"Now," Gloria was saying, "I've choreographed a simple dance to accompany the second verse. Nothing too complicated. Watch me."
What followed could only be described as interpretive dance meets seizure. Gloria twirled, swooped, and made grand sweeping gestures that had absolutely nothing to do with the rhythm of the song.
"Is she serious?" Raven asked.
"As a heart attack," Arty confirmed.
"We're doomed."
The children attempted to copy Gloria's movements, which resulted in a chaotic mess of flailing limbs and confused faces. One boy crashed directly into a girl, sending them both tumbling to the floor. Someone got a nose bleed.
"Artistic!" Gloria cried. "But perhaps with more control next time!"
Raven closed her eyes and counted to ten. Then twenty. Then gave up counting entirely and just focused on her breathing.
This was fine. Everything was fine. She'd agreed to help with one song. One. Single. Song. She'd show up, make sure they didn't embarrass themselves too badly, and then she'd go back to her cottage and her guitars and her blessed solitude.
No emotional investment required.
"Miss?" A small voice piped up from the group. "I don't understand the twirly bit."
"The twirly bit is about the joy of literature!" Gloria explained, demonstrating again with even more enthusiasm. "You're meant to embody the wonder of books!"
The child looked more confused than ever.
Raven pinched the bridge of her nose. This was going to be a very long afternoon.
"Alright, everyone!" Annabelle's voice rang out, bright and cheerful as always. She'd been helping Nina organize costume pieces in the corner, but now she clapped her hands together to get everyone's attention. "Let's take a quick break. Water and snacks in the back."
The children scattered immediately, chaos giving way to slightly more organized chaos as they descended on the snack table.
Raven stayed where she was, watching Gloria consult what appeared to be hand-drawn costume sketches. Arty climbed down from his ladder and joined her against the wall.
"You look like you're contemplating murder," he observed.
"I'm contemplating several murders."
"Fair enough." He pulled a thermos from his toolkit and poured himself some tea. "How long's it been since you worked with kids?"
"Never. I've never worked with kids."
"Really? Not even workshops or school visits?"
"I've spent the last fifteen years in recording studios and on tour buses. The closest I've come to children is signing autographs for teenagers outside venues." Raven paused. "And those teenagers were mostly terrifying."
Arty laughed. "They're not so bad once you get used to them. Kids, I mean. They're honest, at least. They'll tell you straight if they think something's rubbish."
"Comforting."
Raven's gaze drifted across the room, catching on a small figure sitting alone on the edge of the stage. He was hunched over, arms wrapped around his knees, staring at nothing in particular.
She'd noticed him earlier during the rehearsal, he'd been mouthing the words but barely singing, going through the motions. Now he just looked… sad.
Raven frowned. It wasn't her business. She was here to help with the song, not play counselor to unhappy eight-year-olds.
Except the kid looked really miserable.
And he was sitting all alone while everyone else was laughing and eating snacks and having a perfectly nice time.
