iamfashion4

http://www.polyvore.com/life_ambitions_broadway_auditions_laba/group.show?id=87766

Amy Ventura
Age: 15
Style: all over the place. One day she’s in a dress, the next day she’s in a suit.
From: Boise, Idaho
Bio: Amy grew up on a farm in Idaho, the youngest of 7 kids. But despite loving her family and the country, she’s always felt different. Having always loved to sing and dance, the academy was her ticket out of the country. But now that she’s in NYC and living in the eclectic world of theater, is she ready to be herself? A true romantic with a heart of gold Amy is ready for that special boy… or girl?
Theater Experience: School plays, and Community Theater.
Suggested Model: Anna De Rijk
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"Turn back..., oh dammit, I came in too soon!" Amy muttered, pausing her Godspell cd. Ever since she had been accepted to Zeigfeld Academy, she had been cramming her brain with any and every showtune in her range; even now, on a plane with only a half hour before she would arrive in New York. After all, it had been a miracle to be accepted to such a prestigous school in the first place; now she had to compete with everyone else who got in, people who probably had a lot more experience then she did. With only school plays and Idaho community theater under her belt (and anyway, the community theater work was BARELY anything; in her small, secluded neighborhood in Boise, it was suicide for any boy to take part in the musicals. Therefore, if there was a male lead, the desperate theater crew had looked to Amy to fill the role; by Boise standards, a girl in pants was considered androgynous.)
She sighed as she turned off her walkman, remembering the look the airport personell had given her upon seeing the ancient hand-me-down. "Sorry, but SOME of us come from big families that can't even afford name-brand breakfast cereal, much less iPods." She had thought, but kept her mouth shut.
She shook away the memory. It was only a matter of time before she would be in the land of milk and honey that was New York City, where her career, and life, would begin. New York, where some of the greatest singers had belted their souls before hundreds. New York, where minds were so open, and nobody would mutter "dyke" as they passed her in the hall. Again, she shook away the memory.

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Top 3:
-Amy Ventura
-Haven Lane
-Tuesday Reese
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Oh god, oh god, oh god. Breath, just breath.
What the hell was she doing here?
Amy was desperately trying not to let her face give away the fact that butterflies were spastically bumping around in her stomach, rapidly multiplying as she sat in one of the burgundy leather chairs in what she heard some girls calling the "weed-out room". She was waiting to be called in to auditon for the school's first production of the year, Hairspray. Drumming her fingers on her audition piece, she tried to think about something else. They called this the weed-out room, she guessed, because if anyone's nerves were going to get the best of them and keep them from auditioning, it would definetely be in this room. Paintings of stern-looking past administrators loomed down on them from their places on the dark wood-paneled walls, as if to say, "Why did you even bother showing up? We only had to look at you to know that you don't have half the talent it takes to make it here. You should just go back to wherever you came from, and forget all about your silly, unrealistic dreams."
Looking at the other girls in the room, Amy felt that the lifeless portraits were right. They all looks completely calm, silently reviewing their pieces as if this would be a cakewalk for them. Either they were just as nervous as she was and were all hiding it extremely well, Amy thought, or they were fantastic. Either way, it meant they could act a hell of a lot better then she could. Maybe it wasn't too late to go back to Idaho? Maybe-
"Miss Ventura, Miss Amy Ventura!" An old crone called, poking her head out the door. She was an ancient thing with a pearl-pink wig slipping slightly off her head, looking hawk-like and just as menacing as the portraits.
Oh, god.
She walked to the piano in the center of the audition room (which greatly resembled a brand-new dance studio; wood floors shining with several inches of polish, wall-to-wall mirrors) and handed the pianist her peice. Facing the three casting judges at the front of the room (the crone, a plump woman with mounds of curling brown hair and wearing a purple velvet gown, and a petite, obviously gay man) she snapped into Velma.
"You...can laugh, but life's a test! Don't do this, don't do that, remember! Mother knows best." She belted, the power in her voice seizing her nerves. The judges didn't once look up at her, or changer their expressions, but scribbled vigorously on their clipboards. When she was done, they dismissed her, their mastered poker faces intact. However, when she got her sheet music from the pianist, he flashed her a quick, yet huge smile.
On her way out, she gave the portraits in the weed-out room a smug grin. They were wrong. She DID belong here.
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Sorry about the length, and sooo sorry for the fact that i made up a panel of casting judges. I really wasn't going to, but i couldn't get the same visual without them. I promise that if i get the part, i won't make up important characters.

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