Markia Washington wanted to attend Baltimore School for the Arts so much that way back in June, the 14-year-old memorized the monologue and song she planned to perform, even though auditions wouldn't be held for another seven months.
After meeting BSA instructor Becky Mossing at summer camp, Markia sent the teacher a follow-up e-mail every month for the rest of the year. She was eager to make sure she didn't miss the all-important deadline for submissions.
The eighth-grader did vocal exercises on weekends and after school, and rehearsed her audition piece in front of family members and friends. She knew that the odds against her were formidable.
The Baltimore School for the Arts isn't just any public high school. The institution prepares its students for careers in the arts, and fewer than 9 percent of the 1,323 kids seeking admission will win a coveted spot in next year's freshman class.
The first round of auditions were held in January, and at first, Markia didn't do so well.
"I had to sing in Italian," Markia said, "and my nerves got in the way of my surrendering to the music."
So when she learned that she had secured a callback for the theater department (though not for the vocal music program) it was hard to tell whether she was more excited, or more apprehensive.
"If I don't get in, of course I'll be upset," Markia said, her voice dwindling more with each word. "I'd feel like I worked so hard for nothing. But I wouldn't stop planning a career in the performing arts."
Acceptance and rejection letters began going out last week to the anxiously waiting, middle-school hopefuls. It takes a long time to hand-sign that many letters, so some youngsters might not receive notification until the middle of March.
At least three-quarters of the 116 pupils admitted to the freshman class will, like Markia, live in the city of Baltimore, while the remaining 25 percent will live in other parts of Maryland. For a few, the daily commute can approach three hours round-trip.
The kids make the sacrifice because they've been inspired by the success of such BSA alumni as actress Jada Pinkett Smith, rapper Tupac Shakur and fashion designer Christian Siriano.
Principal Leslie Shepard knows an awful lot of children are about to have their hearts broken. If she had her way, she would admit every single boy and girl who loves to sing or dance or draw, and who is willing to work hard.
"It's bittersweet," she says.
"We love finding new talent, but most of the kids who go through this process will be disappointed. We're just saying that at this time, they're not the right match for our program. We don't want to discourage anyone from continuing their studies in the performing arts."
In some disciplines, the odds are better than in others. For example, 383 eighth-grade thespians were vying for a mere 16 spots in the theater program, or an acceptance rate of 4.2 percent. The vocal music department, with 322 candidates, was nearly as competitive.
Staff members auditioned 219 dancers, 198 visual artists,150 musicians — and just 51 applicants for the theater production department, which teaches such technical skills as costume preparation and sound design.
It's safe to say that every one of the middle-schoolers suffered attacks of nerves that ranged from mild to debilitating. During the dance callbacks, for instance, one girl became so anxious that she vomited at the barre. (She was given the chance to complete her audition later.)
And another young ballerina, curly-haired Kennedee Alston, 14, dissolved in tears on the dance studio floor after inadvertently arriving at her callback 90 minutes late.
She'd been sitting in the school auditorium all that time, waiting for her turn to try out. When the announcement was made, for some reason she didn't hear it.
"I was afraid they wouldn't let me audition," said the 14-year-old student at Baltimore's New Song Academy. "One of the teachers told me, 'It's better to be late than not show up. We were looking forward to seeing you dance. Now go and change your clothes' "
But when Kennedee arrived in class, she was so upset she had a hard time concentrating.
"They were doing this little short thing, with a jump," she said. "I didn't understand what I was supposed to be doing. I tried over and over."
Kennedee knew that her shot at being admitted would be determined solely by this three-hour class, and half her precious time had already expired. For better or worse, her grades in math, language arts and social studies would not be taken into account.
"We're the only performing arts school in the country that doesn't use academic criteria for admission," Shepard says. "We don't even look at report cards."
Nonetheless, the school boasts a graduation rate of higher than 95 percent. Students on academic probation are barred from performing in school productions, and most kids will do anything to get their shot at the spotlight — even study.
Virtually all graduating seniors either enroll in college or are hired by a performing arts company, Shepard says, and these are statistics that appeal to parents.
"At the beginning of the year, I tell the incoming freshmen that if they've struggled academically in the past, this is their chance for a fresh start," she says.
Prior instruction can help. Each year, about 40 of the coveted freshman slots are won by pupils enrolled in the free TWIGS (To Work In Gaining Skills) arts classes held at the high school on Saturdays.
But performing experience is by no means required. Every year, youngsters who have never so much as acted in an elementary school play, sung in the church choir or taken a jazz dance class will beat out kids with formidable resumes.
For instance, 14-year-old Antrel McDowell has been dancing to music videos on television for as long as he can remember.
But until Antrel's audition, no one had ever showed him what first position was, let alone an arabesque.
When he approached his mother about auditioning for the arts school, initially she was skeptical. Antrel acknowledges that he'd been slacking off on his studies, so mother and son made a deal: If he would bring up his average grades to As and Bs, he could try out for the arts school.
And sure enough, Antrel's eighth-grade teachers at the Stadium School began reporting that the gregarious boy had stopped disrupting class with his chatter and had begun getting his work done.
"I completely turned around my whole attitude toward school and got a good report card," Antrel said. "And I cleaned up my room. I made a big enough space on the floor so I could practice, practice, practice."
At the auditions, Antrel stood out. He might have not have had as much polish as more experienced boys. But Norma Pera, head of the dance department, noticed that when she asked Antrel to balance on one leg, the rest of his body didn't wobble about. When told to lie on his back and relax, Antrel's toes flopped all the way out to the sides, demonstrating his ankles' flexibility.
Just as important, Antrel never stopped trying. When another group of students was being evaluated, he didn't relax and take a break. Instead, he'd stand in back and imitate the more senior dancers. He'd kick his leg in front of him and try to point his foot like they did, or curve his arm just so over his head.
Last week, Antrel found that his efforts had paid off — he's in. Kennedee learned that she had been too hard on herself, and had danced better than she thought. She also will be part of the freshman class.
And Markia?
On Wednesday morning, when she was sitting in class at the Francis Scott Key magnet school, there was a surprise announcement over the public address system:
"We would like to offer a special congratulations to Markia Washington," the principal said, "for being accepted into the acting program of the Baltimore School for the Arts."