Sara

15

The sun rose and everything fell. Including Alex. Her obnoxious alarm clock scared her half to death, then the next thing she knew she was on the ground. No one could rightfully that say she was the most elegant or graceful girl on the planet. In fact, most would probably say she was the most clumsy and awkward girl on the planet.
Which made her dreams of becoming a professional ballerina just a wee bit grandiose.
“Alex, was that you?” her mother called from downstairs after Alex fell and made a terrible racket.
“Yeah Mom, but I’m alright!” Alex shouted back.
“Okay. Breakfast is ready when you are!”
Alex went to the closet and picked out her favorite T-Shirt, black with white words that spelled out “I’m not clumsy, it’s just the floor hates me, the tables and chairs are bullies, and the walls get in my way.” That way when she ended up running into something (or someone) at school, she could just apologize and point to her T-Shirt without having to go through another lengthy explanation. Alex would have worn that shirt every day if her mom would let her.
Thirty minutes later, after knocking down a stack of heavy books that had unfortunately landed on Alex’s toes while trying to yank on her skinny jeans. And, after squirting toothpaste all over the bathroom mirror. And subsequently cleaning up the mess and putting on another pair of pants since she spilled water all over the first pair, Alex was finally able to go downstairs and eat breakfast.
Alex ignored the intense urge to slide down the railing (no way she would be doing that after the last time), and ever-so-carefully walked down the stairs where the homemade waffles and sugary maple syrup awaited on the kitchen table.
Wait.
Maple syrup? In her favorite shirt and second favorite pair of jeans? No way. She went to the pantry and grabbed a box of Frosted Flakes.
“Didn’t you see the waffles on the table?” Alex’s mother asked. She was currently in the living room reading the newspaper.
“I did, but the syrup-“
“Alex, you are thirteen-years-old. Even your six-year-old brother can handle the syrup. I trust that you can manage.”
Easy for her to say. She probably doesn’t even remember the “Syrup Incident of 2008.” But Alex did. She remembered every gross, sticky moment of that fateful morning.
She had been seven years old when it happened, that innocent age when it was still cool to have breakfast for lunch. Her mom had packed microwaveable waffles and syrup in a little plastic container. Alex sat down at the miniature lunch table with her friends. She was wearing her favorite outfit at the time: a long-sleeved pink shirt covered with sparkles and a rainbow tutu. She had even gotten her mom to do her hair “extra-special” that morning since it was the first day of school. And well, let’s just say for the rest of the year Alex went by the incredibly inventive and creative name that only a second-grade boy could come up with: “Syrup Girl.”
Alex shuddered as she remembered that day. She could never look at thick, sugary breakfast sauce the same ever again. Normally Alex would refuse to eat the waffles, or maybe just eat them without the syrup, but her mom had played “The Brother Card.” As ridiculous as it seemed, Alex was constantly compared to Nate’s neat and dexterous ways. As far as anyone knew, he hadn’t dropped or spilled anything since he last used a sippy cup when he was three.
She sat down. She could do this. “Focus. If Nate can do it, you can too,” Alex told herself. She picked up the syrup. She poured it. She set it back on the table. “The battle is half over. Just eat the waffle and this will all be over.” She picked up her knife and fork. She sliced the waffle into individual pieces and methodically speared and swallowed each one.
“I did it! I did it!” Alex shouted. She jumped up from the table and did an enthusiastic happy dance.
“She did it! She did it!” Nate joined along, not really knowing what Alex had achieved, but he wanted to dance anyway. He spun around with his arms outstretched, but suddenly stopped and watched, as if in slow motion, the bottle of syrup fly up into the air.
Alex felt it before she saw it. She didn’t need to be hit in the head recognize that goopy feeling. Unfortunately, that was exactly what happened. Just to be sure that this was actually happening, Alex reached up and touched her hair.
“Nate! I can’t believe you! Syrup! Syrup all over my hair! I’ll NEVER be able to get all this out before school starts!”
“Alexandria, do not yell at your brother like that! Hurry and go take a shower. You’ll just have to be late to school today,” her mother commanded.
Alex ran up the stairs, turned on the hot water, and undressed herself. “Syrup! It just HAD to be syrup!” She stepped into the shower and splashed a huge glob of shampoo onto her hand and lathered her hair twice. Then she dropped her bar of soap twice. Okay, maybe it was three times. Or four. But who’s counting?
Once she was out of the shower and dressed in yet another outfit, her mom stopped her before she was about to sprint out the door.
“You’ve had a pretty bad day so far, and since it is only a half day…”
“I can stay home from school?” Alex asked eagerly.
“Sure. I’ll call the school and tell them you’re sick.”
“Thanks, Mom!” She hugged her mom and then rushed over to her computer. In all of the morning’s hubbub she hadn’t even been able to look at her Facebook page! She scrolled through hundreds of mindless posts from her best friends, people she knew, and people she didn’t.
“Washed the car today. Then it rained. :( ”
“Did anyone else hear that lightning?”
“Look at this cat doing something cute!”
“Share this picture and you will have good luck for the rest of the day!”
Etc.
“Why do I even have a Facebook page anymore?” Alex asked herself. Of course, she already knew the answer. There was a page she followed called ”Ballet Travels” that would post when all of the major ballet companies were performing. Of course they would never come to her practically non-existent small town in the middle of Montana, but occasionally they would visit the capital Helena. Every time this happened she would drag her parents along to see the shows, even if they had already seen it. “Cinderella,” “The Nutcracker,” “Swan Lake,” and “Midsummer’s Night Dream” are just a few that they had seen so far. Alex just loved to imagine herself on stage with the dancers, because she knew eventually that’s where she would be. Even if no one else believed her. Alex had taken dancing lessons for years and did well on-stage, but she was not exactly her teacher’s favorite student. That might have something to do with a spilt steaming Starbucks Grande Latte.
Suddenly Alex found a post by “Ballet Travels” that caught her eye. “Wanted: Girl ballet dancers from ages 11-15 for the travelling performance of ‘The Nutcracker.’ Please contact Melinda at 123-456-7890 or at melindamat@gmail.com if you are interested in auditioning.”
Alex burst out of her chair and screamed “MOM!”
“What? Honey, are you okay?”
“I’m great! I’m fantastic!” Alex showed her mom the wanted ad on her computer. “Can I do it? Please please please please!”
“Well… I don’t see why not. Just don’t be disappointed if-“
“Great thanks!” She ran back to her room and started composing the email.

“Melinda,
Hi there! My name is Alexandria and I saw the Facebook post saying that you need a ballet dancer between 11-15. Well, I happen to be a thirteen-year- old dancer and I would be totally interested in being a travelling performer! Where are the auditions and when are they?
Thank you,
Alexandria”

Three days later, Alex got a response.

“Alexandria,
Auditions will be held on May 13th from 3:00-6:30 at ‘Be A Star Studio’ in Hollywood. Thank you for your interest and good luck at your audition!
-Melinda”

Hollywood.
Hollywood!
“How was am I supposed to get to Hollywood? I live in Montana for goodness sakes!” Alex ranted to no one in particular.
After a lot of coercion and a well-rehearsed Power Point presentation that took over a week to make, Alex finally convinced her parents to let her go.
“You better do amazing, otherwise you’re paying for the airplane ticket,” Her mom said sarcastically.
“Don’t worry! I will!”
Practicing in her room was a bit difficult for Alex, as it was rather small and quite cluttered. Hundreds of stubbed toes and bandages later though, Alex was confident that she would nail the audition.
After a three hour plane ride, Alex came up to the studio and entered the front door. It was like a palace inside- high ceilings, grey stone walls, puffy red chairs. There was like, millions of other girls around her age who were sitting and standing around looking nervous. Seemingly hours after taking her seat, Alex finally heard her name being called.
She cautiously made her way up to a large wooden door and took a deep breath, pushing her hair behind her ears and smoothing out her black ballet skirt. Alex stared at the door handle and slowly turned the knob.