One of the guys in the group, a blond dude sporting a hip-hop getup but known for his rock vocals during tryouts, was especially antsy.

Having been overlooked by the big-shot agencies, he was under the wing of a lesser-known outfit.

His spirits had taken a hit since the previous night.

Restless, he began to pace, his patience thinning by the second.

“Where on earth is she? Reckon she’s left us high and dry? If she’s given up on us, she could at least have the decency to tell us!” he exclaimed.

Tom Rivas couldn’t contain his exasperation any longer, slumping to the floor in defeat. He grumbled, “Joining her team was a mistake.

Even if I’d been kicked out during the auditions, it would have been better than this public embarrassment. The net’s buzzing with ridicule about us. Why are we even still here?”

Brucie Armstrong, sitting nearby, flexed his muscular arms beneath his sleeveless shirt.

palpable. He remarked, “Unless a miracle

others at the auditions? How do we even stand

group’s spirits dampened, Woodrow

still be a stage meant just for us. We can’t lose hope now. Better to try and fail than not try at all. Giving up now

snort, looking at him

face a camera, and

he continued to mock, “Thinking of winning, are you? On what grounds? Your shrieking voices? Or those clumsy

your ill-informed comments to yourself,” Franklin defended, quickly escalating the exchange into a full-blown argument between him, Woodrow,

Brucie’s voice

We shouldn’t even

was palpable as Tom continued venting his

I could’ve spent my time better sleeping. And last night, I looked up her company, this

by his weary eyes and single eyelids, had silently observed the

your positions

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