Cody drops into the seat beside me, breathless from shouting commands. He elbows me in the ribs, grinning. "Dude. Did you see her backstage?"
"Yeah."
"How is she?"
"She's nervous."
"Like bad nervous?" he asks.
"Normal nervous," I tell him, leaning back in my seat. "This night is huge for her, you know? It's kind of impossiblenotto be nervous."
Cody nods like he gets it, so I keep going—because honestly, I could talk about her forever.
"It's her big night. Not just because this showcase is a massive chunk of her grade, but because... this show?" I smile, can't even help it. "The Nutcracker has been her thing since she was a kid. Like... little tutu, tiara, whole-sugarplum-princess-era Caroline. This is a dream role finally happening."
That warmth fills my chest again—the same one I get whenever she talks about dance like it's stitched into her bones.
"She's worked her ass off for months," I add, shaking my head in pure admiration. "She's gonna shine out there. Own that stage and blow everyone away."
Cody grins and nods like he totally gets it, but he doesn't. Not really.
Nobody here fully understands what this night means to her — not the way I do.
Caroline didn't just "prepare" for this show. She lived it. Breathed it. Hell, I think she dreamed in eight-counts for months. I've watched her drag herself out of rehearsals so exhausted she could barely stand... and then insist she was fine because she"finally nailed the turn sequence."
I've watched her ice her ankles on FaceTime while apologizing tomefor missing a date night. I've watched her fall asleep mid-sentence talking about choreography — and wake up panicking because she thought she was late.
This isn't just a performance for her.
It's a piece of her.
She's lovedThe Nutcrackersince she was a kid— I know, because I watched every damn version of it with her growing up. The Barbie one was her favorite, and we played that old DVD so many times the thing practically disintegrated.
She'd spin around the living room in her little tutu, pretending she was Clara or the Sugar Plum Fairy, and I'd be the Nutcracker every single time—wooden sword, stiff soldier walk—because she insisted Ihadto be part of the magic with her.
And I always said yes. Every damn time.
Because let's be real—I've been wrapped around Caroline Pennington's finger since we were kids.
Back then, all she had to do was tilt her head, smile up at me with those big Disney-princess eyes, and suddenly I was wearing that stupid plastic Nutcracker crown she claimed was "necessary for authenticity."
She'd shove a toy sword in my hand, boss me around like a tiny drill sergeant, and I'd march around the living room likesome knockoff toy soldier while she twirled in whatever glittery tutu she convinced her mom to buy.
And Inevercomplained. Not once.
Because one look from her? Yeah—game over. Always has been.
Honestly, she could walk up to me right now and say, "Zach, we need a Nutcracker emergency reenactment," and I'd already be asking her, "Which sword? The plastic or the wooden one?"
Because being part of her magic—back then and now—has always been the easiest yes of my life.
The lights start to dim, the low chatter across the auditorium settling into a soft hum as someone's voice comes over the speakers:
"Ladies and gentlemen, the Winter Showcase will begin in just a few minutes. Please take your seats."
Programs rustle. Seats creak. People start nudging each other to sit down.
That's when I catch Sam walking down the aisle, heading back toward Mom. She spots me instantly and flashes a soft smile, giving a tiny wave and mouthing,I'm sitting with Mom.
