Chatterbox: Inkwell

Bit of doodling I've been doing for NaNo. This does not count as me starting yet :P I need a title for this, and I was wondering if you guys could help me. This is just a brief prologe-ish-thing that I made. Basic plot of story: surviving the high life. My MC's are all at Julliard, this famous performing arts school, and they sort of get sucked into the dark side of it all. Yeah...so:

Julliard. I’d never have guessed that such a small word could inspire such passion to arise in my breast. Hope flutters up and beats its wings against my rib-cage. My head between my knees, I take deep breaths to ease the ache of nervousness. The noisy bustle fades into background noise, and I’m eager for my turn to audition. They’ve sent in three groups at this point and still a sea of would-be students swarm the front hallway. A small, impossibly thin girl sits down next to me hesitantly.

                “Are you okay?” her voice is soft and staccato. I look up at her. She has spiky, short blonde hair and delicate features. She wears red wire-framed glasses and a determined expression. She sticks her dainty hand out.

                “I’m Amy. What’re you auditioning for?” her nails wear a spunky, bright red that matches her glasses. She has such a firm handshake that I’m worried her small arm might snap under the weight.

                “Dance,” I mutter, perking my ears as the theater teacher calls out to the next group. I’m not in it and I relax a bit. “My name’s Allegra. What are you? An actor?”

                “No, I’m in dance as well. Contemporary.” She doesn’t seem at all insulted by my startled expression.

                “No offense or anything,” I start cautiously, but she cuts me off with a bored expression.

                “I know. I don’t look strong enough do I? But I am,” she smiles, “trust me.” The way she cocks her eyebrows and begs for a comeback makes me sure of one thing at Julliard. I’ll have a friend.

                An awkward silence arises after that, but Amy doesn’t seem the least bit bothered by it. I am, however, and am grateful when they call my group up. Amy stands up as well, and cocks her eyebrows up at me. Her gaze makes me feel self-conscious, and my nervousness floods back as we walk into the dance studio.

                We all do our solos first, and then we do a group choreography session to test how well we take directions. They go alphabetically by last names, and Amy is called up first.

                “Amy Bernard?” the teacher queries loudly. She stands up, briskly taking off her glasses and handing them to me. I cradle them with careful concentration while I watch her walk to the front of the room and face away from the mirror and towards us. She looks gorgeous in a tight red tank top, black leggings and a short, flowing white skirt. I notice a few of the guys staring, and drop my eyes.

                When the music starts at first, Amy is still, a lifeless pile of red and blonde breathing gently on the floor. The weak strands of the piano music strengthen though, and soon she is up, whirling about the stage with what appears to be effortless motions. In spite of myself, I feel tears prickling the back of my eyes. The song ends and Amy collapses back into a motionless pile, as if she had never moved. I look around and see that I’m not the only with watery eyes.

                Applause breaks out and Amy basks in it. She loves it, I can tell. I think of my own stage-fright, and as I look down at her gently resting glasses in my palm, I feel like crying. I mutter something to myself, and feel a hand on my shoulder. I expect that it’s Amy, and I thrust the glasses towards the person. Seeing as how no one takes them, I look up.

                A boy with shaggy blonde hair looks back at me. He has a crooked smile and an aura that feels as if he could make you laugh.

                “Um, are you okay?” he has a British accent, and I’m suddenly ashamed of my plain voice and face. “You were sort of muttering to yourself.” He grins widely at me.

                “What I say to the voices in my head isn’t any of your business,” I’m proud of the seriousness that I lace my voice with. He looks taken aback for a moment, then understands the joke and smiles at me again. I notice that another girl is dancing, Asian, with long black hair. She’s quite good, but not as good as Amy.

                I know that I should shut my trap and watch her, but I can’t help talking to this strange boy. Amy slides into her seat next to me, eyeing him with her ever-present waggling eyebrows. She nudges my arm and watches the girl dance. I hand her glasses to her, and am surprised that the boy doesn’t begin talking to her.

                “What’s your name, anyhow?” I whisper to him. He’s watching the next boy dance with a rather bored expression.

                “Hmm? Oh, I’m Luc. Get a load of him, will you? No feeling,” he rolled his eyes skyward. In the dim room, I’m nervous for my turn. I’d noticed the boy wasn’t the best, but the scorn that Luc mustered was startling. I wonder what he’d think of me.

                “What’s your name?” he startles me from my thoughts. He tilts his head and looks at me. “You look like a ballet dancer. Am I right?” My surprise must have shown on my face, and he grinned again.

                “My name’s Allegra.”

And thus it stops insanely abruptly, because I realized what I was doing and scolded myself for beginning to write :P