Luxury cars lined the circular drive as families arrived for the annual showcase. Women in designer dresses and men in tailored suits creating a parade of wealth. Inside the plush auditorium seats were filling with parents, alumni, and donors. The elite of the elite gathered to applaud their children's talents. Backstage, Jasmine slipped through the chaos of performers preparing, keeping to the shadows.
She clutched her backpack tightly, the weight of her uniform and belt inside, grounding her against the rising tide of nerves. Finding an empty dressing room, she quickly changed the familiar ritual of dawning her doough centering her mind and spirit. As she tied her belt with practiced precision, she took her father's gold chain and wrapped it around her wrist, securing it tightly. It wasn't traditional, but tonight wasn't about tradition alone. It was about bringing her whole self to the stage, honoring both her training and her history.
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.