But me? I can't stop hoping it'll be something different, something magical.
Because since the first day of class, Professor Callahan made it clear: our midterm and final grades ride entirely on the Winter Special Showcase, the department's annual centerpiece. Ballet hasSwan Lake. Music has their mix of opera, jazz, even a pop ensemble.
And us? The drama majors are still in the dark.
"Watch it be something weird," Lucy says, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Like Brecht. Or Beckett. Endless monologues about despair and politics."
Adam shudders. "I'll take glitter fairies over that any day."
I smile to myself. Whatever it is, I just want it to be something I can pour myself into.
The door swings open with a gust of air. And just like that, the chatter dies.
Professor Callahan sweeps in, draped in enough layers to make a winter coat jealous—shawls, scarves, jangling necklaces, colors that clash so hard they almost work. She always says people should dress like every day is a performance, and she lives by it. Never mind the Florida heat.
She strides straight to the center of the room, red folder in hand, beaming.
"Ladies and gentlemen," she announces, voice ringing with delight, "this year's Winter Showcase will beThe Nutcracker.Auditions are this Friday."
A ripple of confusion spreads across the room. Murmurs, raised brows. This is definitely not Shakespeare. Not Ibsen. Not even close.
But me? My heart soars. I sit up straighter, a smile stretching across my face before I can stop it.
The Nutcracker.My favorite. It feels like someone just handed me my dream role, tied up in ribbon, laid neatly in my lap.
The room stirs, a low wave of whispers and half-hidden groans. Someone mutters,"The Nutcracker? Isn't that ballet?"
Professor Callahan, of course, lives for this moment. She stretches her arms wide, as if she's conducting an orchestra, jangling bracelets catching the light. "Settle, settle, my darlings," she says, her voice booming.
"I know what you're thinking.The Nutcracker,ballet, tights, pirouettes—ah, the horror." She flutters her hands dramatically, then makes a shooing gesture, as if batting the very idea away. "Rest your horses. You are not about to be flung into Swan Lake's leftover costumes."
A couple people laugh under their breath. Adam leans closer to me and whispers, "Damn, and here I was excited for my big tutu moment." His grin makes me snort.
Professor Callahan clasps her hands, tilting her head as she paces the center of the studio. "Now listen. Yes, traditionally,The Nutcrackeris a ballet performance. Magnificent, iconic, performed in every city across the globe in December. But this," she taps the red folder in her hands, "is a drama class. Theater. Acting. Not mime, not silent gestures." Her eyes sparkle as she looks around the room.
"We are going to adaptThe Nutcrackerinto a theatrical play—your Winter Showcase will be built on spoken dialogue, character work, and emotional truth. With movement, yes, but movement in service of acting."
Lucy raises her hand half-heartedly, then drops it when she realizes Callahan's already looking her way. "So... just to be clear, we won't be... dancing the whole thing?"
"Not unless you wish to audition for the Dance Department," Callahan shoots back with a smirk.
A ripple of laughter goes through the room.
"There will be stylized sequences—some music, some movement, perhaps even a simple duet for our leads—but the soul of this production is the acting — the story you tell with your voices, your choices, the emotional spine of each scene. You will not be background figures twirling silently while Tchaikovsky does the work.Youwill carry the story."
Adam leans in again, stage-whispering, "Translation: we don't have to wear tights."
"Thank God," Lucy mutters, and I catch the faintest smile tugging at her lips.
"Okay, so here's what you need to know. There are a few different ways this story has been told, and whichever one you pick will decide how our script takes shape."
Professor Callahan snaps open the red folder and begins handing stacks of papers down each row. "These," she says, "outline the major versions ofThe Nutcrackeryou'll be choosing from. Read them, mark them up, argue over them—I don't care, as long as you leave this room today with one decision."
The room quiets as the papers shuffle from hand to hand. I glance down at mine, the headings bold across the page.
Callahan paces slowly, her voice carrying easily. "First, the original Hoffmann story. Dark and twisted. Clara—sometimes called Marie—goes with the Nutcracker into a dangerousmagical realm ruled by the evil Mouse King. Lots of danger, plenty of fight scenes. And at the end of the story, she even becomes the queen."
She gestures to the next section on the page. "Second, the Dumas retelling. Softer and turns it into a lighter, whimsical holiday fairy tale, which is what most people think of when they hearThe Nutcracker.This is also where we see the introduction of the Sugarplum Fairy—a character not in Hoffmann's. Here, she rules the magical land and welcomes Clara and the Nutcracker at the end."
