The next day passed just as quickly, filled with the kind of frustrating annoyance that gnawed at Isadora's patience, though she did her best to hide it behind a bright, unfaltering smile. Every time her instructor threw a scathing remark like
"Is your face made out of wood?"
'Think of the money. Think of the fame,' she kept chanting inwardly, holding the thought like a shield against the urge to snap back. This was her shot — the one thing she couldn't afford to ruin with pride or nerves. Whatever fate had dropped into her lap, she wasn't about to throw it away.
By the time the day was over, she went to bed exhausted yet oddly satisfied. When morning came, she woke up feeling lighter — almost excited. Hopeful, even. Something about the air that morning made her believe that whatever chaos or storms she faced, she would find a way through them.
