“Are you sure?” asked my father.  He stood at my bedroom door, looking skeptical.  I smiled from ear to ear, “Yes!”  With a pause, I wondered why such a supportive figure would question my outfit.  “Why do you ask Papa?” 
“Well… no reason.  If that’s what you like.” I glanced at myself in the mirror.  Pink tank top, pleated skirt, and red Chuck Taylors.  Reassured, I nodded and decided that I look well put together.  Everything fit nicely and the colors blended refreshingly.  Besides, my mother reminded me before she left for work, “Have fun, play hard.”  That is exactly what I intended to do, after all, I was judged on performance.
When we arrived at the University, I hopped down from the truck and practically bounced all the way up the sidewalk.  When we passed through the massive doors, I was stunned.  Polished halls stretch in each direction.  The glass of the soaring windows danced in sun rays.  The shiny marble floors gleamed under the light.
Despite the serenity, my excitement began to bubble over.  I chattered on and on.  Perhaps this is where it started.  With all that noise, I am not sure how my Papa could have concentrated.  Consequently, we took a wrong turn.   Again, we ventured down the wrong staircase.  With each passing minute we became turned upside down and topsy-turvy. 
Thus my energy depleted as time dragged and I moped behind Papa.  “Come on, we’re almost there,” he told me.  With a deep breath I summoned a smite of courage.  Right foot forward, left foot forward.  Red sneaker forward, next sneaker forward.   Those muddy shoes lightened my step and soon enough we surged ahead. 
“Which way now?”  I called back.  A quick study of the sign directed us to the elevator.  Hurriedly we punched the buttons.  Without a doubt the time of my audition was closing.  Anxiety started to pinch me, and I smoothed my free hand down the pleats of my skirt.  I flipped through the sheet music I held in my other hand, and tried to imagine how they sounded.  Blank.  Blank.  Blank.  I felt a choking sensation squeeze my throat.  On the contrary, Papa stood with his shoulders back, stance balanced to the lurching elevator, and hands clasped loosely in front.  He caught me studying him and smiled.  “When we get there, look at the judge, and ask ‘are you ready?’  It will catch him off guard a bit.  I used to do that for choir.”  My breath evened out, and I felt calmer than before.
I was grateful for the advice because as soon as the elevator doors slid open, a tidal wave hit me.  Sparkling dresses, hairspray, and bouquets lined the walls.  Immediately heads turned to stare.  All eyes fell to my shoes, and glances criticized my attire.  I was a white smudge on black paper, blaring ignorance, inexperience, and ultimately vulnerability.
In spite of the cold silence, a warm hand steadied me.  My father guided me to the sign in table.  “What is your name sweetheart?” the secretary asked. My answer moved her finger to scale the paperwork.  With a highlighter she checks me off and says, “Best hurry, you’re up!” 
I thank the woman, though her reminder means little to me.  We spent the past half hour well aware.  Papa patted my back, and mimes a big grin.  I summon one and take my first step into the jaws of judgment.
The audition room appeared to be more of a lecture room or auditorium.  Rows of empty seats sat expectantly behind the judge.  The judge herself was seated about ten feet from the side of the piano.  When I saw her, I thought of a cinnamon roll.  Round, warm, and topped with white.  She filled the chair, and evaluated the sheets on her desk with deep brown eyes. 
My footsteps echoed as I walked to the bench.  I carefully arranged my music and drew a deep breath.  I turned to the judge and asked, “Are you ready?”  Before she spoke the first syllable I dove into the movements.
My fingers waltzed across the ivory.  In my own mind I was leading Beauty and the Beast through their moonlit ballroom, spinning Clara with her Nutcracker prince, and painting a canvas of music. I twirled through piece one, leaped across the second, and landed the finale.  Everything passed so fast that I scarcely recognized the gray tones around me.  I rose as if out of a dream and bowed.  “Thank you,” I at least remembered my manners.
    In the end, the hallway outside still contained proud contestants.  But, I emerged with a pleasant emotion.  Triumph.  The smile that lit my face was mirrored on my father’s later that afternoon when we received my scores.  They were all top evaluations.
The underdog was transformed into a star.  She likes to think that it was her lucky sneakers, they were after all named One Stars.