If Ever(5)

"Since our debut, fans have begged for a chance to be on the show and when fans speak, we listen. For the first time on Celebrity Dance Off history, we bring you Chelsea Barnes, a college student from Iowa City, Iowa, dancing with pro Dominic Yardley. Watch the clip on how Chelsea came to the show."

I cringe because I'm no longer a college student. I left my job at an international business acquisitions firm because I couldn't stand the oppressive climate, and now I've landed myself in this insanity.

The screen flashes through pictures of me from college and then the audition tape of me dancing at Anna's engagement celebration rolls. They make it out as if I worked long and hard to get picked for the show.

"None of what he's saying is true. I never even planned to audition," I mutter as the announcer says I won the spot over tens of thousands of other people. I was drunk and did it on a dare.

Dominic's head snaps around. "You didn't?"

Footage rolls of our rehearsals and me fumbling to learn the steps, stumbling, and always appearing uncoordinated. As I stand here in a risqué college dance team costume, having never been on a dance team in my life, I feel the blood drain from my face. My heart pounds in cold stark fear. This is a colossal mistake.

"Chelsea? Look at me," Dominic squeezes my hand. "Ignore the tape. They always take the promo package on some tangent. It's you, me, and the dance now. Tune out everything else. Can you do that?"

"I'll try," I whisper.

"Remember to relax, long lines, and smile."

I take a deep breath. This is supposed to be fun. I force a smile on my face as the music plays and we begin. I focus on Dominic and pretend I'm in the dusty rehearsal room. He guides me around the floor, feeding me the steps as we go. The dance flies by. I don't think I messed up anything major but honestly can't remember a thing.

Dominic guides us to Marcus in front of the judge's table. There's the perky Nikki LaFlash, a tiny brunette; Stephen Harris, a balding, more serious fellow with distinguished good looks; and Brice Zimmer, an exuberant former dancer with a goatee that thinly trails his jawline like an eyebrow pencil.

My heart is pounding and my breath heaving. The judges speak, but I don't hear them because my mind is flooded with the relief that it's over. I did it! I danced on national TV! Dominic's arm is on my waist in a show of friendly camaraderie that surprises me. He grins and pulls me closer as if we're besties. My fake smile is pasted on as I suck in air and try to catch my breath.

Our scores are announced, two sevens and a six. Dominic gives my shoulder a quick squeeze. The show goes to commercial break, and he steps away. "Not bad. I expected worse."

I nod a bit deflated by his comment. The whole experience is a bizarre whirlwind of fabricated stories, fake camaraderie, and phony people. "We're done?"

He laughs. "Yes. Now just hang around the balcony and be sure to look entertained as the other couples dance. Don't look critical of anyone, or the cameras will catch it and you'll come off like a jerk."

Note taken. I have no right to judge the others after my performance anyway. I spend the next hour clinging to the railing that overlooks the dance floor. Hank and his partner Sonya dance an adorable cowboy number. He shuffles through most of it, but his comedic personality shines through leaving the judges in stitches. There's no way the actress Eva Alveraz could dance that well in three weeks. I'm pretty sure she's been dancing all her life, and then the poor newscaster. He has no sense of rhythm and clunks through the number like he's blindfolded with his shoes on the wrong feet.

When all the pairs have danced to varying degrees of success, Dominic and I line up for the closing. Thankfully all we have to do is stand with our partners as clips of each dance are played. After the music ends and the cameras turn off, we're ushered to a spot on the dance floor for media interviews. It's a weird procession as various news outlets from the big guns like Entertainment Tonight to obscure bloggers I've never heard of. It's like a school popularity contest as they pick and choose who to interview. Dominic and I are at the end of the line and I really want to ditch.

"Smile, and stop fidgeting," he whispers.

Of course, pop diva, Candace Capri, has a long line waiting to cover her, and Brady, the charismatic celebrity chef knows how to flex his PR muscles. Dominic and I are finally approached by a waifish, over-glammed interviewer along with an ape-shaped man hiding behind the blinding light of his camera.

"Stacey Phillips with In Touch America," she announces, shoving her microphone in my face. "Chelsea, tell America what it's like to be on Celebrity Dance Off?"

"Um." I look to Dominic for support. He's wearing his boy-next-door smile and waiting for my response. I turn back to her. "It's terrifying," I blurt.

"The judges seem to think you have potential, commenting on your clean lines and musicality."

"They did?" I say. Dominic nods. I don't remember a word any of them said.

She laughs. "Do you feel you deserve to be America's chance?"

"Probably not," I say, followed by a dead silence where she waits for me to elaborate. I don't. What can I say that would sound intelligent? There must be a thousand other girls who would do better than me. Why can't I even come up with a snappy answer?

Stacey turns her attention to my partner. "Dominic, the word on the street is that you were supposed to be paired with Mallory Becker, but she withdrew at the last minute. How does it feel to be paired with a total unknown?"