The word comes to me slowly.
Not all at once.
It comes in pieces, like when you hear someone calling your name from another room.
I am sitting on the floor of our living room, building a tower out of wooden blocks. The blocks are smooth and heavy. They make a good sound when you stack them right. A soft knock when one block meets another.
My tower is taller than my knee now. I am very careful.
Behind me, my parents are talking. Their voices are quiet, but not whispering. When adults whisper, it feels secret. This does not feel secret. It feels important. I don't turn around yet.
"Not school-related." My father said. "Yes. That's what she said, too." My mother said.
I place another block. It wobbles. I hold my breath. It stays. I smile. Then I hear it.
"Audition."
The word is new. It is long and round in my ears. It sounds like it should roll, like a marble. I turn my head.
"What's an audition?" I asked. My parents stop talking. My mother turns around first. She is sitting on the sofa with her legs tucked under her. She smiles, but she is thinking. My father clears his throat. They look at each other. Then my mother pats the space next to her.
"Come here." She said.
I leave my tower where it is and walk over. I climb onto the sofa. The cushion sinks under me. It smells like laundry soap and home. My mother smooths my hair with her hand.
"An audition is like…when someone wants to see how you play." She said slowly.
I tilt my head.
"Like at school? When the teacher watches us sing?" I asked. "Kind of. But instead of singing as a group, you do it by yourself." She said. I think about that. By myself. I don't feel scared. I feel curious.
"Do I play?" I asked. "Yes. You pretend." My father said.
Pretend.
I like that word.
I pretend all the time.
I pretend my blocks are houses. I pretend my blanket is a cave. I pretend I am a bird when I run fast. "That sounds fun." I said. My mother smiles a little wider. "It can be. But it's also work." She said.
Work. I know that word too.
Work is when my father puts on his jacket and leaves early. Work is when my mother types on her computer and tells me to play quietly.
I think pretending is like being at work. "That's okay. I like doing things." I said. My father laughs softly. "We know." He said.
—
Later, we eat dinner: rice, soup, and fish. Steam rises from the bowls. The table is warm under my arms. We eat slowly. My parents don't talk much. They let me finish chewing before they speak.
"Yura. If you did something like acting, you wouldn't do it all the time." My mother said. "Why not?" I asked. "Because you're still growing. You need time to play. To rest. To go to school." She said. I nod. That makes sense.
I like school.
I like naps.
I like playing.
"You can say no." My father said. I look at him. "To what?" I asked. "To anything. Anytime." He said. I chew my rice carefully. "What if I want to say yes?" I asked. My mother and father look at each other again. Then my mother looks back at me.
"Then we talk about it. Together." She said.
I feel something settle in my chest.
Like when you sit down after running.
—
After dinner, I take a bath.
The water is warm. It makes my fingers wrinkly. I splash a little, then stop when my mother looks at me. I lean back and let my ears go under the water. Everything sounds far away. Like I am in a dream.
I think about the stage.
I think about Park Jiwon.
I think about pretending.
When I sit up again, water runs down my face. "Mom. Is acting like lying?" I asked. She blinks. "No. Why would you think that?" She said quickly. "Because you pretend." I said. She considers this. Then she smiles.
"It's like telling a story with your body. Everyone knows it's a story." She said. I like stories. I like it when people listen. "That's okay." I said.
She nods.
"Yes. It is." She said.
—
The next day, Park Jiwon comes again. This time, she comes to our house. I know it's her because my parents tidy more than usual. My mother wipes the table twice. My father straightens the shoes by the door.
I sit on the floor with my coloring book.
I draw a big circle. Then another one. Then lines that look like hair.
It is a picture of me. I colored the dress yellow. When the doorbell rings, my heart jumps. Just a little. My father opens the door. "Come in." He said. Park Jiwon steps inside. She takes off her shoes neatly and lines them up with the others.
She bows.
"Thank you for inviting me." She said. She looks around, but not in a nosy way. Just noticing. "Hello again, Yura." She said when she saw me. "Hello." I said. She crouches down so we are closer to the same height.
"I like your drawing." She said. "Thank you." I said.
"It looks happy."
"It is." I said. She nods, like that makes sense.
—
We sit at the table. This time, I sit on a cushion so I am taller. There are snacks. Fruit. Tea. Park Jiwon talks to my parents. They talk about times. About places. Then Park Jiwon turns to me.
"Yura. Do you remember what an audition is?" She asked. "Yes. It's pretending." I said. She smiles.
"That's right. Would you like me to explain it a little more?" She asked. "Yes." I said. She nods. "An audition is when you go to a room, and there are a few people there. They ask you to pretend to be someone else for a short time." She said.
I imagine a room.
White walls. Chairs. People watching.
That sounds familiar.
"Do they clap?" I asked.
She smiles wider. "Sometimes." She said. I like that answer.
"And if they don't?" I asked. "Then that's okay too. It doesn't mean you did anything wrong." She said. I think about that. I like clapping. But I also like quiet.
"That's fine." I said. My parents watch closely. Park Jiwon continues. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to. If you feel tired, we stop. If you feel scared, we stop." She said. I don't feel scared now.
But I like knowing stopping is there. "What if I want to do it again?" I asked.
She chuckles softly. "Then we talk again. Just like your parents said." She said.
—
They talk more. About rules. About always having my parents there. About school coming first. I listen, but my eyes wander. I look at Park Jiwon's hands. They are steady. She doesn't fidget. I look at my mother's face. She is serious, but not tight.
I look at my father. He nods sometimes. Slowly. I feel like I am sitting in the middle of something careful.
Like a glass cup being placed down gently. At one point, my mother asks me to show Park Jiwon something. "Show her what you like to do." She said. I blink. "What?"
"Anything." She said.
I think. Then I stand up. I go to the open space near the window. I don't have music. That's okay. I stand still. Then I move. I raise my arms. I turn. I pause. I imagine the stage. The light. The quiet. I pretend the sofa is the audience.
I hear my own breathing. When I stop, I feel warm again. I look at them. No one claps.
But Park Jiwon's eyes are bright. "Thank you." He said.
I smile.
"You're welcome." I said.
—
After she leaves, the house feels quieter. Not empty. Just settled. I sit on the floor again, by my tower. It is still standing. My parents sit on the sofa. My father exhales.
"That went well." He said. My mother nods. "She's respectful." She said. They look at me. "Yura. How do you feel?" My mother asked. I think. "I want to try." I said.
They don't answer right away.
They don't say yes.
They don't say no.
They smile.
"We'll see." My father said. That feels fair.
—
That night, I lie in bed. The ceiling is dark. My blanket is tucked under my chin. I think about pretending. I think about rooms. I think about people watching. I don't feel scared. I feel like when you stand at the edge of something new, and the air smells different.
I turn onto my side.
I whisper the word to myself.
"Audition."
It still sounds like it wants to roll. I close my eyes. I let it.