“Damnit,” she said. “Shit.”

Chase turned around and eyed the vulgar girl. Her head was down. The strap of her white dress hung across her chest, pulling down the corner of her top and exposing the side of her chest. “Ave Maria” began playing over the speakers. No one was on stage.

“Oh shit, oh shit!” said the girl again. Her hands fumbled over the broken strap.

Chase grabbed the phone. “April May? Hold this song. Wardrobe malfunction. Jump to number three-six-two, ‘The Garden.’” Chase dropped the phone, bolted past the damsel in distress and shouted, “Three-six-two? ‘The Garden?’ Hello? Three-six-two? Ladies?” A girl’s head poked from the group of anxious girls like a prairie dog. “You’re up, sweetheart,” Chase said and the girl scrambled to the front lines.

“Damnit, I’m so sorry,” Janie said when Chase returned. She bit the falling strap and her elbow bent across her head as she tried to keep her chestnut hair away from the problem area. 

The girl finally tilted her head and caught Chase with the brownest eyes he had ever seen. They were huge. They sparkled; they literally sparkled. She had freckles on her face, not heavy freckles, but a light scatter that was elegantly mirrored across the exposed side of her chest. The way the strap hung from her lips was adorable. Across her left cheek--

“Hello? A little help?” she said.

Chase was staring. “Of course,” he stuttered. “Hold the strap right here. I’ve got this.” He put his arm around Janie’s back and led the little mess to his podium. He deftly flipped open the plastic bin marked “Stage Manager” and removed a small container marked “First Aid.”

“I’m not sick. My strap’s broken.”

“It’s where I keep my-- Ah, there we go.” Chase held up the Holy Grail of dance supplies, a silver safety pin. 

April May called the next act but Chase barely noticed. “Five, six, seven, eight,” he instinctively mouthed and pinched open the needle.

“Wha’d you say?”

“Me? Nothing.”

“You whispered something.”

“Hold your hair back. I’ll be careful.”

“You poke me with that, I’ll have you fired.”

Chase held the pin between his lips. “You ‘eem ‘ressed.”

“Huh?”

He pulled out the pin and poked it through the bottom strap. “I said, you seem stressed. Hand me the other half.” Janie pulled the strap from her lips and Chase took it gently in his fingers. Her skin was smooth. He shuttered when his hand brushed her shoulder.

“I’m never like this,” she said.

“Like what?”

“Stressed. I’m never like this.”

“Happens all the time.”

“I heard my name. The strap fell off--”

“Better now than on stage, eh?”

“--and my song started playing.”

“’Ave Maria.’ Good choice.”

“I know.”

“The pin is tight but I’ll add one more to be safe. You don’t want to flash the whole auditorium.”

“There is no auditorium.”

“Oh yeah. Forgot about that.”

“How many more songs until I have to perform?”

“As many as it takes for me to fix this. Why?”

“I’m flustered. This is lyrical. I can’t be flustered for lyrical.”

“I’ll tell you what...”

“What?”

“If you’re nice to me, I’ll take my time.”

Janie walked away. Her strap snapped from Chase’s fingers. “I’ll go on next,” she said.

“Hold it! I’m not done!”

“Then finish it.”

Janie stood at the edge of the curtain. The sun was still high but fell at the perfect angle to ignite her lace dress and expose the dark form of her body. Perfect. She was perfect.

Chase shook away the angelic vision and stepped toward her. He worked his fingers back around the straps and pulled them together. “Why so crabby?”

“I need to do a good job.”

“Everybody needs to do a good job.”

“No. I actually need to do a good job.” 

“What makes you so special?”

“My teacher is crazy. My arch-nemesis is in the same category as me, and her boyfriend--a guy who tried to rape me--is watching.”

Chase worked the pin through both straps and pinched them together. “Wow. You do need to do a good job. What’s her name?”

“Who, Miss Kayla?”

“Your arch-nemesis.”

“Tracy Cavenaugh. She’s with Miss Alice.”

“Ah, those girls all have the same hair cut.”

“Miss Alice makes them do that every year. It’s creepy.”

“I remember them from last year’s regionals. They were good.”

“I’m better.”

“And confident.” Chase thought carefully before asking his next question. “What happened with Tracy’s boyfriend?”

“Why would I tell you? It was months ago.”

“Of course,” he said. Bad decision, Chase.

“The Garden” was winding down. It was almost Janie’s turn. 

“You could say thank you,” he said.

Janie had been staring so intently at the stage, but now she tilted her head, just slightly so the sunlight accentuated the pink blemish on her left cheek. She looked at the ground. Chase watched the corner of her eye.

“If someone offered you a hundred dollars on a dare, would you kiss my scar?”

Chase thought about her question... then replied softly, “I’d kiss your scar for free.”

The song cut out and Janie’s head snapped back to the stage.

“Next up we have competitive lyrical, age twelve. Please welcome back Janie Carmel performing ‘Ave Maria.’”

Chase didn’t realize it, but when the song began, “5, 6, 7, 8” never crossed his mind.

*  *  *

She was sarcastic. She had a superiority complex. To be honest, she was a bit of a butthead. But when Janie Carmel danced, she soared. She danced with rhythm, form and beauty that Chase had never witnessed in two years on the job. There was no hesitation between moves. (Spectacular precision!) But her form was beyond precise. She wasn’t focusing on being precise, she simply was. (Genuine eye contact! Dramatic expression! Magnificent!) She was attentive. Responsive. She let the music--that German woman’s swelling voice--guide her body; flawless with soft muscles and curves in all the right places.

And then it happened. Twice. And it’s a good thing it happened twice because Chase didn’t believe it the first time. Janie looked at him. Her eyes found his eyes in a theater of hundreds. And even though she only held them for a moment, it was enough. The pigeons were no longer pigeons. They were doves and they fell from the rafters in long swoops, nearly hitting the dance floor then climbing back up and over the audience.

And then the stage transformed. It started with a single flower. Right at the base of Janie’s foot, it sprouted with bright yellow petals and a long stem. Then--as she ran from one side of the stage to the other--the flowers grew beneath her toes sprouting color-wheel puddles of life. Janie raised her arms (Dynamic arm movements! Striking, well polished form!) and as they raised, they pulled ivy from the floor, across the proscenium arch and around the curved ceiling of the bandshell. 

The stage trembled under Chase’s feet and grey stone columns fell from the ceiling onto the stage. They were the big Greek kind and broken plaster fell in chunks and littered the floor but Janie didn’t care. She danced between the new structures and through the plaster dust, then ivy from the ceiling spiraled down the columns and the flowers grew there too. A backstage breeze picked up dandelion puffs and tossed them past his silly grin and around Janie’s dance. The warm wind blew her hair and rustled her skirt and those safety-pins tugged and pulled with her movement but never popped.

When Janie’s feet left the ground and didn’t land, Chase bolted from the right-wing, leapt into the air, and caught her. Her eyes again. Transfixed. Inches from his and their noses touched as they spun in the air. (Fierce duet-chemistry! Effervescent flying ability!)People pointed. They gasped. The bandshell split from the top and slid apart so Janie and Chase soared past the catwalk and to the roof. The sky was orange and green and purple and tan and all kinds of colors that the sky shouldn’t be. Their landing was gentle. Chase’s toes hit the roof first and he pulled Janie by the hand. The moment her foot landed, (Exquisite landing!) Janie continued her dance in a dizzying array of figure-eights. Chase spun and twisted and tried to keep up but her speed was incredible (Terrific!) and Chase felt soft wisps of hair against his face. The seats--so tiny down there--were filled with spectators. The picnic area was overflowing and people spilled past the fence barrier and covered the entire top of the hill. More and more people arrived until the visible portion of the Earth was covered in a swaying blanket of silent spectators. Chase grabbed Janie’s hand to slow her spinning. He pulled her close. He dipped her. Her dimples pulled back to a wry grin, then she wrinkled her nose and pursed her lips.

The multitude was gone. The doves were pigeons. Chase’s feet were on the ground, right in their place at the sidelines. 

But Janie was still captivating. With every move, she proved to her adversaries that she was better. If Tracy and her boyfriend were watching, Chase knew they were scared. 

“Ave Maria” was coming to a close and Janie began to spin. Her arms made a perpendicular “O” from her chest. One spin. Two. The audience cheered, and on her third spin, she used Chase as her anchor. Her head twisted away, then locked onto him again for number four, then again for number five. The audience cheered louder. “Work it, Janie!” “You go girl!” “Shake it!” Six twirls. Seven. Her cheeks turned red but her expression was solid. Only one twirl left and Chase couldn’t stop himself. When her eyes met his for number eight, he flashed the biggest smile he could muster and winked. He didn’t mean for it to happen, but an invisible dart shot from that wink, hit Janie square in the forehead, and she wobbled like a dying top. 

She fell. And that twisting velocity pulled her down so hard and quickly that her body was still spinning when it hit the ground. (Ouch! Don’t try routines that are above your skill level! Start with five turns and work up to eight!) Janie clumsied herself up and struck her final pose. She scowled. Then smiled. Then marched off stage.

*  *  *

Janie exited stage-right. His side! But she didn’t look in love. She looked pissed.

“Why the hell would you do that?”

“I didn’t mean--”

“You threw me off!”

“I--”

“I was perfect! My form was perfect! And what did you do? You wink at me! What did you think would happen?”

“I had no idea that it would--”

“Oh my God-ness. What happened?” Janie’s teacher bounded through the assemblage of dancers. She wore a brown dress and an open Northface jacket. Her face was white. “How did you fall? You never fall. How did you fall?”

“Kayla,” Janie commanded as if she was talking to a poodle. “Chill.” She worked her hands through her hair and pulled it to a ponytail. She nodded at Chase. “The stage manager threw me off.”

Miss Kayla spun around. “What did you do? Why weren’t you doing your job?”

“I’m so sorry,” Chase said. His cheeks were hot. He never screwed up like this. “I was just watching. She was incredible.”

“He distracted me and I fell,” Janie said.

“She wants to re-dance,” Kayla demanded. “Call the judges and tell them she wants to re-dance.”

“No!” Chase yelled. “You don’t want to dance again, trust me.”

“It was your fault,” Miss Kayla said. “I danced with Sparkle Motion since I was four. I know the rules.”

“Miss, you don’t want to do that. The judges hate when we get behind schedule. And Janie’s fantastic, but she’ll be more self-conscious and that’ll show in her performance. Trust me. Every time there’s a re-dance, the score goes down.”

“Then what do we do?” Miss Kayla asked with her arms at her side. “She scowled at the end! The judges are going to tear her apart.”

Chase hoped Pauline didn’t come backstage. He could fix this if his mother didn’t get involved. “Janie was amazing,” he said again. “And the judges know that. They won’t count off for a silly fall at the end of a dance.”

This was a huge lie. The judges would definitely remove points, especially for the bad attitude. But Chase had a plan.

Miss Kayla walked in rapid circles. Her bare legs jerked with each step as if the stage itself was melting the rubber soles of her shoes. “Janie? Do you want to try again?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this... but I’ll listen to the kid.” She glared at Chase. “I don’t want to annoy the judges.”

“What happened?” Another voice. A man. It was Mr. Carmel. Why did he care if Janie fell?

Miss Kayla looked away and shielded her eyes as if one look at the man would sear them out.

“I’m fine, Dad.”

Dad? Mr. Carmel was Janie’s Dad? Oh, some luck!

“Your kicks were low.” He held Janie’s chin and lifted her face. “You fell behind the beat on the second verse. Are you stiff?” He looked at Kayla, “Did she stretch before she danced?”

“Of course I stretched,” Janie said. “I’m fine. I’ll do better in tap.”

“She’ll do fine in tap,” Kayla reiterated without looking up.

The man let go of his daughter’s face. “This theater was built for both of you. I expect better than ‘fine.’”

Chase was glad that he was no longer involved in the conversation. Something was wrong with this dynamic.

Mr. Carmel and Miss Kayla began to argue and Janie looked at Chase. He wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw an apologetic smile inch across her face. He pursed his lips to the side as a sign of understanding, but Janie’s attention was suddenly drawn elsewhere. Chase followed her gaze and saw Tracy approaching. He knew it was Tracy because she looked like an arch-nemesis with straight black hair cut into the same choppy mullet with the same blond streaks as the rest of Miss Alice’s studio. Her costume was green and supported a chest that was far larger than Chase found attractive. She had none of the elegance that Janie possessed. 

Tracy ignored Chase. She ignored Mr. Carmel and Miss Kayla. She walked straight past Janie with a sweet-as-can be smile and uttered with no sincerity at all, “Nice dance...” The last word under Tracy’s breath was unmistakable, “...Scar Face.”

(5, 6, 7, 8) and it was on. Chase couldn’t look at Janie. If she seemed hurt, he would cry. If she seemed vengeful, he wouldn’t do what he was about to do. 

He flipped up his clipboard. He scanned the dance numbers. Tracy was next. He grabbed the phone. “April May? There’s an open safety pin on the floor. I need to sweep again.” He hung up. Janie left the stage with her mini entourage and didn’t look back. 

He wasn’t doing this because he was in love; he was doing this because he wronged a girl and he had to make it right. And maybe because--in the span of ten minutes--Janie’s arch-nemesis became his arch-nemesis. Chase scavenged through his stage-manager bin and found a cardboard box of resin that he kept for ballet emergencies. Resin was dangerous without pointe shoes. It made the floor sticky. slide on it wrong and it could send a dancer soaring. He scooped a modest handful of the powder into his pocket. Then another. Then he walked to the sideline and stood beside Tracy with his chin on the handle of his push-broom. She was two inches taller than him. Whatever. His growth spurt was due any day now.

(5, 6, 7, 8) The other girl finished to polite applause and exited stage-left.

“I’m going to make sure it’s clean for you,” Chase said to Tracy.

“Thanks,” she replied.

Chase took off. Someone yelled, ”Go stage manager!” He started at the back and worked his broom from wing to wing. (Great enthusiasm! Watch your lines!) On his trips away from Tracy--when his left side was hidden from the judges and audience--he reached into his pocket and sprinkled resin on the wooden floor.

After two years and a couple dozen shows, Chase and April May had their timing perfected. The moment his foot was off stage, she made the announcement. “Next up we have competitive lyrical, age thirteen. Please welcome Tracy Cavenaugh performing ‘The Climb.’”

Technically, Tracy was good. But her smile was cut from stone and Chase felt her mind anticipating every move. Her choreography was the scary part. The moves fell together with ease. Nothing seemed above her skill level. (Primal choreography! Lovely song choice!) Her toe-nails were green to match the dress and they scrunched and flexed and smeared circles in the wood and Chase watched them with bated sickness in his belly. 

She had to leap. This was lyrical! Dancers always leap in lyrical. If she didn’t leap she could spin. A leap or a spin would do it! Around and around and the judges nodded and Tracy racked up points. Lorrie wore her joyful smile and scrawled gleeful notes. The other judges seemed pleased. Tracy was pure evil, but she was precise. And unless something--

Before Chase completed the thought, it happened. Tracy leapt. She soared. Her green-painted toe hit the floor. It hit the resin and it stuck. Her foot planted itself securely on the sticky wood and her body’s inertia continued it’s forward trajectory. Her ankle bent in a way that Chase was pretty sure it wasn’t supposed to, and Tracy “arch-nemesis” Cavenaugh fell on her face for the world to see.

Miss Alice taught her ladies well. Tracy stood in a single fluid motion and continued the dance with the same stone smile. When the song ended (5, 6, 7, 8) and her body slipped from sunlight to shadow, she began to limp.

“I thought you swept! The floor is sticky!” Tracy collapsed and massaged her ankle.

Before Chase could provide fake consolation, Miss Alice moved through the backstage mayhem with nonchalant strides and bent down to the injured girl. “Does it hurt?”

“My foot stuck.”

“Can you do it again?”

“I think so.”

Miss Alice looked to Chase. “She wants to re-dance.”

“Of course,” Chase said. “I’ll call it in now.”

As Chase swept the resin off the stage in preparation for Tracy’s second attempt, he saw Janie in the front row, legs crossed, arms extended behind the neighboring seats, smirking. And finally, she winked back.