It's okay, you did okay.

Holy crap.

I just auditioned for a role in season twelve of Supernatural, and for some reason, I am pretty sure I did okay. Four days ago, I mustered up enough courage to ask Jared about it, and much to my surprise, he was more than happy to help, like Vicki predicted.

The role I auditioned for was a girl who's eight year old brother suddenly lapsed into a coma because of a run-in with some new monster that the Winchesters have never seen before.

The boys keep telling me to watch seasons one through eleven, because they are still under the impression that I am not a fan. I am still going to keep it a secret, I will just re-watch the series again, for the hundredth time.

I don't mind at all, though. I love Supernatural and I will watch it again many times in the future.

But at the moment, I am too angst-filled and fidgety to sit and watch television. The supernatural people are supposed to be calling any time to let me know how I did.

I get through about half a season, just as a distraction from my impatience. I get up to Asylum before I decide to quit, and I go downstairs, seeking out the small moose I have become so fond of.

"Thomas?" I call out, then wince at my mistake. He is fast asleep on the couch, curled up in a ball and snoring quietly. I smile and brush his brown hair aside, kissing his forehead gently before going into the kitchen to look for Jared and Gen.

"Hey," Jared greets. He is sitting at the counter, sipping on a bottle of water. His laptop is opened up in front of him, reminding me of the character he plays on TV. "Did you watch any yet?" I take a short glass out of the cupboard and fill it with cold water, leaning against the sink.

"Some."

"D'ya like it so far?" He questions, and I resist the urge to pour out all my feelings about this show, the one I have been watching since I was ten.

"Yeah," I reply. "But I think it will take me a while to watch all eleven seasons." Lying through my teeth to Jared Padalecki is not my favorite thing, but, I gotta do what I gotta do. "If I even get it," I add to myself, but he hears it.

"What?" He says. "Of course you'll get it." I scoff, taking another sip of my water. He is saying this simply because he has to, because it's the right thing to say. Of course, I probably won't get it. It was a sloppy performance and I'm starting to realize that.

"After you left, I talked to them. They were very impressed." Again, I roll my eyes and scoff, and use this silence to my advantage to steer the conversation towards a different direction.

"Where is everybody?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows. Jared doesn't press on the earlier subject, but instead answers my question.

"Out back, swimming," he responds. "It's really hot outside. You can join them if you want." I raise my eyebrows, as I'm not too fond of being around others, let alone swimming with them.

A sudden realization dawns up one me: my full character is based on the fact that I am isolated. Because I never do anything spontaneous or interesting, I am a boring person. If I go to my room and hide instead of joining them, that sort of makes mean antisocial freak.

But if I do join them, then that will be a step in the right direction: towards fixing my problems. By forcing myself to participate in social encounters, I believe it will be easier for me to starts conversations in the future.

So, I go upstairs and put on my bathing suit, which, thankfully, is not too revealing. I clench my hands into fists for a moment, taking a deep breath in attempt to slow the racing beat of my heart.

I grab my blue towel and drape it around me, heading downstairs and stepping out the sliding glass door that leads to the swimming pool in the backyard.

As I expect my anxiety attack to hit me, I notice the kids (except Thomas) and the adults (except Jared) in the pool. I think the adults are only in there for the kids, but that's enough.

"Came to join the party?" Misha asks, and I realize that he is talking to me. Something about him gives me a sense of comfort, but the fact that what he said caused the rest of them to turn their heads and look at me did not.

"Uh, yeah," I reply, forcing a steady tone into my voice. "If you'll have me." Good, a joke. Lighten the mood.

"Of course," Vicki says, holding on to Maison to keep her up. Their hair is still dry, so I assume that they just recently got into the pool.

After the hellish procedure of removing the towel and getting in, I make sure to keep myself fairly distanced from the others. They do not need me bothering them.

Apparently, Misha does not feel that I am a bother. Him and West move to the end of the pool where I am, and West holds his arms out to me.

The water is pleasantly warm. I have never really been swimming in a pool. Before this, I only took independent swims in cold ponds, that is until Mason found out and volunteered to come with me a day. I told her it was a one time thing and I probably would not do it again.

I do not like getting half naked around other people. I suppose it is just my fear of exposing myself to other people.

Anyways, compared to the cold ponds, this pool is a heavenly dream.

Misha hands his son over to me, and I willingly take him, smiling warmly at the little guy I have grown so used to. Him and Maison look remarkably like their father, it's almost unbelievable.

"So, I hear that you're going to be on the show," Misha remarks as Westy returns my smile. I tights my grip around him, but not nearly enough to hurt him.

"I auditioned, but I haven't heard back from them yet," I answer, my nervousness evidently clear in my tone. Obviously, Misha notices this.

"I'm sure you'll get it." Why is everyone saying that? There is no chance that I could get a part in this show, I'm a rookie, an amateur. I know nothing about acting.

Misha splashes me with water, gaining my attention in a way that forces my previous thoughts down the drain. I blink, furrowing my eyebrows, as I wipe my face with my free hand.

"What?" I ask, hiding my frustration.

"You zoned out," he defends himself, but his soprano tone says otherwise. I roll my eyes and Westy increases the strength of his grip around my neck. "Are you okay?" This question surprises me. What did I do to make him ask this?

"What do you mean?" I ask innocently, but he is too smart to buy it.

"You're barely talking. Are you mad at me?" In a way, I understand the way he acts and what he sounds like when he is being genuinely nice. This is what he sounds like now.

"No," I reply. He raises his eyebrows in accusation, knowing that I am most certainly not perfectly fine. "I'm not, really. Just stressed out." I barely murmur that, in some hope that he cannot hear me.

"About what?" Misha asks, once again surpassing my expectations. "The show?" I sigh in defeat and decide that maybe opening up to him would not be the worst thing in the world.

"Auditioning was a waste of time," I answer. "I don't know anything about acting, I'm just a good liar." He furrows his eyebrows, expression changed from humorous to serious in a span of zero point three seconds.

"Well, somebody on set was obviously pleased with it," he replies, ruffling Westy's head of brown hair, which the boy does not seem fazed by. "And, what do you mean you're a good liar? What do you lie about?" I smile sheepishly.

"If I told you, I wouldn't be a very good liar, now would I?" I respond, to which he shrugs. However, he seems pleased with my response.

"True," he says. "So, is that all it is? The show? Anything else bothering you?" I clench my jaw as I think of all the numerous things I could tell him, all the things I most certainly could trust him with.

The expression that etches across my face as a list of everything that is stressing me out pops up in my head must catch Misha's attention. I suppose it may have conveyed how I felt about the subject. Every single thing that happens to me stresses me out beyond explanation, and I'm not sure if I could confess that to Misha. It would probably just annoy him.

"Charlie!" Jared calls from inside the house, just as Misha opens his mouth to start talking. I look up as Jared comes out from the sliding door, holding the phone. "They called."

My heart returns to overdrive, which is basically it's normal pace. They are the supernatural people I have been waiting to hear from all day. I cannot judge what they said based on the expression on Jared's face. Luckily, I don't have to, though.

"You got it."