The muffled sounds of the audience settling in vibrated through the walls. A production assistant with a clipboard knocked on her door. 10 minutes to curtain. All performers to the green room, please. Jasmine nodded, taking one final look in the mirror.
The person staring back seemed transformed, focused, powerful, unafraid. She made her way to the green room where other students gathered in cocktail dresses, formal wear, and performance costumes. Their chatter died down as she entered, the white uniform drawing every eye. Whitney stood at the center of the room in an elaborate dance costume, her face carefully made up to project confidence. But Jasmine could see the slight tremor in her hands, the tension around her eyes.
When Whitney spotted Jasmine, confusion crossed her face. quickly replaced by dismissal. "Are you working the event or something?" Whitney asked, eyeing the uniform with disdain. "Before Jasmine could respond," the stage manager entered. "Everyone, check the board for your performance order. Whitney Caldwell, you're up sixth.
Jay Taylor, you're 14th." Whitney's head snapped toward Jasmine, realization dawning. "You're Jay Taylor? You entered the showcase?" Her incredulous laugh drew attention from others. with what? Some kind of karate thing? This isn't a community center talent show.
Jasmine met her gaze calmly. It's taekwondo and I guess we'll see what the judges think. Whitney's face hardened. My parents are the main sponsors. The judges know what's expected.
She turned away, gathering her friends around her like armor. The showcase began with a classical piano piece performed by a senior whose family had donated the music wing. Polite applause followed, setting the pattern for the early performances. Technically proficient displays of privileged talents, violin solos, ballet routines, oporatic vocals. Each met with appropriate appreciation from the audience of parents and patrons.
Jasmine watched from the wings, noting the predictable rhythm of the evening. These performances weren't bad. Many represented years of expensive lessons and genuine effort, but they carried a certain sameness, lacking the hunger that drove her own practice. Whitney's turn came. She took the stage in a sparkle of expensive costume and professional lighting.
Her contemporary dance routine was technically correct, clearly the work of a hired choreographer. But as Jasmine watched, she could see the viral video inspiration in every movement. Whitney's face remained frozen in concentration. her gestures precise but mechanical. When she finished, the audience erupted in enthusiastic applause, led by a distinguishedl looking couple in the front row, Whitney's parents, their smiles tight with expectation. More performances followed.
Jasmine's heart pounded harder with each passing act. When the stage manager finally signaled her, she closed her eyes briefly, remembering Master Park's words. Perform for your father's memory. perform for yourself. And now, the announcer's voice boomed. Performing a taekwondo demonstration.