waited to hear their opinions of me.

The water ran in the sink.  “What’s her name, Abby?”

Oh, gravy.  I wasn’t memorable enough for them to know my name!

“No, it’s Gaby.  Yeah, she’s ok.”

My heart sank.  Only ok?

“Her looks are good,” one of the other women mentioned, sounding disinclined to say it.

“Sure, she’s pretty, I guess.”

She guessed?  I sat up straight on the toilet and finger-combed my hair.  Did my eyeliner wear off or something?  Was I blotchy?  Breaking out?  I felt over my skin, wondering what I was doing wrong.

“She has a lot of energy.  How much dance training do you think she’s had?  Her feet…”

“I saw that, too,” the third woman agreed.  “I would guess she took some lessons or something.  But she’s only a maybe for me.”

“Yeah, me too.”  The water ran again, and they started to talk about their weekend plans as the door to the bathroom closed and their voices faded away.

A “maybe?”  A “pretty, I guess?”  My throat got tight with tears.  Was that all I was?  I swung open the stall door and caught sight of myself in the mirror.  I swallowed, flipped my hair back, and forced a smile.  No, it wasn’t that bad.  No blotches, no sudden acne, no smeared eyeliner.  My feet might not have been cutting it today, but I wasn’t looking that terrible.

“Oh!”  The bathroom door opened again, and number seventy-six, Caitlyn, stepped inside.  “Sorry, I didn’t know…sorry,” she sniffed.  It looked like she hadn’t really stopped crying from when she’d started during the last routine.  Her nose was red around the nostrils and, gravy, her skin actually was a patchy red.  It wasn’t good.

“Here.”  I ran a few paper towels under the cold water and handed them to her.  “Hold these against your eyes.  And your cheeks.”  The door opened behind her, smacking her in the butt, and two more cheerleader wannabes came in, Jayden (number thirteen) and Chelsea (sixty-two and directionally-challenged).  They looked curiously at her, and Caitlyn started to sniff harder.

“Caitlyn, come outside with me,” I urged, and we left to go further down the tunnel toward where we’d seen the cheerleader locker room on the tour.

“Ok, take a deep breath,” I suggested when we were in a more secluded area, around a corner from the bathroom.  “Why are you crying so much as we dance?”

At first, she cried harder, which made me cry a little too, both in sympathy and also because all my own emotions were swirling crazily inside me like I had some kind of internal blender going.  I took a breath and asked her the same question again, and she managed to calm down, too.

“I just want this so much!” she blurted out.  “And the more I want it, the more mistakes I make, and then I think about the mistakes, and then I make more…”  She paused to take a long, shuddering breath.  “I can’t stop myself,” she finished miserably.  “I can see that this is the best chance I’ll have for anything in my whole life, and I’m