I want to tell her everything, but also I just can’t. And suddenly I’m angry; why am I so far away? Why does it have to be this way? Why, why, why?
Tryouts, or auditions, as they call them here, are overrated.
So we get off classes for an afternoon, big deal.
Instead of sitting in class — where I could doodle or daydream or do my own thing — I’m standing in a crowded hallway, surrounded by hyper, chattering girls, and feeling like the world’s biggest loser for having no one to stand with, or talk to.
I never had anyone to stand with or walk with, never thought I wanted or needed them, but it always felt like my choice.
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