Pansy almost misses the application deadline for the show.
She spends four hours shading in the lines of the pencil sketches
in her portfolio and then wastes twenty-five minutes staring aghast at the
blinking black cursor on her laptop screen when she gets to the lone lonely
essay question at the end and it’s asking her ‘Who are you?’ like she has any idea how to answer and it’s frustrating.
Because she’s a crumpled white envelope overflowing with
half-smoked cigarettes and expensive hotel stationary and she’s been around the
world and back and has the scars and the postage stamps and the passport ink to
prove it and she’d been The Snitch in high school and The Burnout in college and
sometimes she’s blank but more often than not she’s empty and she’s been
secretly steamed open and left out to dry so that no one could see the marks
and she’s been taped shut and scribbled on and thrown away and she’s all of
these things and all of these moments and how can she condense that
into a 250-word personal statement?
She winds up writing about her idyllic childhood summers at
the Cape and how graduating from Parsons had changed her life and when she gets
her callback a few weeks later from the network she wears a black leather
jacket over a lace-collared white Chanel dress and sneers at the other applicants
in the sleek, chrome-accented waiting room and that isn’t the day she first
speaks to Ginny Weasley, no, but it is
the day that she first notices her.