dance scholarship from that “fancy school on the East Coast.”
He doesn’t tell her about my doubts. That the idea of leaving makes me ill. He doesn’t tell her, because he thinks it’s nothing but jitters. Cold feet. He thinks if he keeps talking about it, I’ll feel better about leaving Stratus for school.
To pursue dance. Again. ’Cause that turned out so great the first time.
Jake materializes out of the crowd and slides his hand into mine. “Where’d Jessica Rabbit come from?”
“That’s Olivia Holt,” I say.
“Kaylee’s favorite person in the world, Olivia Holt?”
“Yup.”
“I assumed she was just one big checkbook,” he says.
Wouldn’t that be nice?
“Everything okay with your dad?”
I blow a hair out of my face. “I guess. He keeps pushing college.”
We take a good seven steps before Jake says anything.
“It’s worth considering, Elle.”
Three more steps.
“I know.”
Jake stops and turns me toward him. “We’re still on for tomorrow, right?”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Good. ’Cause I have a surprise.”
My mind flies to the shiny black chest in Jake’s house. The one the Throne Room uses to communicate with Canaan. It’s cut from some sort of glorious-looking onyx and inside it sits a diamond engagement ring. My engagement ring.
I shake off the thought. It’s too soon. We’re too young.
And if Dad gets his way, I’m leaving town.
I start walking again, pulling Jake with me.
“Another surprise?” I ask, gesturing to the tutu he’s now holding. “What can compete with that?”
“Well, it can’t, right? I mean, this thing is orange. And sparkly.”
We’re at the stage now. Miss Macy is there, prodding a wayward fairy princess back up the stairs.
“Whenever you’re ready for that lesson,” I say, “you slide that tutu back on, okay?”
“Bu-arf,” Kaylee says, pushing past me and grabbing the waist of my skirt. “Stop being so dreamy, Jake Shield. Twinkle Toes has a show to do.”
“I’ll be here,” Jake says, “holding my tutu.”
“And my heart,” I tell him, as theatrically as I can muster.
“I really am going to vomit.” Kaylee shoves me, and I slide toward our little dancers, all fidgeting and waving at the crowd. I take my place at stage right. Miss Macy takes stage left. Feedback screams through the speakers as Kaylee turns on her microphone.
“Sorry, sorry,” she says. “Again, I can’t thank you all enough for coming. So many of you helped get this place open again. You donated your time to teach workshops. You helped sandbag the place when the rains got to be too much. And then, when it looked like safety concerns were going to shut us down, Miss Holt stepped in and kept the dream alive.”
The room fills with applause. Olivia smiles and waves it off.
Is her arm looped through Dad’s?
“Seriously, Miss Holt, it’s been a ride and a half, but we couldn’t have done it without you, without the foundation. Please pass our thank-yous on to the board.” Kaylee takes a sip of water, spilling half of it down her shirtfront. “So, behind me, right? What’s all this dancing about? Well! Miss Macy’s Dance Studio has agreed to offer a few classes here at the center free of charge.” She pauses. “You should totally be clapping right now. Miss Macy’s is one of the premier”—air quotes around premier—“dance studios in Oregon. She suggested that an introductory class here at the center would allow more of our kids to participate in the arts. You’re clapping, right? Yes? Clapping?”
The crowd obeys, bursting into rambunctious applause yet again. I shake my head in amazement. Standing here on the stage, watching Kaylee in her element, I find Miss Holt is not the only one impressed by my friend. The girl may be clumsy, but she’s great at rallying people.
“Miss Macy has brought one of her classes here to show you what they can do. After the performance, please take a minute to visit the other art rooms to see all that your support has made possible. Thank you, thank you for coming.”
Feedback screeches through the speakers yet again before the microphone can be silenced. After an agonizingly long pause, the “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy” begins. The room fills with oohs and ahhs as our little ladies sashay right and left, adding a spin here and there as whim would have it. Miss Macy and I do our best to keep our dancers onstage—a task far more exhausting than my own performance earlier but equally as rewarding.
When at last the song is over and the parents collect their children, I grab my bag and slip into the restroom. I trade