Life's Loophole

Chapter O N E

"Miss, you're up on stage!"

Anzu retied the lace on her ballet shoe for the thirteenth time, repetitively and repeatedly. She was nervous aware of only the feel of the satin strip on her fingertip, the slight pinch of the bow as she retied it on her finger's skin accidentally. A pretty girl, she wasn't usually this nervous. Calm, determined, and fueled by fire and desire of her dreams. That how she usually was, and with pride.

"Hey—" A tall black girl with longer legs—long legs were very important for a dancer, but she was a singer also—nudged her hard. "You're up. They're calling on you, girl."

"On m-m-me?" Anzu sputtered, "Buh—wha—I'm not finished warming up! How come I didn't hear it?" Face flaming, heart pumping madly she grabbed her pink-and-blue gym bag and sailed out.

Omigosh, how come I didn't hear the summons, I am so stupidly nervous! And for what? She well knew what. He bag sailed across the floor to rest in the corner. "Hi, I'm so sorry for making you wait," she gave a polite, flustered bow. The voices were answering, but the music started and she couldn't hear anything above the din. Except her own, fastly beating heart.

On automatic, it seemed, she lifted her arms and began a dance routine. It was her very own routine, made up, not just now, and she didn't even use a choreographer when she danced. She called it Somber Butterfly, and it lamented a story, of lost love. Lost love was a very popular topic to dance about. It certainly made her feel like twirling.

As always, the music ended too soon. She had wanted to dance more. To be in her own little zone she went into, where she thought about the things that mattered. A reveling, sort of, into the abstract made tangible. She could "feel" it.

Blushing when someone began to clap hard, she shyly blinked into the bright spotlights, sweating. The sweat was from the heat of the high-wattage lights, her effort, and nerves. " . . . Thank you. Thank you very much."

"Come down, miss." Why? Was she about to be sold? Still not taking offense, Anzu almost skipped down the stairs gracefully. How wonderful! They wanted a "closer look"! "Ah . . . yes."

With those lights on her eyes, Anzu couldn't see much, only dark shapes. Three, to count exactly. One, the clapper, was moving his hands back and forth, elbows twitching. The other, the one of the far left, and still and silent. And the one on the right, the one who had spoken, now said, "You are remarkable talented, Miss . . . " A glance down at the papers. " . . . Mazaki?"

"Yes," Anzu said clearly. "Mazaki. 'Remember my name!' "

The middle one and the right one shared a light-hearted chuckle. "Ha, ha! 'Fame!' " But the one the left stayed silent. Great, I'm making them laugh! A good sign! Anzu was puzzled why this one wasn't talking, but not very. She still couldn't see their faces. She wasn't too concerned. As long as they were to accept her into the talent show, they could be gargoyles and hideously ugly.

Domino City regularly held a talent show every year, rumor that Kaiba was to be judging. Then there was the rumor that he would be hosting. She scoffed. And for some reason or other, this one was made famous. The thought crossed Anzu's mind, as well as the As if. Why would he judge and/or host something that he totally was NOT into?

Still her eye lingered on the still and silent one. A nagging suspicion wormed its way into her heart. He was in her English and Gym class. Surely not . . .

The fates wouldn't be that cruel. Along with the fact they didn't get along, it was against the rules to know the judges. Anything that would affect their decision at all, in the least bit was a big no-no. Anzu was determined not to "know" him if it was he. It was true, anyway—she wouldn't be lying, no . . . She didn't know him, though it was no fault of her own. No one did.

But the fates were cruel. "Argh!" Along with the fact that her parents were divorcing, they also decreed and made it so. Later, she would think about how mouth dropped open when she saw it. Unusually struck speechless, her eyes had widened to the size of cup saucers. She knew this because later in school he would tell her.

Her reaction must've been a dead giveaway. Smile fading, one of the other judges said, frowning, "Do you two . . . 'know' each other?"

"No, it's just that I . . . recognized him so fast," Anzu congratulated herself, silently. "He's so famous."

"Yes, isn't he?" The other judges slapped him on the shoulder genially. "That's why we chose him. Oh, good. You would've be disqualified, you know!" He wagged a stubby finger at her. She couldn't tell of this was the talent scout she was dying to impress, or not. Now she could see more clearly, the middle judge was cute.

Anzu felt her smile freeze, saw his eyes flash darkly. She could only pray that he wouldn't make a big deal. But, strangely, all he grunted was, "It was . . . nice."

Relieved, 'Nice?' said her mind, indignant. She had danced her heart out and all she got was a--Shut up, girl! At least he's not making a big deal. She didn't even know why she was so offended. And then she knew: he was bound to tell on her the next day. The middle judge was still frowning puzzledly. Obviously, he was still in doubt.

Focusing back on the other judges, she went on, gushing. "Oh yes, I'm his biggest fan," thanked them profusely for their time and bowed out. It was only then she realized she had forgotten her bag and had to go after it when the tryouts were finished. By then, the stage was all very dark and deserted, the other contestant already gone home. What did she expect? To see "him" there, overhear and explanation of why he hadn't given her away, blown the whistle on her? Her mind wandered. And why, by the trick of the light, did he stay silent and swipe the side of his face as if he were swiping moisture? Reeling from the shock, she went home to tell her awaiting friends.