"Cut the music!"

The director waves his hand in the air. I am mid-pirouette when the music surrounding me abruptly stops, and the director rises to his feet. As my heels meet the wooden floor of the stage, I try to calm my breathing, my nerves still rattling my sore limbs.

This is it, this is the moment.

I swallow back the lump forming in my throat and flash him an award-winning smile. "So, when do I start?"

He chuckles darkly. "I'm afraid you're not exactly what we're looking for. Thank you for coming."

My eyes go wide at his response, then even wider as he turns his back to me. "What do you mean, I'm not what you're looking for?" I shout, causing him to whip around. "This is my third callback! If I'm not what you're looking for, don't you think you should've told me after the first or second?"

I don't usually let auditions get under my skin. There's always a chance that you won't get it, no matter how hard you try, no matter how passionate you are. This time, though, thinking that this would be my big break, I stupidly gave up other great opportunities. That makes the whole rejection sting a bit more.

"Look, Bridgette," he begins with a tired sigh and exaggerated eye-roll.

"Brittany," I correct him. "My name is Brittany."

"Whatever." He shrugs. "You're a talented girl, and your moves were clean, but there's nothing special about you. You have nothing different to offer, so you're useless to me. We're looking for something eye-catching."

His words cut deep, but I keep a brave face and will the tears not to fall. "Eye-catching?" I breathe out the words. "I can do whatever you want me to. I can dance circles around those girls, and you know it! Just tell me what you want to see. I didn't come all the way to New York, blow off other opportunities, just to have you—"

"You think we haven't heard the story before?" He snorts, and next to him, his partner chuckles. "You're from a small town. You came to New York to make it big. You're living in a shitty apartment, and you need the money to pay rent. You trying to go into your life story just shows how typical you are. I come across one of you every single day."

I chew on my bottom lip as he speaks, his words sinking in more quickly than I can shrug them off. Soon, I actually kind of believe him. Nothing special. Nothing different. Useless.

"Okay," I mutter with a nod and walk off the stage to the changing room. I manage to wiggle back into my jeans and hoodie without shedding a single tear before rushing out of the building.

During the walk home, I replay the director's words in my head over and over again. He was right: I do come from a small town (in Arizona, to be exact), I do live in a shitty apartment (with my boyfriend, who currently, along with my dad, pays the rent since I can't get a dancing gig), and I did move to New York to make it big. I kick morosely at the concrete as I realize how cliché my story must have come across to the director. Maybe I am as ordinary as they come.

At least my boyfriend will know what to do. Right now, I just need someone to shake me from my gloomy thoughts and tell me everything will be fine. After climbing the two flights of stairs, I dig my keys out of my dance bag and unlock the door.

"Hey babe, I'm home!" I call as I lay my bag on the counter and stagger my way into the kitchen, tripping on a pair of Sam's jeans as I go. As I regain my balance, I roll my eyes, frustrated at his messiness. It isn't until I'm pouring myself a glass of iced tea that I realize I haven't seen his goofy face greet me yet.

We hadn't been together for that long—just a little over eight months—before we decided to leave Arizona and head to New York, but we both wanted the same thing: get out of our small town and experience new things. Sam fell into a routine fairly quickly, finding a job that paid enough to cover half the rent. I, on the other hand, have had a tougher time, despite taking it upon myself to audition for everything I can find.

I shrug casually when I still don't get a response after calling Sam's name again; he's probably taking a nap. With the day I had, cuddling with my adorable boyfriend in bed suddenly sounds like the perfect cure. After setting my empty glass in the sink, I head toward our bedroom, stumbling over yet another pair of pants. As I grow closer to the cracked door, I make a mental note to mention Sam's habit of leaving clothes everywhere. It isn't until my palm is pressed against the wood that I hear a soft moan come from the other side of the door.

Hoping that my mind is playing tricks or Sam is just watching porn, which I've walked in on him doing once, I quietly take a step away and look down. As I do so, I realize that the second pair of pants I tripped over just seconds ago is women's and definitely not mine.

My chest tightens as I look back up at the crack in the door. Bracing myself for the image about to be burned into my memory, I roughly push the door open and just stand there, shocked.

"Brittany!" Sam yelps and falls awkwardly off the girl beneath him, the sheets tangling around his bare body as he rolls to the floor and quickly jumps to his feet. "You're home?"

My jaw drops a little as my eyebrows rise to my hairline. Unable to process what I'm seeing, I don't feel a thing. I'm numb. I'm heartbroken. I'm completely done.

"Baby," Sam pleads, taking hesitant steps towards me, breaking me from my daze.

"You have got to be kidding me," I manage to choke out, my insides churning. I take one look at the familiar girl smirking at me, her hands clutching the rest of the sheets to her naked chest, and shake my head. "Our neighbor? Really?"

"I-I just—"

As my body tingles with rage and hurt, my vision blurs with all the built-up tears of the day. "How could you?" Sucking my lips into my mouth, I spin on my heel. I just need to get out of here.

"Britt, wait! Brittany! Please!"

Ignoring Sam's calls, I grab my bag and slam the front door behind me. I run down the stairs, two steps at a time, and just hope that I don't fall on my face. Not like life hasn't already kicked me down and rubbed my face in the mud anyways.

By the time I finally stop running, it's already nighttime. At the first sight of a slightly less busy sidewalk, I let myself slump down against some hole-in-the-wall diner, the bricks roughly scratching my back as I slide down. I tuck my knees into my chest and finally just let it all out.

How can one day be so damn bad? How can the whole world crumble in a matter of hours? What could I have possibly done to deserve this?

I don't know how long I sit, curled up on the ground, sobbing, but when I feel someone nudge my foot, I look up to be met with a pair of hazel eyes staring questioningly down at me.

"Hey, um, my friend owns this place, and he hates when the homeless try to camp out here. Bad for business, you know." Her voice is soft and sultry, her perfectly sculpted brow quirked as she looks down at me in an analytical way before speaking again. "But you're way too clean-looking."

I just sniffle and rub at my nose with my hoodie sleeve. "I haven't showered since last night," I mumble sadly.

"So you are a homeless person?" she challenges, the corner of her lips pinched to the side like she's trying not to laugh.

"No. Well, maybe? I don't know. I don't really want to live with my boyfriend right now, so..." I trail off as my eyes start to burn again. Dropping my head back on my arms, I let out another shuddering sob.

"Hey, I know what you mean. Stuff happens." She sighs apologetically, causing me to peek up at her. Then, she shrugs, holds out her hand, and smiles. "Here, it's really dark out, and I don't think you should be sitting out here alone. Come inside, we can talk about it if you want. Dinner's on me."

I look at her extended hand then up at her skeptically. "I haven't eaten anything off another woman since college."

Her face contorts into an unreadable expression before she lets out a slightly strained laugh. "Come on." She giggles and wiggles her hand again. "Rory makes the best burgers on this side of town. I'll even tell him to serve it up on a plate if that makes you feel better?"

"Well, I am a tiny bit hungry," I mumble and finally reach up to take her hand. When she helps me to my feet, I'm slightly surprised at how sore my legs are from running earlier.

She smiles and leads me toward the entrance of the diner. "I'm Quinn, by the way."

"Brittany," I reply politely and return her friendly smile as we both enter the brightly-lit restaurant.

"Alright Brittany, have a seat at the counter, and I'll let Rory know you're with me," Quinn instructs and nods to the red and white leather bar stools lining the high countertop as she walks toward the guy working the register. I watch as the two talk; Quinn has this kind of charm about her, like one of those girls that constantly has people tripping over themselves to get her attention.

Like the poor guy behind the register.

While I'm not attracted to her—she's very pretty and all, but she isn't really my type—it is endearing to watch her be so charismatic, and I quickly find myself wishing that I could have the same effect on people. She's different. She has something new to offer. I bet she doesn't have a problem with directors not wanting to hire her.

When I register her calling my name, it shakes me out of my depressing thoughts.

"What's that?" I ask from my end of the counter.

"What do you want to drink?" she repeats.

"Can I have a Dr. Pepper?"

After giving me a nod and handing the cup to the cashier, Quinn comes over to sit down next to me. "So Brittany, how long have you lived in the big city?" she asks as she settles her chin in her hand.

"A couple months now."

"I thought so." Quinn nods.

Just as I'm about to ask how she could tell, the cashier walks over with our drinks.

"Dr. Pepper," he says in a heavy Irish accent while setting the cup down in front of me. Then, handing Quinn her cup, he quips, "And sweet tea for a sweet lady." I giggle at his attempt to flirt, then at Quinn's scrunched-up nose.

"When are you going to give that line a rest?" she teases, shaking her head before she takes a sip. "Mm, just like home."

"Yeah, we took your advice," he replies shyly.

"Good. Oh, Brittany, this is my friend, Rory. His family owns the place." Quinn smirks as she nods to him. "Rory, this is Brittany, who is not a homeless person."

"Hi," I greet meekly, my cheeks flushing at her description of me. Rory just chuckles and returns the greeting before nodding to the kitchen and muttering something about our burgers and fries.

As we both sip slowly at our drinks, Quinn and I fall into a silence until my curiosity gets the better of me.

"Why are you being so nice to me?" I ask and face her fully. "You know I'm new to the city, so if you want to rob me, you're out of luck. I'm broke."

She smiles gently. "You look like you've had a rough day. No one sits on the dirty ground in the middle of the night crying, because their life is going perfectly. You seem like a good person, and honestly, I felt a little bad for you."

Turning away, I chew on my bottom lip and swirl my straw around in my cup. She pities me. Of course.

"In a way, you kind of remind me of myself a few years back. We've all been the new kid on the block, so I know how you feel. It can get tough. Hell, when I first moved here, I stuck out like a sore thumb. I was naïve, and I had an accent, and people were constantly giving me strange looks whenever I spoke. Eventually, though, I learned to adapt. You can too. Also, I don't think a mugger would offer to treat you to dinner before robbing you."

I feel myself smiling as she teases me, then lift my head to look at her again. "Thank you," I reply. "That's really nice of you."

She just shrugs. "Us girls have to look out for one another."

Shortly after, Rory appears with our burgers and fries. Suddenly ravenous, I'm already halfway done with one of the best burgers I've ever had when I remind myself to slow down. "You're right," I mumble around a fry. "This is really good."

"Told you! I'm pretty sure it's the fries. You know the Irish love their potatoes." Quinn winks and takes another bite of her burger. "So, about this boyfriend..."

Letting out a deep sigh, I pick at my fries. Deciding that it's better to talk about things, rather than bottle them up, I explain, "I walked in on him with another girl—"

"Oh no."

"In our bed."

"Really?"

"Yeah. She's our neighbor."

"Are you serious?" she gasps. "What a jerk!"

I just nod. "Did I mention the girl's name is Kitty? I knew I should've suspected something when she kept making all those cat puns and purring at him. I mean, seriously? Who on earth names their kid Kitty?" Quinn tries to stifle her laughter as I continue to rant. "I don't understand what went wrong. I swear we were fine this morning, and we rarely ever argue. I don't know where to go from here. I don't even know what to say to him when I go back. I'll have to go back sooner or later. I have nowhere else to go; he pays for most of the rent, while my Dad helps with the rest until I find a job. I'm just..." I trail off as I feel the tears brimming again.

"I'm so sorry, Brittany," she replies earnestly and rubs my back comfortingly. "No one deserves to be treated like that."

"That's not even all of it," I sigh through a watery smile. "I walked in on him after I'd just gotten turned down from a huge opportunity. I focused so much on it that I missed out on others. I don't even know why I did that. Deep down, I knew better than to rely on just one thing." Shaking my head in frustration, I look down at my lap. "I knew so much better."

"Well, you know, you're in the City of Dreams," Quinn answers softly. "And one thing you'll learn about living here: big opportunities are everywhere."

"You think so?" I ask, peeking at her to see shining hazel eyes staring back at me.

"Definitely." She looks as if she wants to say something else when Rory calls out to her.

"Phone for you!" He waves an old-school, corded phone in his hand and points to it for emphasis.

"Who is it?"

"Who do you think?"

"Tell her I'm not here!"

"Quinn, she can hear you," Rory deadpans. "Please take the call. She's threatening to have Santana come get you personally. I don't want that. Last time, she almost broke a window!"

"Fine!" she huffs as she hops off her stool and starts making her way toward him.

After she snatches the phone from his hand and brings it to her ear, I watch as she slumps against the counter tiredly. Rory chuckles at the sight and slings a dish towel over his shoulder before walking my way.

"Finished?" he asks, nodding to my plate.

"Yes, thank you," I answer. While he smiles politely, then starts to stack our dirty dishes, I continue watching Quinn.

"It's her work. I bet you they're trying to call her in on her night off," Rory explains as he sets the plates on the back counter. "I wouldn't be surprised if one of them came in here, looking for her. It's happened before."

Instantly curious as to what Quinn does for a living, I turn back to watch her. "What does she do?"

"She's a Babysitter," he answers simply.

Well, I certainly didn't expect that. I can't really picture Quinn dealing with messy babies and changing diapers.

As if on cue, Quinn's voice rises to the point where I can hear her from where I'm sitting. "Come on, Sue, this is my day off!"

"Yup, they're trying to call her in," Rory sighs just as Quinn hangs up the phone and stalks back over to us. "Duty calls?"

"Yeah. It was a nice day off while it lasted." Quinn shrugs, then looks at me. "It was nice meeting you, Brittany. Sorry I have to leave so soon."

"That's okay. Thanks for dinner." I smile as she adjusts her jacket sleeves.

"You're welcome. Here." Pulling out a matchbook from her pocket, she grabs Rory's pen from his shirt pocket, then scribbles something down. "This is my number. If you need a friend or anything, give me a call." She clicks the pen and hands me the matches with a smile before sticking the pen back in Rory's pocket. "See you around!"

"Hey, wait!" I call just as she reaches for the door.

"Yes?"

"Where are you from?" I ask curiously. "Like, where did you live before New York?"

Smiling sweetly, she answers in a Southern drawl, "Savannah, Georgia."

Well, I guess that explains the sweet tea comment from earlier.

Quinn waves one last time before shutting the door behind her. Slightly stunned, I stare after her. She seems like such a nice person, and I silently hope that she will turn out to be a good friend.

Letting out a lovesick sigh, Rory lifts a hand to touch his shirt pocket while a dopey smile spreads across his face. "She is an angel," he whispers lovingly, drawing me out of my thoughts. "What'd she give you?"

Looking down, I flip over the set of matches to see a logo of a baby bottle that looks to either be filled with pee or beer and the words "Sloppy Babies" printed in deep red above it.

"Ah, those are rare." He nods to the matchbook. "If a Babysitter gives you a matchbook, it's a formal invitation. You have to go."

Not understanding, I stare down at the picture. "What kind of daycare gives out matchbooks to advertise?"

"A daycare?" He laughs and shakes his head. "No, no. Definitely not a daycare. It's this really awesome place. Beautiful girls, great music, lots of alcohol."

"So she's a stri—"

"A Babysitter. The best, in my opinion," he says proudly. "How long have you been living here?"

"A couple months?"

"And you've never heard of Sloppy Babies?"

"No, not really."

"Well, you're missing out! Go there tomorrow night, take that with you, and show the bouncer. Free entry!"

I nod as I stare down at the matches.

Shortly afterwards, I decide to face reality and go home. As much as I don't want to see Sam, I really have nowhere else to go. Surprisingly, with Quinn's words replaying in the back of my mind, I find the walk home slightly easier. By the time I get back, it is nearly midnight.

"Britt?" His voice calls from the shadows as I kick off my shoes and set my bag on the counter. He moves slowly out of the darkness. "I've been trying to call you for hours."

Letting out a tired sigh, I walk past him to the bedroom to change into pajamas. After grabbing my pillow, I think better of it and choose to leave it behind, since Kitty probably had her head all over it.

"Brittany, please talk to me."

"I have nothing to say to you, Sam."

As I walk past him to head back out to the living room, he reaches for my arm. "Brittany, I'm sorry!" he pleads and tries reaching for my other arm. "Please, let's talk about this."

Roughly shrugging out of his grip, I push away from him. "Don't touch me. We're done."

"Brittany—"

"I'll stay here until I find my own place. My dad will still pay my half until I find a job."

"Britt—"

"But that's it, Sam. What you did, what I saw...I just can't believe you!"

"Britt, please. Give me another chance. I-I love you."

"No, you don't," I answer firmly and spin around to face him. "I just want to go to sleep, okay?"

He sadly looks at the floor and nods before walking back into the bedroom. My heart aches as I set up my sleeping arrangement on the couch and brace myself for the worst night's sleep ever. Despite how tired I feel, I'm unable to fall asleep. My restless mind keeps replaying scenes from today over and over again, and each time makes me want to scream and bury my face in my palms.

Flipping onto my back, I stare up at the ceiling fan, my hands folding and finding purchase on my stomach.

Tomorrow will be a new day. I'll wake up early, resist the urge to flip Sam off if he hasn't left for work yet, maybe go for a run, treat myself to ice cream after, and visit the park or something. I'll just have a me day, and I won't dwell on how horrible today was.

My body buzzes with anticipation as I think of all the possibilities, but I can't tell which has me more anxious: a day dedicated to cheering myself up, or taking a visit to this mysterious place dubbed Sloppy Babies.