Theo slides his hands past my hips, resting them gently on my back. “You matter to me most. You always have.”
His face lowers toward mine, and I close my eyes.
“Chrissy Lang,” the principal’s voice booms from the stage.
“It’s your turn now,” Theo says as my eyes open. “You’re gonna blow them away.”
I nod and move to stand just behind the curtain. The knot in my stomach is back, and it feels like it solidified into a boulder, my legs shaking under its weight, turning me into a statue that’s unable to take another step.
“Chrissy Lang, everybody,” the principal calls again. A few chuckles emanate from the audience. I close my eyes and take a deep breath.
They can boo all they want; it won’t matter. I’m a nerd, I’m a dancer, and I can like whomever I want.
I glance over my shoulder at Theo. He’s always there to lift me up when I can’t quite reach. He’s like a net, catching all the butterflies in my belly. “You know,” I toss at him, “I kinda like you.”
A wide smile lights up his face, but before he can respond, I turn and step onto the stage.
The auditorium falls silent, and the first thing I notice is the panel of judges up front—a table with five teachers. The students’ whispers start almost immediately, and I feel every gaze piercing through me. Don’t look at their faces. Don’t look. But I can’t resist. My eyes jump from one person to the next. They lean in and mumble to their neighbors, no doubt passing judgement.
No. It doesn’t matter.
I pinch the outside of my thigh and look above their faces.
When the music starts, my body moves on instinct. Kick-ball-change, repeat, whirl. Focus on the choreography, the rhythm of the song. Okay, two-step next—my feet slide across the floor—now pop-and-lock; I follow up with Running Man. That’s it. Keep going.
I flow into a spin, my arms extended like wings catching air, then leap out with the precision that comes from countless hours of practice. The spotlight follows me as I transition into a body roll—slow, controlled, just like I’ve seen my favorite idols do—before snapping into a series of quick tuttingmovements that transform my hands into geometric shapes. Nothing exists beyond this stage, this moment.
Each beat pounds through my veins, guiding my movements like an invisible puppeteer. My feet slide into a shuffle step, then pivot for a pop-and-lock sequence that makes my joints hopefully appear robotic. The hours spent watching tutorials on my laptop are paying off. The choreography isn’t just dancing moves anymore—it’s become part of me, flowing from one position to another as naturally as breathing.
I throw in a quick hair flip that wasn’t in the original routine—a moment of rebellion—and catch a few gasps from the front row. This is why I dance. This feeling. This power. My heart thunders against my ribs as I drop into floor work, spinning on one knee before springing back up into a wave that ripples from my fingertips through my shoulders, down my spine.
For the finale, I gather every ounce of energy in my body, channeling it upward as I explode into a spinning jump that defies gravity for one glorious second. As the last note echoes through the auditorium, I land in a deep bow, my chest heaving.
Slowly, I raise my head. The crowd is silent, and for a moment, I’m convinced they’ll laugh. But then applause—it starts small and gradually grows louder until it transforms into a thunderous standing ovation. I did it. I can’t believe it.
What a rush!
I run off the stage, unable to stop the grin spreading across my face. Theo is waiting for me, clapping.
“You were incredible,” he says.
“That was such a thrill,” I admit, still catching my breath.
“I told you that you would knock their socks off.” He takes my hand. “I didn’t get a chance to reply before but”—his eyes seek out mine—“I kinda like you, too.”
This moment is like nothing I’ve ever experienced before. My body shakes uncontrollably from the emotional ecstasy coursing through me like a wild river. Theo draws nearer, but before anything else can happen, the principal says it’s time to announce the winners.
Theo takes my hand, and we step onto the stage, forming a straight line with the other contestants. I turn to the left and see Paige eyeing me with a scowl on her face. Her gaze drifts to our tangled hands and she crosses her arms. To my right, Ian gives me a thumbs-up from behind the curtain.
“In the third place,” the principal says, “Chrissy Lang.”
No fricking way.
Everyone stands and claps once more. If this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up. Theo wraps his arm around me, pulling me tight against his body.
The hula hoop dancer gets second place and first goes to the freshman girl with an angelic voice.
As all the participants receive the final applause, Theo places his fingers on my chin and turns my head to face him. Then he leans in, his lips finally connecting with mine.
