32nd and Parsons

Caroline introduces herself as the narrator of "Thirty Second Imparsons." The scene is set in a ballet studio, where the ballerinas are practicing to Stevie Wonder's "Isn't She Lovely." The studio is filled with steam and sweat as the girls dance. Pierre, their instructor, criticizes their performance and singles out Brin, who receives an invitation to audition for a role in the upcoming production of Don Quixote. Brin commutes home, encountering a police officer named Carl, who asks about her ballet training. Brin arrives home to her empty apartment and finds a note from her parents. She reheats lasagna for dinner but ultimately throws it away without eating. She messages her family, thanks them for the meal, and goes to bed. The next day, Brin continues to practice in the ballet studio, where Pierre introduces a new male character who watches Brin dance intently. Hi, I'm Caroline, and you're listening to the first ten pages of Thirty Second Imparsons. Title over pointe shoes moving on laminate floor. Thirty Second Imparsons. Interior, ballet, school, studio, day. The ballerinas are dancing with the music Isn't She Lovely by Stevie Wonder playing over the dancing. A seamy ballet studio filled with female ballerinas spinning, jumping, and dancing all around the floor. Short clips focusing on their waist down. The camera is now behind the teenage girls, showing their full bodies, but only their backs. The mirror they are watching themselves dance in is fully coated in steam and sweat from the dancing. Quick movements and lots of drops of sweat falling on the floor. The music comes to an abrupt stop. How the fuck? The girls all jolt to a stop and look over to Pierre, 51, crouching on the floor of the studio. He stands and goes on. Imbeciles! Do any of you really think you can become good ballerinas with this bullshit my eyes are being tortured with right now? Again! The girls follow his orders and go back to their beginning positions. Interior, ballet, school, dressing room, night. The girls disperse quickly to their own lockers, trying to change and leave the studio as quickly as possible. Only small smiles and quiet words are exchanged. The door to the changing room flies open with Pierre entering. Brin! Brin! Someone get me Brin! The eyes widen, girls covering their teenage bodies. The room is silent. Everyone frantically is trying to locate Brin, 16, but she is nowhere to be found. A toilet flushes and Brin comes out of the stall. She makes direct eye contact with Pierre as soon as the bathroom door opens. Under her breath, without moving her lips, fuck, her rosy red face stares directly at Pierre. A smile slowly forms on her face. You called? A few giggles come from the girls. Pierre pushes the girls out of the way. He grabs Brin's hand and storms out of the room. Interior, ballet, school, hallway, night. The two stand a foot apart. Brin looks down at Pierre. Pierre is looking up at Brin. He is distracted by the boys' practice going on in the next studio. He pulls an envelope out of his pocket. It is crinkled up. This letter. It arrived for you the other day. It's open. Refocusing on the conversation at hand. Yeah, well, if the mail come here, I get to open. Brin reopens the letter and quickly skims. Brin's big smile comes back to her face. All the color in her face is gone. She looks up at Pierre, checking his phone. He is checking his phone. Don't get too happy smiley. It's only an invitation and you will only get in if you have a decent one to roll. Still pale as a ghost, Brin verbally swallows, trying to keep the smile plastered on her face. We're doing Don Quixote this year, and you are not going to get in with any roll other than Keytree. So you're Keytree. He delivers his information without maintaining eye contact with Brin. Thank you so much, sir. I have to go. But just so you know, you're going to have a lot of eyes on you in the next few months. Pierre puts his glasses back on and swings the door open to the men's rehearsal. His yelling can faintly be heard in the background. Brin stands in the hallway for a few seconds alone, staring out her eyes. A few of her friends from class come out to leave. You good, Brin? Close up on Brin's eyes blinking herself back to reality. Yeah, what the fuck was up with that? They all gather around Brin, laughing and imitating Pierre. Tell him to get that stick out of his ass and get laid. Charlotte, 15, pretends to make out with the air. They all laugh. Brin shoves the envelope into the back of her tights. No, no. It's okay, thanks. You know Pierre. We're doing Don Quixote this year, and he's going over. Oh, fuck. I hate that story. It's so classical and romantic. Where's the normal Nutcracker bullshit? They all roll their eyes. Sabo. Cut to Brin's feet in her tennis shoes walking down the steps of the ballet school. Panning up her long peacoat and the back of her walking the streets of New York City. Music playing Brutal, the chorus by Olivia Rodrigo. Montage of Brin commuting home. Clips of Brin walking in masses of people, listening to music with corded headphones, keeping her hands in her coat as she walks. She emits an essence of confidence in this montage. Exterior, New York City subway line, night. She arrives at the subway line. Brin brings her phone out to swipe her MetroCard when she is interrupted by a deep voice. Yo, why'd you stop out here so late? Taking one headphone out of her ear, startled at the comment, Carl, 31, a police officer who is stationed at the Green Line subway station, stops Brin before she passes through the turnstiles. Hey, long time no see. Where have you been? Brin steps aside, letting the people behind her pass through the turnstiles to the subway. She takes her headphones completely out of her ears and pushes her hair behind her ears so her whole face is exposed. She is smiling. They changed my normal Green Line hours at the end of the summer, and you know I can't say nothing to the higher-ups, but the higher-ups need new officers. So I think things will be going back to normal around here. Brin continues smiling and maintaining eye contact with the old friend. Thank God. The rookies they put out here were like talking to a brick wall. Only responses I can get out of them is yes, no, and be safe. They both laugh. What's up with that whole ballet thing? Brin shrugs and smiles. She opens up her coat to reveal her tights and leotard. Carl rolls his eyes and laughs. Come on, now. You know I like it. You would like it, too. You just wait. Once you and Jen have a baby girl, you'll be doing every girl dad thing in the book. Man, don't play. He laughs and takes off his officer hat. He lowers his voice, her coat still open, showing her upper hip. Carl's eyes wander to the bruise. Hey, take care of yourself. Thanks. Brin looks down, in her pocket holding the envelope. She pulls it out. She holds the paper tight around the congratulations on your acceptance part and flashes it to Carl. Whoa! Big spender! Congrats! Carl looks at Brin a little confused, and Brin looks back at him with a stale smile on her face. Without speaking, they both note what each other are thinking. Listen, just take care of yourself, okay, kid? I'll catch you on the flip. Brin puts her headphones back in, swipes the virtual metro card, and passes through the turnstiles. She gets on the subway and spots a seat. She sits, but not without noticing an elderly man holding onto a pole as the train starts to move. Sir! Sir! She gets his attention. Please sit. I don't mind standing. He bows his head in appreciation and sits where Brin was sitting. She widens her stance and sways as the subway moves back and forth. She stares aimlessly out the blurred windows. Interior, apartment complex, night. Brin enters the lobby, thanking the doorman and wishing him a good night. The lobby attendant looks up from his desk and tips his top hat. Ms. Whitfield. Brin laughs and curtsies. Mr. Cohen, anyone home up there? Don't think so. Your parents said Bobby had a school thing. Brin continues to walk towards the elevator. She looks at him in remembrance and wishes him a good night. Whitfield flat. Brin gets off the elevator, right into her kitchen. The grand apartment has only lights above the kitchen island on and the backsplash lights on. Throwing her coat and bag down on the floor, she notices a note on the countertop. It reads, B. Hope rehearsal went well. Bob's had a school thing and figured since we didn't hear from you, you would get home late. Anyways, it's lasagna night. Preheat the oven to 350. There are a few pieces cut for you in the fridge. Let it cook for like 20 minutes-ish or more. LOL. You are smart. Just taste it when it's hot enough. We are so proud of you. Love, Mom. Brin smiles and preheats the oven. She stares out the window of her high rise until the oven beeps ready. She puts a piece and a half of lasagna into the oven. She sets the timer for 25 minutes and gets into the shower. The timer sounds, standing in the same place looking out the window as before, now with sopping wet hair and pajamas on. She pulls the lasagna out of the oven, slides it onto a plate. The lasagna is steaming. She pulls out a knife and fork. She cuts the lasagna up into two little pieces. She sits at one of the barstools in the kitchen and turns on the TV that can be seen from a distance. She waits for the lasagna to cool down. Time passes. The lasagna is cool now. She picks up the full plate and walks over to the sink. She shovels the entire piece of food down the sink disposal. She runs the disposal a few times, washes water around the sink so there are no remnants of tomato sauce or sausage. She leaves the dirty sauce stained plate in the sink and picks up a fork and knife on top of it. She picks up her phone and texts her family group chat. Thanks for leaving me dinner. It was delish. Super tired. So going to bed. Love you guys. She turns off the TV and leaves the island lights on in anticipation for her parents and brother to eventually come home. She walks into the bedroom and closes the door. The screen goes black. Interior ballet studio day. One more time. Bryn is dancing alone in the studio as Pierre watches on from his usual crouching position. Bryn is drenched in sweat. The door to the studio creaks open with a male's face peeking in. Both Bryn and Pierre glance at the door. Bryn continues dancing. What are you, a whimpering pussycat? Enter a room like a man. Confused about the situation, Bryn continues to dance. Pierre gestures to the male to enter. The male enters and watches Bryn dance around the studio. He doesn't break his stare from Bryn's movement. His eyeline is fixed on the leotard and leggings. The camera only focuses on those features too. Okay, enough. Unable to hear over the music, Bryn continues to dance. I said okay, enough! She jumps to a stop, finally able to get a good look at the stranger in the room. She is blushing from embarrassment from Pierre. Bryn, Luke, Luke, Bryn. He stares at both of them, leaving in awkward silence, waiting for either of them to do something. Shake her hand, goddammit! Luke, 18, is tall, buff, and handsome. He extends his hand. Bryn simultaneously goes in for the hug. Awkwardly, the two mesh together, quickly interrupted by Pierre. Well, that was painfully awkward. Pierre takes off his glasses and is gnawing on the temples of the out-of-style spectacles. He retreats back to his corner.