“Always.” I hung up, smiling. Then it hit me.

Fuck...She always finds a way out of that line of questioning...

Perjury (n.):

The willful giving of false testimony under oath.

Alyssa (Well, my real name is “Aubrey”...)

“Lies always catch up to people in the end. Why don’t people understand that?” That’s what Thoreau’s text message said this morning.

“You don’t think some lies are justifiable?” I texted back.

“No. Never.”

I hesitated. “So, you’ve never lied to me?”

“Why would I?”

“Because we barely know each other...”

“Only because you keep me at a distance.” He sent me another text before I could respond. “Would you like to know my real name and where I work?”

“I prefer our anonymous arrangement.”

“Of course you do, and I’ve never lied to you. I trust you for some strange reason.”

“Some strange reason?”

“Very strange. I’ll talk to you later.”

I tossed my phone into my purse and sighed, letting that familiar feeling of guilt wash over me. I’d never meant to continue talking to him, to become his friend outside of LawyerChat, but I was in too deep, and I didn’t want to let him go.

Months ago, when I’d spotted the invitation to the exclusive network on my mother’s desk, I swore to only use it when I needed to ask questions for my pre-law classes. I’d used her access code to log in, built a fake profile, and made sure all the questions I asked were weaved in a way that no one would know that they were for homework assignments.

Unfortunately for me, the pre-law program at Duke was unlike any other program in the country. It consisted of more hands-on classes, one-on-one mentoring from practicing lawyers, and it was mandated that each student find an internship for the final four semesters. In addition to that, they expected us to read through and interpret case files like we were already lawyers.

If I had known that asking Thoreau for so much homework advice would lead to an actual friendship, I might have stopped talking to him sooner. Then again, just like I was his only friend, he was my only friend, too.

He was open and honest every time we spoke, and I only wished that I could be the same—especially since he seemed to have a habit of saying, “I hate fucking liars” whenever one of his dates deceived him.

Damnit...

Smoothing the tulle fabric of my tutu, I took several deep breaths; I could think about my friendship with Thoreau later, right now I needed to focus.

Today was audition day for a production of Swan Lake and I was a nervous wreck; I’d barely slept the night before, skipped breakfast, and showed up to the theater five hours early.

“Please clear the stage, ladies and gentlemen!” The director shouted from below. “The official auditions will begin in thirty minutes! Please clear the stage and make your way to the wings!”

Before heading backstage, I looked out into the audience. Most of the faces were familiar—my classmates, instructors, a few directors from the ballet company I’d worked for last summer, but the faces I needed to see weren’t there.

They never were.

Hurt, I found a corner in the dressing room and called my mother.

“Hello?” she answered on the first ring.

“Why aren’t you here?”

“Why aren’t I where, Aubrey? What are you talking about now?” She let out an exasperated sigh.

“My open audition for Swan Lake. You promised that you and dad were coming.”

“It’s Aubrey, honey!” She yelled to my dad in the background. “Your recital was today?”

“I haven’t been in a recital since I was thirteen.” I gritted my teeth. “This is an audition, a once in a lifetime audition, and you’re supposed to be here.”

“I guess my secretary forgot to tell me about it this morning,” she said. “Have you landed any internships for your major yet?”

“I have two majors.”

“Pre-law, Aubrey.”

“No.” I sighed.

“Well, why not? Do you think one is just going to fall from the sky and land in your lap? Is that it?”

“I had an interview yesterday at Blaine and Associates,” I said, feeling my heart grow heavier by the second, “and I have another one next week at Greenwood, Bach, and Hamilton. I’m also about to audition for the role of a lifetime if you’d like to pretend to give a fuck for five seconds.”

“Excuse me, young lady?”

“You’re not here.” There were tears in my eyes. “You’re not here...Do you know how huge this production is going to be?”

“Are you getting paid? Is the New York Ballet Company running it?”

“That’s not the point. I’ve told you over and over how important this audition is to me. I called and reminded you last night, and it would be really nice if my parents showed up and believed in me for a change.”

“Aubrey...” She sighed. “I do believe in you. I always have, but I’m in the middle of a huge hearing right now and you know that because it’s all over the papers. You also know that becoming a professional ballerina is not a stable career choice, and as much as I would love to leave my high-paying client to watch you tiptoe around on stage—”

“It’s called dancing en pointe.”

“Same thing,” she said. “Regardless, it’s just an audition. I’m sure your father and I won’t be the only parents who couldn’t make it today. Once you graduate from college and get into law school, you’ll see ballet for what it really is—a hobby, and you’ll be grateful that we pushed you into double majoring.”

“Ballet is my dream, mother.”

“It’s a phase, and you’re way past the prime age for becoming a professional last time I checked. Remember how you suddenly up and quit at sixteen? You’ll quit again, and it’ll be for the best. As a matter of fact—”

I hung up.

I didn’t want to listen to another one of her dream-killing speeches, and it angered me that she’d called ballet a “phase” when I’d been dancing since I was six years old. When she and my dad had poured countless dollars into private classes, costumes, and competitions.

The only reason why I’d “quit” at sixteen was because I’d broken my foot and couldn’t audition for any of the dance schools anymore. And the only reason I started to show the faintest interest in law was because I couldn’t do much outside of my rehab sessions except read.

My heart had always belonged in pointe slippers, and that fact would never change.

“Aubrey Everhart?” A man suddenly called my name from the theater door. “Is that you?”

“Yes.”

“You’re next to take the stage. Got about five minutes.”

“Be right there...” I stuffed my bag into a locker. Before I could close it, my phone rang.

Knowing it was my mother calling to offer a half-assed apology, I tried my best not to scream. “Please spare me your apologies.” I immediately picked up. “They don’t mean anything to me anymore.”

“I was calling to tell you good luck,” a deep voice said.

“Two minutes!” A stagehand glared at me and motioned for me to head onto the stage.

“Thoreau?” I turned my back to the stagehand. “What are you telling me good luck for?”

“You mentioned having some type of audition weeks ago. It’s today, right?”

“Yes, thank you...”

“You don’t sound too excited about your dream right now.”

“How can I be when my own parents don’t believe in it?”

“You’re twenty seven years old.” He scoffed. “Fuck your parents.”

I laughed, guiltily. “I wish it was that simple...”

“It really is. You make your own money, and despite the fact that you don’t really know shit about the law, you seem to be a pretty decent lawyer. Fuck them.”