He scrambles up, mouse ears bouncing. “Thanks!”
“Anytime.”
I stand up and realize Holly's been watching from her station at the prop table. She smiles at me before another parent pulls her aside with a question about costumes.
The snow scene ends—the dancers taking their final positions, the music swelling to a close. Mrs. Kowalski claps her hands.
“Beautiful! That's Act I. Twenty-minute break, everyone. Act II starts in twenty!”
The stage clears. Kids scatter to find parents and snacks.
Holly is now in the wings with Marie, still in her Clara nightgown, bouncing on her toes.
“Can we run through the Act II entrance one more time?” Marie asks. “The part with the Nutcracker Prince. I keep forgetting where I'm supposed to be.”
“Of course. Let's find some space.”
They move to a clear area backstage, and Holly starts humming the music—soft enough not to disrupt everyone else, but clear enough for Marie to follow. Then they're walking through the steps together, side by side, working through the choreography.
I watch from a distance.
Holly knows these steps. The way her arms move, the exact placement of her feet, the timing of each phrase. Her body remembers them.
Marie stumbles out of a turn, and Holly catches her elbow, guides her through the correction without breaking the rhythm.
They finish the sequence, and Marie's beaming.
“See? You've got this,” Holly says, squeezing her shoulder.
Marie runs off to find her water bottle, and Holly looks up. Sees me watching.
I walk over.
“You danced this,” I say. “You were Clara.”
She looks surprised that I noticed. “Almost. I almost was.”
“Almost?”
“Holly!” The stage manager appears, looking frazzled. “We have a problem with the angels—their candles aren't lighting up. Can you?—”
“Yeah, I'm coming.” She glances back at me. “Later?”
“Later.”
She hurries off, and I watch her disappear into the backstage chaos, already problem-solving before she's even reached the angels.
I'm supposed to be helping her this weekend.
The truth is, I'd do this every weekend. For the rest of my life. If she asked.
Holly
The show was perfect.
I'm standing in the wings watching the final bows, and I can barely breathe. Marie is radiant—curtsying, beaming at the applause. The Nutcracker Prince takes her hand for the final bow, and the audience is on their feet.
But I keep looking at Evan.
