"So, here's the thing," she says, glancing between all of us. "We've got eight weeks before opening night. Between play rehearsals and your regular ballet practices, it's going to be... tight. Which is why I want to get the dancing lessons started as soon as possible."
Miss Charlotte lets out a low laugh, shaking her head. "Gruesome is the word. My students' schedules are already insane. Half their evenings are spent here, the other half in rehearsals for the showcase."
She throws Betsy and Keith a look, like she's reminding them not to slack.
Betsy just shrugs, still smiling. "We're used to it."
Keith adds dryly, "Doesn't mean it's not brutal."
Callahan's smile tilts, grateful. "You're saints. Truly—thank you."
"If it's for the showcase, we'll manage. Somehow." Miss Charlotte says.
"That's so good to hear," Callahan says, nodding once. "And before everything else—" her eyes flick briefly toward Adam and me, "These two actually have some ballet in their background, so it's not like you'll be starting from zero. It should only take a short refresher to bring their muscle memory back, and after that they'll be ready to move directly into the choreography."
Adam's head snaps toward me. "Wait—hold up.Youdid ballet?"
I give a sheepish shrug. "It's... a long story."
Betsy perks up instantly, eyes bright. Even Miss Charlotte leans in a little, curiosity clear.
"So when did you take ballet?" Betsy asks.
"Since I was five," I admit, "up until middle school. It was kind of my thing for a while."
Adam blinks at me like I've just unveiled a hidden superpower. "How did I not know this?"
"Because I don't exactly go around announcing it?" I shoot back.
Charlotte nods thoughtfully. "Well, that's a pleasant surprise. Having that foundation will save us quite a bit of time."
"And make our jobs easier," Betsy adds with a grin. "If you already know the basics, we can jump right in."
"Hopefully. It's been years, but I'm hoping my legs still remember the difference between an arabesque and an attitude — and don't make me look like I'm inventing a third option."
Betsy chuckles, the sound light and genuine, and I can't help laughing with her. "Trust me, you'll do great. It'll come back faster than you think."
Her encouragement softens something in my chest, and I give her a grateful smile.
I didn't even realize how much I needed that until right now.
Yesterday I was all confidence — like,sure, no big deal, I can totally handle a five-minute ballet number.But standing here today with three actual professionals?
Suddenly it feels official. And terrifying.
Because next to them, my "few years of ballet" sounds about as impressive as saying I once watchedThe Nutcrackeron TV and called it training.
The next half hour slips by in a blur of back-and-forth planning. We go over schedules, juggling everyone's rehearsals until we land on the only slot that makes sense — 8 p.m., four nights a week, Tuesday through Friday.
Betsy and Keith are slammed during the day with their own showcase prep, and Adam and I are booked solid with our own rehearsals as well, so late evenings it is.
Because apparently, sleep is optional now.
And really, who dragged me into this? No one. Just me and my stupid, all-consuming passion for my craft. Or whatever you call this madness that has me agreeing to everything just to make the showcase look like some grand spectacle.
I sneak a side glance at Adam, who's over there looking entirely too smug.
Smug or not, at least I won't be suffering alone. If I'm about to make a fool of myself trying to pull off arabesques and pirouettes, he's going down with me.
