<🎧 Song Recommendation: Ready For It? by Taylor Swift.>
...
(University of Miami - Psychology Lecture Hall - February 5th)
"Positive reinforcement strengthens a behavior by providing a consequence an individual finds rewarding,"
"For example, if you give a rat food every time it presses a lever, it learns to press the lever. But... What happens if you don't give the food every time? What if you only give it randomly?"
"That, ladies and gentlemen, is called a Variable Ratio Schedule. It is the most addictive form of conditioning. It is why people pull slot machine levers for hours. It is the psychology of gambling."
Von sat in the very last row of the tiered seating. He wasn't paying attention to the class. His entire world was currently focused on the phone resting on his thighs.
He kept swiping down to refresh his emails continuously, and eventually he let out a tired breath
Initially, Von wasn't worried about passing the preliminary auditions as he believed he had crushed the performance.
But the protocol was to receive an Email within 48 hours, and it was long past that but he hadn't gotten any.
A cold reality check was setting in on Von. There were thousands of people auditioning and they were likely filtering all those people to just one hundred for the next stage.
What if he wasn't among them?
The chance of failure was there and it felt more real with every passing minute.
Von couldn't believe he was feeling this nervous. He was usually confident by default, yet here he was sweating over this issue.
He reloaded his inbox one last time and still nothing.
'I should stop,' Von told himself. 'Maybe if I act like I don't care, it will come faster.'
He forced his head up, trying to act nonchalant, drowning out his anxiety with academic theory.
"The subject will continue to perform the action," the Professor continued on, oblivious to Von's internal crisis. "Hoping for the positive reinforcement. Because they don't know when the reward is coming, they remain in a state of high alert."
As Von listened, he realized that the Professor's words were describing his exact situation. He was the rat. The email was the food. And the uncertainty was driving him insane.
It felt uncanny.
'Is the universe mocking me?' Von thought dryly.
Despite the irony, the lecture was actually distracting him. He found himself absorbing the information how the brain could be tricked, how habits were formed.
It made him realize that it was actually useful stuff for someone who planned to manipulate audiences for a living.
He had Zack to thank for being here at all.
This morning, Von had tried to pull the covers over his head and sulk, but his roommate wasn't having it.
"Midterms are next week, Von," Zack had lectured while throwing a pillow at his face. "Even if you do make it to Hollywood, you can't let your tuition fees go to waste. A degree is a safety net. If the music industry chews you up and spits you out, you'll need something to fall back on."
So, here he was. Learning about rats.
Ping!
The soft chime was barely audible over the Professor's voice, but to Von, it sounded like a cannon blast.
A notification lit up his screen.
[1 New Email]
Sender: Project Star Casting
Subject: Callback Invitation - Miami Region
Von's breath hitched and his heart rate spiked instantly.
Dear Mr. Varley,
We are pleased to inform you that you have advanced to the Televised Judges' Round. Please report with your instrument, if any, to the Miami Convention Center Ballroom A on Saturday, February 9th, at 8:00 AM prompt.
Congratulations!
A grin stretched across Von's face. "Yes!" he whispered under his breath, clenching his fist under the desk.
Suddenly, the boring lecture hall looked brighter. The Professor's monotone voice sounded like a symphony. Von felt a surge of energy so potent he actually sat up straight and started taking notes.
He devoted maximum attention to the rest of the class, not because he cared about Psychology, but because he was in such a good mood that he felt invincible.
***
Von wasted no time. He used the next four days routinely.
He would wake up very early, and power through a routine workout. After which, he would attend his classes before rushing back to the dorms.
He dedicated his evenings and nights entirely to practice.
Sometimes, he busked. Other times, he practiced alone in the room, or with Zack's help whenever his roommate was available.
Von also used that time to understand his new skills and better practice them. He didn't know if [Emote] had any limits, but he spent hours in front of the mirror, testing his adaptability.
He learned to portray various emotions on command, joy, heartbreak, rage; internalizing them until they felt real.
At one point during a late-night session, Von decided to test the upper limits of the skill. He activated [Emote] and focused on the concept of "Loss."
He sang a few lines of a ballad, and tears began to stream down his face. It wasn't just acting; his entire aura shifted to one of devastation that even he himself believed he'd lost someone.
Even Zack, who was usually less susceptible to such things and prided himself on logic, stopped typing on his laptop. He stared at Von with genuine pity, asking if he was okay.
"I'm fine," Von had grinned, wiping the tears away instantly.
It worked terrifyingly well.
The days passed quickly. And then, Saturday arrived. It was the time.
***
(Miami Convention Center - 8:00 AM)
The chaos of the "Cattle Call" was gone. Today, there were no lines wrapping around the block. There were no banana suits, no gothic maids, and no screaming weirdos trying to get on the blooper reel.
This was the elite round.
Von sat in "Ballroom A," a massive holding area that had been converted into a waiting room. The room was fitted with exactly one hundred chairs arranged in neat rows.
It was almost full.
Von scanned the room. The people here looked different. They were attractive, polished, and intensely focused. Some were vocalizing quietly in corners; others were checking their reflections in compact mirrors.
The minority of empty seats belonged to the unlucky ones; people who probably didn't check their emails in time or had a conflict they couldn't resolve.
Von was seated in the second row. Like many of the others, he had arrived quite early to the venue. They had been ushered to their seats after a rigorous ID check and left to themselves with no directives.
The silence in the room was now heavy as everyone was sizing each other up.
At exactly 8:00 AM, the double doors at the front of the room swung open.
A dark-skinned man dressed in a sharp, midnight-blue tuxedo walked in. He held a sleek black file in his hands and moved with the kind of effortless charisma that only TV stars possessed.
Everyone recognized him immediately. It was Michael Ray.
He was legendary in the industry; a former VJ who had transitioned into the country's top celebrity interviewer and reality TV host. His smile was insured for millions, and right now, he was beaming at them.
"What's up, stars?" Michael called out, his voice projecting clearly without a microphone. "You're all looking way too serious for people who just beat out five thousand applicants!"
A few nervous chuckles broke the tension.
"You probably know me already," he continued, walking to the center of the makeshift stage. "But for the cameras, I'm Michael Ray, and I'm the guy who's gonna be holding your hand... or handing you a tissue," he added with a wink.
He paused, looking over the crowd with a warm, professional gaze.
"First off, congratulations. Seriously. Look around you. You are the top 2% of talent in Miami. Getting into this room is a victory in itself."
He waited for the applause to die down before his expression turned slightly more business-like.
"But the celebration ends now. The Judge will be arriving in less than thirty minutes. And as soon as that happens, the real game begins."
A murmur of excitement mixed with terror swept through the room at the thought of which celebrities would be chosen.
"This is the Showcase Round," Michael explained. "The rules are simple. You will be called in one by one. You have exactly five minutes. In that time, you need to introduce yourself, answer their questions, and perform a song. If they like you, you get a Golden Ticket to Hollywood. If they don't... you go home."
He looked around, making eye contact with the front row.
"You all following?"
Heads nodded vigorously.
"Good," Michael smiled. "Other staff will be coming around shortly to answer specific questions and go over the legal waivers. So, good luck in advance. I'll be hoping to see every single one of you in Hollywood."
He gave a sharp two-finger salute and turned on his heel, exiting as smoothly as he had entered.
Von let out a breath.
Like many of the contestants, he knew Michael's well-wishes were just for show. They couldn't all pass. The rumors said they were only taking fifty people from Miami. That meant half the people in this room were going home devastated today.
Von looked down at the number card pinned to his denim jacket.
#28
He was in the first third of the group. He wouldn't have to wait all day, but he had enough time to let the nerves build up.
"It's fine," Von whispered to himself, gripping the neck of his guitar case. "I'm ready."
The side doors opened again, and a team of production staff with clipboards swarmed into the room to begin the final prep.