Gemotions

The waiting room felt as cold as a morgue. Amelia clutched the worn strap of her ballet bag, her knuckles bone-white. She studied the cracks in the linoleum floor, tracing their paths with her eyes, a futile attempt to ground herself. Her head throbbed, a dull ache that intensified with each passing second. The other girls whispered amongst themselves, their voices a melodic buzz she couldn't quite decipher.

A sudden, sharp intake of breath. The door opened and the head judge, a stern woman with a severe bun, beckoned. Amelia's mouth suddenly felt parched. She stood, her legs feeling like overcooked spaghetti.

The selection list was posted. Amelia squinted, her vision blurring at the edges. She scanned the names, searching for her own. It was not there. The floor tilted slightly beneath her feet.