The university auditorium, usually a cavernous echo chamber for solemn lectures, now thrummed with a frenetic, nervous energy. Audition day. Rows of folding chairs were occupied by a motley crew of aspiring actors, some whispering lines to themselves like incantations, others doing peculiar vocal warm-ups that sounded like a chorus of strangled geese. Ms. Dubois, a kaleidoscope of bright scarves and boundless optimism, bustled around, her clip-board a weapon of organized chaos.
Mia sat a few rows back, script clutched in her hands, her heart doing a frantic samba against her ribs. She was going out for Hermia, the fiery, determined lover, a role that resonated more deeply than she cared to admit. But the sheer publicness of it all, the vulnerability of standing alone on that brightly lit stage, was a terrifying prospect. The bet with Kris, a silent, volatile agreement, loomed large in her mind. Get the role. Prove him wrong. But first, survive the audition.
She scanned the room, picking out familiar faces. There was Chloe, the overly dramatic one, already practicing tears. Over by the sound booth, James was a whirlwind of focused energy, meticulously checking microphone levels and adjusting the stage lights. He looked utterly at home amongst the cables and mixers, a far cry from the nervous boy who'd reluctantly walked into this club. He caught her eye and gave her a reassuring, if slightly manic, thumbs-up. Mia felt a tiny knot of relief loosen in her chest. At least one of them was thriving. And seeing him so engrossed, even exchanging a few laughs with a couple of the tech guys, brought a genuine, warm smile to her face. He was actually mingling. Making friends. Good. He deserved it after being dragged into this mess.
Her gaze then snagged on Kris Windsor. He was settled in a chair near the back, legs casually stretched out, an expensive phone held loosely in one hand. He looked impossibly detached, effortlessly cool, completely bored. He occasionally glanced up, his eyes sweeping over the room, a familiar smirk playing on his lips, as if mentally grading everyone's desperation. She hadn't seen him practice once, hadn't heard him murmur a single line. He was likely going to attempt a perfunctory audition, just enough to fulfil his 'volunteer' duty before retreating to the comfort of the technical crew, or so she hoped. Yet, there was a quiet intensity about him, a stillness that was almost unsettling. He wasn't just bored; he was observing. And Mia felt his gaze on her, an invisible weight, adding to her mounting nerves.
Ms. Dubois's voice boomed. "Alright, everyone! We'll start with the female leads first. Let's have... Chloe Sterling for Hermia!"
The auditions began. Some students were surprisingly good, delivering lines with passion. Others were, well, enthusiastic. There was the girl who whispered her lines, the boy who bellowed them, and the one who forgot them entirely, dissolving into giggles. Each one made Mia's stomach clench a little tighter. She mentally ran through her own lines, correcting inflections, trying to remember where to stand. The 'spoiled rich brat' comment she'd thrown at Kris felt dangerously close to backfiring if she choked.
"Next up, Mia Brown, for Hermia!"
Mia's heart leaped into her throat. This was it. She took a fortifying breath and walked onto the stage, the sudden brightness of the spotlights making her blink. She tried to calm herself, to channel her inner Hermia, a character defined by passion and defiance. She could feel Kris's eyes on her, a silent, mocking presence from the back of the room. He probably expected her to falter, to prove his point.
She began, "How happy is Lysander, unto whom..." Her voice wavered slightly at first, the words feeling clumsy on her tongue. The sheer weight of the moment, the scrutiny, the bet, threatened to overwhelm her. She stumbled on a line, a small, barely perceptible hesitation. Frustration flared. No. Not here. Not for him. She forced herself to breathe, to connect with the emotion. She thought of Kris, the glitter, the mockery, the arrogance. She channeled that fury, that stubborn resilience, into Hermia's plight. Her voice gained strength, her gestures became more fluid, her eyes conveying the depth of Hermia's love and desperation. She poured every ounce of her competitive spirit into those lines, pushing through the initial jitters, surprising herself with the raw emotion that burst forth.
When she finished, the silence in the auditorium was absolute for a beat, before Ms. Dubois erupted into applause. "Wonderful, Mia! Simply wonderful! A very passionate Hermia!"
Mia managed a shaky smile, the adrenaline buzzing through her veins. She walked off the stage, avoiding Kris's gaze, not wanting to see the smugness she knew would be there. She just needed a moment to breathe, to process. She had done it. She hadn't completely fallen apart. Now, the final obstacle.
Ms. Dubois consulted her clipboard, her eyes twinkling. "And now... for Lysander. We have several aspiring young men. First up, an unexpected but welcome volunteer. Kris Windsor!"
A collective murmur rippled through the audience. Mini's head snapped up, her eyes wide. This was it. The moment of truth. She prepared herself for an unenthusiastic mumble, a half-hearted attempt designed to get him out of the lead role. But as Kris rose from his seat, there was no hesitation, no bored shuffle. There was only a quiet, unnerving confidence.