Emmeline raised a brow, unfazed by the silliness of the exercise that meant loosen everyone up. She had done it, or some variant of it, countless times over. Every production or class she had taken part of did this very thing on the first day, such much she already had what she would do in  mind.<br/><br/>All her previous nerves melted away. She wiped her palms dry on the velvet belt of her dress and let herself sink into the posture her mother had broken her into- shoulders back, chin up. She snorted to herself as she watched the boy to the teacher's left squirm as she gestured for him to go next. He looked like a deer in headlights, freezing up as every gaze turn to him. Amateur.<br/><br/>“I, uh, am Anthony. MacDonald, Anthony, uh, MacDonald." He wrapped his arms around his chest, his face going red. "I like baseball and I, uh," he flailed, then pretended to swing a bat through the air.<br/><br/>Everyone stared,  until the girl besides him abruptly startled. "Oh, oh, me? Right, course, I'm so silly," she rattled. "I'm Elizabeth Benton and I like cats." She hesitated and did a weak rendition of jazz-hands.<br/><br/>Thankfully for her, Emmeline had a strong poker face. She refrained from laughing, the corner of her lips tugging. Another boy went, and she could smell the theater geek on him, his expressions over-the-top, his energy far too high. God, have some class. Her turn came, and she took it with a casual step forward and a steadfast gaze that seemed to somehow linger on each person, intimately.<br/><br/>"I'm Emmeline Shae and I believe the juiciest part of a person is the mystery behind the mask." With both hands she made guns and 'pewpew'ed them at the crowd and winked. How's that for a first impression? She had practiced in front of the mirror. Knock 'em dead, her mother use to say. Emmeline was 11 and had taken that perhaps a touch too seriously.<br/><br/>She stepped back into the circle, her hands clasped lightly in front of her.