Page 48 of Old Acquaintances

The other girls squealed and ran off. I swayed backward as Tucker swayed into me. “I have to go,” I told him. I walked backward, holding up my bottle. “Thanks for the water. I’ll be done in a little bit.”

I went back into class with a rogue, uncontrollable smile on my face. Giddy, one might say. He had leaned into me as if he wanted more than a cheek kiss and it made me feel tingly, excited.

When the audition was over, I had to wake Tucker from an open-mouthed sleep on the chair. He blinked awake and rubbed his face, mumbling, “Can I buy you dinner?”

Not, “Do you want to stop for dinner?” Or “Do you want to swing through McDonald’s?”

The way he phrased it made me feel nervous. I wondered if that’s how he asked a girl on a date. If he was askingmesuch a thing.

The excitement dropped, fast.

I swallowed and shook my head. “No, let’s just go home.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. My mom’s making meatloaf anyway.”

He stood and stretched. “Your mom makes good meatloaf.” He took my heavy black dance bag from my shoulder without a word.

We walked back to his truck, and I remember thinking,good, this feels right.

Normal would be for Tucker to come inside and have some dinner, pop over to Johnny’s to play a video game. My dad wouldact like he did the most gallant thing in the world by coming to my rescue and I’d be free to get ready for bed. There wouldn’t be cheek kisses or pretending he was my boyfriend, no meals being shared at a restaurant. As much as I liked the bubbly feeling of him watching me that day, I liked the idea of normal more.

For both weekends of The Nutcracker, I would play Sugar Plum on the Friday and Saturday evening shows and Heaven would take over for Saturday and Sunday matinees. By December 9th, I’d already performed at different schools around the area, at the mall, at two fall festivals and a tree lighting ceremony. I never got nervous when I performed, but as I dropped my makeup bag on my dressing room vanity that first night, butterflies came in out of nowhere.

This could potentially have been my last Nutcracker ever. This was the biggest role I’d ever performed. The choreography was classic and although I knew most audience members in Charleston didn’t know a lick about ballet or care about the quality of a pre-professional company production, I thought of the ballerinas who performed the exact Sugar Plum choreography and how I measured up.

A mom volunteering backstage came into the dressing room and said, “Ella, some boy brought these flowers for you.” She placed a vase of red roses in front of me.

Macy came over and took the little card. She read, “I love you. Break a leg, Beautiful.” She batted her eyelashes. “They’re from Elijah Tucker.”

The other girls swooned and cooed, and I announced, “All right, all right.”

Becca made kissing sounds and squealed when I tossed a roll of medical tape at her, but a smile crept to my face. It relaxed me for that moment, smelling those beautiful flowers and imagining Tucker buying them, writing that note, drivingall the way to the theater three hours before the show started. I wasn’t even sure he was coming. Our parents were, but he never mentioned anything. He didn’t talk to me much at all unless we were alone, which rarely happened.

During intermission, I perfected my hairpiece, shaking my head violently to make sure nothing came out. I double-checked the stitches on my pointe shoe ribbons. I stepped into booties to keep my feet warm and walked down to the green room. The six and seven-year-old angels were being lined up. The marzipan dancers walked past, collecting their flutes. Clara and the prince’s thrones were being wheeled into place.

I waited in the corner, rubbing my red lips together. The glitter from my pink tutu had sprinkled onto my tights and along my arms. I breathed deeply, my chest pressing into the boning of my bodice, feeling tight and contracting. My skin itched from the elastic strap on my shoulder.

I heard my name being called distantly.

“Ell?”

I looked at the side door, watching it close, and then noticed Tucker striding through the green room toward me. He had on slacks and a black shirt, and his hair was smooth, the way I knew it would be on Christmas Eve or graduation. It normally folded in multiple directions.

“What are you doing?” I asked when he came up to me.

He looked at my bouncing leg, my tutu, my makeup. His knuckles rapped my gelled hair. “That’s quite the helmet.”

I leaned away from his touch but didn’t speak.

“I just came in to see if you got my flowers. What’s wrong with you?” He narrowed his eyes. “Are you nervous?”

“Yes,” I grumbled.

“You’re never nervous.”

“I know.”

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