Curvy - Girl Auditions 7

I didn’t do what I used to do. I didn’t try to make myself smaller. I didn’t suck in my stomach or hold my arms tight to hide the softness underneath. I breathed out, let my shoulders drop, and began .

Audition one: “We’re looking for a different silhouette.” Audition two: “You have beautiful feet, but…” Audition three: silence, then a form letter. Audition four: a choreographer pulled me aside and whispered, “You should try commercial work. More forgiving.” Audition five: I cried in my car. Audition six: I didn’t cry. I just sat in the parking lot and stared at the dashboard until the streetlights came on. curvy girl auditions 7

“Maya,” she said again, like she was tasting the word. “We’ll call you.” I didn’t do what I used to do

The holding room smelled like coffee, nerves, and the faint, sweet ghost of someone’s vanilla lotion. Number 7 was pinned to my leotard, just over my heart. I traced the edge of the paper square with my thumb, flattening a crease. I breathed out, let my shoulders drop, and began

On the way out, I passed the holding room. The other girls were still waiting, still sharp, still folding themselves into smaller versions of themselves. I unpinned number seven and held it in my palm.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the clipboard woman said.

I was auditioning to see if their stage was big enough for me.