Typecast

I'm not big on secrets. I know who I am and what I want. I don't believe in luck. I believe in fight.

I'm an up-and-coming maybe-star of local, unpaid theater. It'll be hard to juggle high school performances on top, but that's just how it goes sometimes, y'know? Three shows in a year, minimal overlap; how hard could it be?

I'm short for my age and definitely short a few dance lessons, but I got talent and a couple inches of attitude to spare. 

(It's been a while since my last ballet lesson. And my last tap lesson. And my last jazz lesson. Still been paying attention, though. Still watching.)

It's been a long, long time since I cared about the opinions of anyone but my directors. You want to call me shit? Go ahead. At the end of the day, I've accomplished something, but you're still a dick.

I try to make myself too busy for anything else. No schoolnights. No weekends, either. 

Oh, and no boyfriend, 'cause I wanna play the leading man. 

Yeah, avoid the lifelong curse of typecasting.

Lower your pitch. 

Quit standing like that.

Don't laugh so much, so loud.

Brilliant falsetto! Now tone it the hell down.

They say that a career is about compromise and sacrifice. They're right.