Page 10 of House of Bass

“Shut up, you definitely missed me most,” I say. I walk around the others and link our arms, resting my head on her shoulder. We fade into the background passively listening to the chatter of the others.

“Everything alright in Annieland?” she asks me, quietly.

I shrug a shoulder at her, so she continues “Surely this can’t be about Arden again?”

“I never said last time it was about him.” I lift my head.

“Oh please, it’s clear to anyone with a brain how you feel about that fool.”

“Erm, excuse me, I think I manage to hide it pretty well.”

“No, you don’t. MJ just doesn’t want to see it because it means confronting that perfect friendship of yours,” she says perfect with such vigour you can tell she means the exact opposite.

“Our friendship is perfect.” I unlink our arms, getting defensive. This is what I mean when I say it feels like she can’t stand being around me. It is the little comments that feel like a joke but equally feels like there is truth to them.

Before she can say something back, Gillian Abrams, our head dance teacher, has the room silenced with a clap of her hands, which is repeated back. “We will teach the group choreo first, solos will come afterwards. Guys first, then the girls. You should’ve received your spots via email this weekend,” she calls out to the hall.

I am going last, which usually won’t bother me, but today is the kind of day I just want to be over. She continues, her dark hair tied into a bun with her glasses hanging on the edge of her nose. “You get one chance. Don’t fuck it up.”

Group auditions go by in no time and soon after we have moved on to solos. Everyone is good, but I know I can do better, I just have to get out of my head. After an hour and half, I am the last one left.

“St. Annabel Bass.”

I hear my name called out and come out to the whole room awaiting me with such great expectations in their eyes. I am the best here, so I take a deep breath in and out to remind myself of that.

And I am doing well, I truly am, but then I trip on my feet and gasps ring out across the room. The teachers sit up a little straighter, as I lay on the floor for a short beat, but I get up and continue like nothing happened, I want to burrow myself in a hole and never get up. I feel sick to my stomach, I could feel my body vibrating and my ears ringing.

When the music stops, you can hear the stillness in the room. This might be the worst day of my life and I lived through the age of fourteen, where everyday was like dining with Satan. I nod at Gigi and the rest of the department then walk off stage with my head held high. A moment later I hear, “That’s all for today, results will be posted on Monday.”

Refusing to let anyone witness the impending breakdown that was sitting at the tip of my throat, I grab my bag and run out of there. My vision is blurry, the world spinning, with my lungs rapidly constricting as I struggle to breathe. I’m not even sure where I am anymore until the gentle touch of a hand wraps around me, the other cupping my face. I can’t really see but I recognise the voice—MJ.

“Annabel, listen to me. Remember what we said for these? Focus on the sound of my voice.” I nod rapidly. “You’re alright, I’m here. Okay, now breathe in and out.”

“I can’t–”

“I’ll do it with you,” she gently presses, her hands slowly rubbing up and down my arms. So we start doing it together to calm the racing beat of my heart. I am no longer shaking in her arms but hardly out of the woods, my ears were still ringing.

“We’ve done this before, Annabel. Five things we can hear, feel or smell.”

I shake my head, I could still barely speak nor see. She presses, “We need to take your mind off it, so try.”

“Cars,” I start. “Footsteps.”

I pause and she taps my arms, signaling me to continue as I speak in short, quick gasps. “Your hair.”

“Which you’re terribly pulling on at the moment,” she mutters under her breath.

“Bracelet.” The thin ones she wore on her left wrists.

My vision slowly returns, grateful for her attempt at trying to make me feel safe in the midst of it all. “One more,” she whispers.

“Vanilla,” I manage to push out, in reference to her perfume.

I pull her into a hug and whisper, “Thank you.” She kisses the side of my head, and I let her drive me home and have her tuck me into bed. Devon is wrong, our friendship is perfect.

“How did you know?” I ask as my head touches my pillow.

“I didn’t,” she admits. “Hani called and I was nearby.” Devon’s korean name was 하니 ( Hani) and it is a name only reserved for family and us, so when we were younger we used to love that our names sounded similar. We were Hani and Annie, best friends. She is still looking after me despite our argument earlier, people are always looking after me. I am such a nuisance.