“Number twenty-five!” the director’s assistant called out.
These were just the initial auditions for the lead role in a new TV series, directed by Myroslav Dovzhenko. Anyone could try out, which meant the auditorium at our academy was packed to the brim. Out of all these hopefuls, only twenty girls would move on to the next round, where they’d be in full makeup and costumes, acting alongside the already-cast professional actors.
For now, though, each participant was given a small, often unpredictable task that somehow tied to the role. One girl had to pretend to be a tree, another sang a folk song, and a third acted drunk...
After their performances, the participants returned backstage. They wouldn’t know the results yet—those who advanced would be announced only after everyone had their shot.
I glanced at Orynn.
“Go on, don’t chicken out,” she nudged me forward. “Knock ‘em dead!”
“Thanks,” I whispered. I stood up and, on legs stiff as boards, walked out onto the stage.
Right in front of me, under the harsh glare of the spotlights, was a table where Dovzhenko himself sat, flanked by two people I didn’t recognize—a bearded man in oversized glasses and a woman with bold makeup and a daring neckline.
“Good afternoon,” I greeted them. “My name is Ksenia Babich.”
“Good afternoon, Ksenia,” the woman replied in a silky tone. “Your task is to confess your love.”
“Love?” I echoed, probably sounding clueless to them. “To... to whom?”
“Well, how about to him,” the bearded man said, nodding toward the director, whose face remained as stoic as stone. The two of them must’ve been bored and decided to have a little fun at my expense.
“Uh, okay,” I stammered, though I’d never struggled with words before. I wasn’t some rookie—I’d already completed a full semester in acting school. So why couldn’t I focus now?
Dovzhenko’s piercing, dark brown eyes seemed to hypnotize me.
“I love you,” I declared boldly, already feeling like I’d blown my chance at the role as surely as I’d never see my own ears without a mirror.
“Hmm,” he smirked. “Really?”
“Yes,” I exhaled, clasping my hands over my chest in a pleading gesture. “I can’t live without you!”
“I don’t believe you,” he said, shaking his head. “Prove it.”
A hush fell over the room, heavy as the calm before a storm. No one else had landed in a mess like this all day.
I glanced at the woman, then at the bearded man. They sat like statues, only their eyes blinking. No hints. Ugh, why couldn’t I read minds?
Time was slipping away. Any second now, they’d say, “Thank you, you’re free to go!” And, of course, I’d miss out on the role of my dreams. I’d be a total flop...
Dovzhenko stared at my flustered face, and I could’ve sworn he was smirking with disdain. That’s when something snapped in me—the stubborn streak my mom always scolded me for.
I had to prove to them all that I wasn’t a failure!
I took a step forward toward their table. Then another. And another...
The bearded man frowned and glanced behind him, probably wondering if he should call security. What if I was some unhinged nutcase about to attack them?
Dovzhenko, though, sat motionless, elbows on the table, tapping a pen against it. His face betrayed annoyance. I realized none of the candidates for the role had impressed him.
Reaching the table, I leaned over it and kissed the director. It was my first kiss. Ever. I only knew how it was supposed to go from movies.
So, I acted with enthusiasm but misjudged the angle. We bumped noses. What a disaster!
I tried to pull back, but he grabbed my shoulders and held me in place. For a moment, our faces were inches apart. He looked into my eyes. I instinctively squinted, expecting his lips to meet mine. I could smell the pleasant scent of his cologne, feel the warmth of his body. His hands seemed to send an invisible current through me. My shoulders tingled with icy pinpricks where he touched me.
Another moment passed, and he let go.
“Call the next one!” he said to someone behind him.
“You’re free to go,” the woman with the plunging neckline muttered to me.
I opened my eyes and met her gaze. She seemed to look at me with pity. And why not? I’d just humiliated myself!
A pretty blonde I didn’t know climbed onto the stage, tall and confident.
I passed her and, just before disappearing backstage, glanced back at the brightly lit stage. My eyes met Dovzhenko’s. He was looking at me!
But it lasted only a second. He turned his attention to the blonde, and I slipped behind the curtain.
Life went on.
My name wasn’t on the list of the twenty lucky ones chosen for the next round of auditions...