All The Pretty Scenery

By Lauren Darcy Hagenmeyer, Luxi Iien and Prince Imaginates

Seventeen-year-old ballet dancers Emmanuel Ortiz and Hàoyǔ Chao share a relentless rivalry as long-lived as it is fervent. Things only become more intense with the introduction of a high-stakes production, to which is attached a prestigious scholarship and life-changing ramifications for the winner. Desperat

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lauren Darcy Hagenmeyer
• Release date: Nov 11, 2022
• ISBN: 9798218075262

Book preview

~*Content Advisory Warning*~

This story features potentially-triggering subject matter, such as eating disorders, some internalized ableism, brief descriptions of violence, dissociation, an accidental outing, a panic attack, religious scenery, suicidal ideation, bullying, racial prejudice, and an intimate scene. Angst with a hopeful ending. Reader discretion is advised.

" When ballet takes to the sea, even the sunset comes to take a sneak peek ."

– Anthony T. Hinck

~*Chapter One*~

Emmanuel Ortiz thought today had been a good day, a fine day. It even yet held all the potential for a eucatastrophe , eucatastrophe being one of the words Emmanuel had not known existed here-to-fore the two unspeakably-boring months of summer break. Now, drumming the wheel of his blue 2006 Honda Civic that had passed through the ownership of two of his siblings before Emmanuel had plastered the vehicle with holographic ballet decals, Emmanuel thought what would make today truly a great day would be running down his classmate Hàoyǔ Zhao in the studio parking lot.

Thankfully Hàoyǔ had his back to Emmanuel’s car as Hàoyǔ trekked to the studio doors, sun glinting in his jetblack hair. Emmanuel himself had gone unnoticed. Fantastic. Keep it moving. Emmanuel tried and failed not to look at a shiny crimson 2021 Nissan Versa parked a few feet away. He felt as sheepish as a man caught ogling a younger woman with his devoted wife of many years present. Patting Blue’s dashboard affectionately, Emmanuel nonetheless parked far, far away from the Nissan Versa, because parking next to the red car would’ve invited in too many comparisons between the two vehicles for Emmanuel’s own liking.

Emmanuel was seventeen, with a wiry figure his relatives and his dance classmates bemoaned for very different reasons. At 5’11, his body still seemed coltish, as if it did not quite believe it were an almost-adult. People who glimpsed Emmanuel assumed he was much older than he was; those who actually spoke to him could’ve sworn he was much younger. His oldest friend Tamah once claimed the impression was likely incited by the fact that off-stage , Emmanuel struck you as a hermit who spent his days in a hollowed tree jarring lavender honey. Emmanuel had elbowed Tamah for the affront but hadn’t implicitly denied the cottagecore charges either. More than once audience members approached to chat up a storm with him after curtain call, only to be surprised by how often Emmanuel’s voice stuck in his own throat.

He was second-generation Cuban-American, with large copper eyes and skin the dusky color of driftwood, possibly the very same that washed up on the beaches of Varadero where his father’s family had lived for generations as shermen. Around his right wrist was a loop of onyx beads with a small scallop shell attached. It was one of the azabaches   Abuelo had always made after the birth of a grandchild. Emmanuel had chestnut-colored hair styled in a pixie cut that mortied both of his parents; it was one of the rare occasions they stood in agreement about anything.

Emmanuel stooped to pick a Jesús  es mi copiloto   decal Mama must have snuck on Blue’s trunk. It left a gluey residue, but today was important and he was determined not to be late. Later, he’d nd another dance sticker to conceal the damage, though most of the dancer decals he found online were tutu-clad women. You didn’t find too much Danseur Noble merchandise when everyone’s eyes were understandably fixed on the Prima Ballerina.

He hurried to cross the parking lot. Today the words running through one of Emmanuel’s internal soundtracks were Niveous, sonder, autophile, kalopsia, schlimazel, monachopsis . No words you would ever use in polite conversation without sounding like the protagonist of Anne of Green Gables , as his sister Holly had warned him innumerable times. But Emmanuel liked reciting peculiar words to himself, scribbling them and their meanings in his notebook whenever he happened upon them, like a dedicated logophile. Emmanuel thought the words most people were unwilling to touch seemed more lyrical than everyday language, their meanings more exact even when the definitions described something vague, like lypophrenia .

He inhaled the heavy tar of hot blacktop, squinting in the early afternoon sunlight as he fast-walked to Meraki Ballet Academy’s humble little studio, hand-me-down athletic bag from his sister Maria’s basketball days bumping companionably in his side with each stride. Emmanuel had brought his practice gear with him, though there technically wouldn’t be any actual dance practice today. Still, it was easier said than done for Emmanuel to deviate from habit, and he just might strike a favorable impression with Mr. Sasaki if he showed up ready to work. Emmanuel partially wished they were dancing today. His room was a poor choice for practicing, considering the great noise he inadvertently made, to the dismay of his family.

Mr. Sasaki had promised before they adjourned for summer break back in June that the troupe would only be discussing this season’s new ballet their first day back. Mr. Sasaki had been infuriatingly coy when Emmanuel pressed for answers concerning their next production before his friends could drag him out the door to celebrate their freedom. What could it be? Emmanuel opened the glass door, an arctic rush of air conditioning ruffling his hair. He was so lost in thought he’d failed to notice someone had been waiting patiently for him. Hey, Emmanuel.

The inside of Emmanuel's mouth soured as if he’d just bitten into a naranja   agria , a bitter orange.

There was Hàoyǔ, lying in wait by the front door, his eyes glittering with amusement. So Hàoyǔ had noticed him. And now there was That Gloat. That damn gloat, the selfsame one Emmanuel had seen trained at himself over ten years ago, when the two of them were enrolled in the Junior’s program as five year olds. Emmanuel had been struggling with his turnout pose and there had been Hàoyǔ, snickering as Emmanuel tried and failed to match everyone else. He recalled with some satisfaction storming across the room to grasp Hàoyǔ’s hair and tug hard, and the two went ying to the ground in a furious urry of sts. Just-out-of-toddlerhood classmates squealed in bloodthirsty delight and eagerly egged their fighting compatriots on to kill each other. Their poor instructor – Mr. Lobel, if Emmanuel remembered correctly – made futile efforts for the boys to make peace. And while they’d been forced into countless public handshakes, disciplinary action, writing letters of apology, and even the occasional get-along shirt growing up, it always came back to this. No wonder Mr. Lobel ultimately declared early retirement and moved away to a different continent.

Hàoyǔ’s eyes narrowed and Emmanuel seized up, shoulders squaring as his grip tightened around his fraying bag strap. If only he’d thought to pack rocks along with his practice clothes. Father Muerte wouldn’t be too keen on the news that Emmanuel had fought with Hàoyǔ yet again , but maybe Emmanuel could be granted leniency if he reassured his confessor that he’d simply re-enacted the biblical battle of David versus Goliath. At the very least, Emmanuel might be granted clemency with ve Hail Mary’s instead of ten Our Father’s. Hail Marys were better because they were slightly shorter at forty-two words instead of sixty-six, and because Mary was one of the few figures in Christianity who didn’t strike Emmanuel as at least slightly sadistic, although a lot of her statues admittedly depicted her cheerfully stepping on serpents.

Haoyu was 6'1 (which Emmanuel attributed to the sheer amount of spite within Haoyu requiring a vast storage container), with spiky dark hair that always seemed partially unkempt, prepossessing walnut eyes, and a red athletic jacket he was loath to be separated from, even in the summer. Haoyu's toothy smile caused Emmanuel to grit his teeth. He didn’t actually condone violence as a principle, but even Gandhi would probably sanction taking a swing at this jerk.

You know, I saw a bunch of pigs flying in the sky on the way in, Emmanuel, Hàoyǔ drawled, leaning forward. Emmanuel tried not to inch and to maintain eye contact despite the instant mental pinch. Hàoyǔ’s eyes might be pretty if they didn’t seem to scorn humanity 115% of the time, even when they weren’t looking down on Emmanuel the way they did. "That’s how I assumed you might actually be allowed to dance en pointe this season."

Get bent, you son of a bus driver, growled Emmanuel, standing at full height. This was one thing he surely hadn’t missed about dance during vacation. Emmanuel took o at once in a hu, down the gleaming hallway, past countless class pictures, competition plaques and

ribbons, and the occasional brassy gleam of a mounted trophy. Much to Emmanuel’s consternation, Hàoyǔ simply followed him. "I don’t need any snark from you today."

He prayed Hàoyǔ took the hint and got lost. Emmanuel couldn’t afford to get caught going postal in front of Mr. Sasaki just now; the leader of the senior troupe wasn’t above gauging dancers on their interpersonal conduct as well as their talent when it came to assigning roles. And Emmanuel knew the pain of being sidelined for a show, or given secondary roles, which often felt worse than not being assigned a role at all. Emmanuel had once been shunted into playing Paris in a performance of Romeo & Juliet. The only thing more tragic than the ending of that story was the fact that the unthinkable happened and Hàoyǔ was chosen as Romeo. It was a complete and utter travesty of a decision, and Emmanuel had spent the better part of six weeks yelping his woes to his increasingly long-suffering friends. After all, Hàoyǔ, who to Emmanuel’s understanding never once held a romantic relationship because he had all the charm of an ill-tempered statue, had been chosen to play Romeo. Emmanuel, who possessed a Certifiable Best Boy certificate  thoughtfully made by his friend Martina and was something of a self-proclaimed Casanova, never lived it down.

Emmanuel’s whimpers to Mr. Sasaki and his co-teacher had fallen on deaf ears, which was so unfair because Hàoyǔ was every bit as mean (meaner) to Emmanuel as Emmanuel was to Hàoyǔ, but was simply quieter about it. At least Hàoyǔ seemed to have an innate understanding how to avoid getting caught in the act most of the time. Emmanuel envied him that much, among other things. And so he’d fought against Hàoyǔ in the staged macabre duel outside the Capulet tomb with a little more intensity than necessary, and the only consolation was that Hàoyǔ ‘died’ shortly as Romeo after kissing Affiya Johnson cast as Juliet.

‘Son of a bus driver?’ Hàoyǔ repeated incredulously, snickering. "Where did you even get that from, a juice bottle cap?"

Your mom’s bedside table, actually. Emmanuel had been saving that one for a rainy day, but he’d use it on a sunny one, too.

You seem a little more high-strung than usual, Hàoyǔ pointed out, and Emmanuel weighed how very much he wanted a leading role versus just how much he wanted to sock Hàoyǔ in the stomach. Got on the scale and broke it this morning?

Emmanuel was so horrified he skidded to a stop. Which, he meekly reasoned, was probably exactly what Hàoyǔ had wanted. "Oh, we’re fat-shaming now, are we? Here’s a tip: People who look like underfed weasels should not toss stones at glass houses."

Hàoyǔ’s smile had not melted o his face, but his eyes were blazing. This was a look Emmanuel had seen on the taller boy numerous times—usually before he got knocked down. I’m not the one who stuffs cake in his tights.

Emmanuel snorted. I could eat a bowl of Alphabet soup and crap out a better comeback than that, Edgelord. He was pleased he’d thought this one up whilst showering that morning. Few things were as annoying as having a blistering comeback ready hours after you needed it.

Gesù Cristo, Martina groaned from behind them. "For God’s sake, just get a room already."

Hàoyǔ rolled his eyes and walked on; Emmanuel made a face behind Hàoyǔ’s retreating figure. Few things were quite so infuriating as Hàoyǔ taunting him and then flouncing blithely away as if Emmanuel were nothing more than a tiny dog yipping at his heels. Still, he was relieved to finally see Martina again; he’d missed her dreadfully. Emmanuel eagerly ran over to Martina to sweep her up in an embrace. Hey, Martini. How was Italy?

Seventeen-year-old Martina Virago was 4’9, the most petite of Emmanuel’s friends but with more attitude than all of them combined. Olive-skinned, wit sharper than shrapnel, dirty blond hair in a bowl cut, green eyes that ashed from behind her enormous glasses, and a penchant for mischief that both enthralled and frightened Emmanuel at times, it seemed prophetic for Martina’s mother to have named her after the Roman God of War. Emmanuel supposed on the o-chance Martina did not eventually take over the Earth, she would at the very least have her own influencer channel. "Fine, although it was weird not listening to you two’s foreplay all day for several weeks. I could actually hear myself think for a change."

Emmanuel snied as he released her. On second thought, maybe he hadn’t missed Martina that much. Bite me.

You couldn’t afford it, you ho, she retorted affectionately, and Emmanuel couldn’t help but laugh as he lightly elbowed her side. He’d missed this.

Why’d you bring your dance stuff? Martina pointed to Emmanuel’s athletic bag. You know we’re not actually rehearsing anything today, right?

"I...wanted to show them that I’m always prepared, is all. Like the Cub Scouts."

Martina rolled her eyes as the two easily fell in step together. "You were a Girl Scout, Emmanuel. I remember because you were in my troupe. You begged the Scout Leader to let you in."

"Hey, I’ll have you know I rocked that sash and beret. And I sold more cookies than anyone else."

Martina cast him a bitch, please side-eye. That’s because you can look like a starving orphan shivering outside in the cold when you want to.

"Incidentally, that’s how Emmanuel landed most of his roles, called Hàoyǔ from down the hall, darting off before Emmanuel could shriek at him to drop dead. Emmanuel turned hopefully to Martina. Did you learn any really good Italian profanity while you were overseas? I've started to run out of clever witticisms my Cuban grandmother uses while watching game shows and soap operas."

Martina’s eyes lit up in relish. "Oh, I’ve heard things you’ll never be able to un-hear . It’s fascinating because so many of these sayings have meanings with no real English equivalent. But I’ll do my best to write you a comprehensive list of naughty words soon, and check it twice, boo."

I love you.

Anche tu, polpetta.

They linked arms and headed off. Fellow dancers joined them now, past the rows of classrooms and locker rooms, trooping down the steps for a tiny classroom in the basement usually reserved for the town’s AA meetings. The clammy, wanly-lit hallways were full of freshly-sunkissed people talking amongst themselves, exchanging vacation anecdotes and speculating as to which ballet the troupe would be performing this year.

Emmanuel and Martina headed into the classroom to find their usual seats in the back. Martina waved over an impossibly beautiful, lithe young girl with stunning ebony skin, hair woven in bob box braids. With silvery earrings and a star-shaped, pastel backpack jingling with keychains from countries she’d visited, she seemed like the Queen of the Night Sky. Emmanuel eagerly waved too, with a little swoop in his stomach.

Popular at school, card-carrying member of the honor society, willowy and cheerful, Affiya Johnson was easily one of the ballerinas held in near-reverent esteem in the Meraki master’s dance program. Her coming out as aromantic the year prior had baed the residents of her hometown, partially because many people assumed aromantics simply had no romantic prospects, and Affiya had no shortage of admirers. People were also bewildered because plenty didn’t even know what the word aromantic meant and assumed she’d said aromatic, like a candle. That had driven Emmanuel crazy with indignation on behalf of his dear friend, who had primarily seemed amused by people’s head-scratching. Emmanuel wryly thought he knew why the town of Peraforri was less affectionately known to its younger residents as ‘ Purgatory.’ Hey, ‘Fiya. How was England?

Oh, ne, She said dismissively, plopping down in a seat in front of Martina. Fine, she says, about a trip to Europe! Emmanuel was agog. "You know how Mother sometimes takes me along for her literature academic conferences? The lectures are interesting, but it gets awkward sometimes because a lot of the professors clearly despise one another and don’t hesitate to take jabs at their colleagues’ published works. Affiya leaned thickly into a British accent. ‘ How cunning, Professor Pine, that you write about juvenile literature in such a manner as to suggest that you are, in fact, a juvenile yourself !’ What makes it a spectacle is everyone makes-believe they all like each other while doing so."

Hey, sounds like Thanksgiving at my house, Emmanuel marveled.

Affiya laughed merrily. "As for family visits, it was all about the same, really. Everyone here thinks it’s sooooo  cool that I have family in Britain, but all my relatives back in ye olde countryside think it’s sooooo  cool I live in America. Well, maybe not my aunt, but then again she spends so much time sneaking into the liquor cabinet I’d be amazed if she has any brain cells left to think about anything."

"God, that sucks. What do you think we’re performing this season? God, I hope it’s not Swan Lake again. Martina mimed pressing her hands in prayer. Our Father, who art in Heaven, thou best not try me this semester."

"But Swan Lake ’s so beautiful!" Tamah piped up eagerly from the door.

Giddy at the sight of his oldest friend, Emmanuel squealed and jumped to his feet to receive Tamah Smith in an embrace. Tamah’s cuddles could quite feasibly  crush rock, but Emmanuel had missed his friends so much during this dull vacation he scarcely cared how his ribs rattled warningly in hugs. Grinning, Tamah lifted Emmanuel up and spun him around. Where most of the dancers in this program barely had any girth to them, Tamah was a stout, bear-like tank of a young man. A cautious, gentle giant, third-generation Samoan-American with a passion for food and a keen insight to match, he was recognized by his peers as Most Likely To Survive A Horror Film . Emmanuel could easily envision Tamah gazing up at a ruined mansion, with thunder booming ominously in the distance, before declaring: It’s haunted all up there in that bitch. Then he’d spin on his heel, making tracks for boba tea while the credits rolled.

"Yeah, but Swan Lake’s also tragic and depressing as hell, Martina pointed out acidly. And overrated to boot. In case you somehow missed the ending each of the three times we’ve performed it already."

How was Samoa? Emmanuel asked breathlessly as Tamah set him down again. He was starting to get a little jealous of having to ask people how they’d enjoyed their vacations overseas. He had only been abroad once, many years ago on a family vacation to Cuba. But most families who could afford to send their kids here just had a little extra money in their pockets. Whereas the Ortiz family dwelled in a peeling house that had been in the family since the Carter administration.

Annoyed at his own pettiness – that was another thing he’d have to add to his growing Confession list – Emmanuel mentally reminded himself that it was nothing short of a miracle he was here at all. There were only two varieties of teenagers in Perafori : Those whose families could afford to send them to the town’s Catholic private school St. Vitus, and those whose families sent their children to Perafori  Senior High. While the number of students at PSH greatly exceeded the amount of students at St. Vitus – even if the schools’ respective funding would certainly suggest otherwise – Emmanuel understood it was no accident that he was the only public school student in his ballet class. Everyone else here attended St. Vitus before dance practice began in the late afternoon and ended early evening.

Emmanuel was keenly-aware of the fact that among his fellow dancers, he was different without being special, as the two categories were very distinct camps that children, even taller children, could distinguish immediately. He never could’ve afforded dancing lessons had his abuela not stepped in with her savings, insisting she and her late husband had come to North America with the implicit intent to see their grandchildren follow their dreams.

"It was amazing, thanks, Emmanuel. Tamah carefully set Emmanuel down. I got some pics I'll show you after class."

"Well, we probably won’t be doing The Nutcracker again; showtime won’t be until after Christmas this year, Affiya reasoned as Tamah and Emmanuel took seats. And I think the Wingspan studio in Roscommon is doing Sleeping Beauty this year, so it’ll be a cold day in hell before Shohei or Collin are letting us do the same."

Collin would fight the Wingspan directors to the death over which of them had to go back and change, agreed Marina, swinging her dangling sandaled feet. I heard some rumors we might actually be doing something new this season. But I—

Good morning, everyone! Collin Abbott trilled, as he bustled in, clapping his gloved hands together. Emmanuel wasn’t entirely certain he knew why exactly Mr. Abbott was wearing gloves in August, but in all fairness he also couldn’t quite explain why exactly Mr. Abbott did a great deal of the stuff he did. Mr. Collin Abbott, the master program’s assistant teacher, who claimed to be celebrating his twenty-third birthday for the twenty-third time whenever asked about his age, constantly donned gloves and tall boots regardless of the season. He even occasionally sported a boa and an innumerable collection of peculiar broaches that often featured livestock or pentagrams. Mr. Abbott was fond of reciting that life was a stage, and he seemed a method actor every moment of every day. He had the mannerisms of a Victorian – Edwardian, Collin might bluster back – and to Emmanuel could have seemed more at home upon an archaic blimp, cackling maniacally over some diabolical scheme than in a ballet studio. But by some cosmic blunder he’d made his home at Meraki, and Emmanuel loved him for it.

Those still standing scurried into chairs as Collin strode to the whiteboard in front of the room, twirling the curly ends of his orange mustache. Collin’s legendary meticulousness of that mustache had Emmanuel once slyly suggest to his howling friends that Collins's wife had in actuality married that mustache, and Collin was merely tolerated because he carried it around.

Forty-four year old Shohei Sasaki slowly entered the room next, and Emmanuel sat up a little straighter. A former soloist and then character artist for a professional ballet company in Vermont, Shohei had elected to take over an inconsequential dance studio upon his retirement from performing, a bewildering fact that endeared him to his students. Mr. Sasaki’s salt-and-pepper hair had a white streak surging through it like thunder, and everyone wondered if the growing discoloration was the result of too many years’ strain in a deceptively demure career. Though his face was prematurely lined, Shohei had kept himself in excellent physique. In private, Marina was fond of referring to him as a Zaddy and Emmanuel had paid her ten dollars to never, ever say the word in front of Shohei. Spaces in one of Shohei’s classes were extremely limited, and hard-won privileges amongst those dancers who had been at this performing arts school since kindergarten, or even preschool.

I hope you have all enjoyed your vacation, but not fallen out of practice, Shohei began. I’m sure you all kept in shape by doing the daily stretches I assigned when we last met. There were some audible snorts and furtive glances. Hàoyǔ turned in his seat and taunted Emmanuel with a knowing look. Emmanuel in his turn reached into his shirt pocket, withdrawing his brandished middle finger. Collin rolled his eyes.

Before we begin, I have the pleasure of introducing an old colleague of mine. Shohei gestured to the door, and a young, fair-haired man with slightly lined but still reasonably attractive features trailed in slowly, smiling. This is Mr. Ivan Sidorov. He will be taking on much of the casting responsibilities for this performance, for reasons we’ll share with you shortly. Ivan graciously bowed, his eyes curiously pale. Emmanuel thought the stranger would seem perfectly in his element serenely  stroking a fluffy kitty upon a swivel chair.

This season’s ballet, Collin announced, positively quivering in excitement as he began to pace, ....has actually only been performed a mere handful of times in its old, old history. You likely have not heard of it. He clasped his hands behind his back, grinning broadly. "It’s called Silvio y Angeline. It’s a romantic story about a lonely little girl named Angeline and a wind-up man created for by her uncle, who is an inventor and a wizard."

"Sounds kind of like The Nutcracker, " Emmanuel remarked, before he could stop himself. Everyone’s eyes swiveled to him and he quickly put a hand over his mouth. He’d give a kingdom to not be so impulsive.

Collin coughed delicately, looking out at his audience sharply. "Angeline is a little girl who is stricken by a disease at a very young age, and her wealthy family keeps her shut in as a virtual invalid. She has no friends, so her uncle takes pity on her and creates Silvio out of wood and glass. Silvio does not have a heart, but he is a loyal companion and does everything Angeline asks of him. They are inseparable friends.

"Still, the little girl grows up into a beautiful maiden, and she longs for a new companion. Her uncle obliges this wish by creating another moving doll, a female named Fulvia, for his niece.

Poor Silvio is soon forgotten. Alone for the first time in his life, Silvio spies on Angeline and her new friend and realizes that he is very jealous. He is not at all sure what to do with these feelings, as they are very new to him. This is not helped by the fact that an aristocrat has approached Angeline’s father for her hand in marriage."

Shohei resumed: Silvio goes to his creator for advice. Angeline’s uncle helps Silvio understand he has fallen in love with Angeline. But the uncle warns him that no one without a real heart of their own could hope to win Angeline’s. So the uncle tells Silvio to collect three enchanted artifacts from distant lands, assemble them all together, and use their magic to become a human and earn Angeline’s love before she can be married to the Nobleman. And so Silvio immediately sets off on his quest for true personhood, so that he might be with his true love forever.

Then, Shohei fell silent. People uncertainly looked at each other as the stillness stretched and malingered. This was usually the part where the Happily Ever After fit in. Well? Does he succeed? someone asked at last.

But Shohei shook his head. No. The treasures fail to transform Silvio into a esh and blood human. And Silvio is ultimately smashed into pieces by a mob by the end of the story. There were some troubled rumblings and noises of dissent among the students. Still, what was yet another sad story to these veteran dancers? The ballets that did not end in triumph ended in tragedy; there was precious little in between. The Nobleman is also mistakenly poisoned by Fulvia, and meets a miserable demise.

Emmanuel winced. Yikes . Sounded like something out of a horror ick. But he could not deny being intrigued.

We will be enlisting help from the youth ballet academy program here, Shohei added. For in the opening scene, there will be lots of children dancing before we come to little Angeline’s sickbed. So you can expect to work with the junior class down the line.

Hooray! exclaimed Emmanuel at once, eyes lighting up like the tassels upon his niece’s bicycle when they caught sunlight. He loved children.

Kill me now, Martina pleaded, burying her face in her folded arms. Do me a favor and just wheel my body to the nearest dumpster upon that dark day.

"You worked with kids during a performance of The Nutcracker a few years ago, Martina, pointed out Affiya. That wasn’t so bad."

"I also threatened to unleash the Rat Army to break into the children’s homes and steal all of their worldly possessions," Martina grumbled from within her folded arms.

Obviously we must have a Silvio, as well as a grown Angeline. Additional roles for this production include the wizard uncle—who will be played by Mr. Abbott, Shohei added, and Collin bowed graciously as the troupe broke out in applause. "The nameless Nobleman. The wicked doll Fulvia, who enjoys the title of main antagonist. She creates enchanted china ladies as a sort of army to do her wicked mischief. Runners-up to Fulvia may become one of the Twelve Dark Dolls, who later dance with a troupe of the Nobleman’s Soldiers. Runners-up to Angeline are eligible to become one of Angeline’s Twelve Handmaidens, the ones whom the Nobleman enlists as Angeline’s bridesmaids. Additional third-tier roles include the Three Guardians of the Keystone Treasures, as well as aristocrats.

There is also the mother, nurse, and father....we have choreography booklets we’ll pass out momentarily. The full ballet synopsis will be there as well. After that, we’ll take a look at an old recorded performance so that you know our expectations. Collin riffled through a dusty box waiting on the front desk, passing the books to the front of each row of seats to pass back.

Emmanuel opened his booklet immediately, considering the concept-illustrations of Silvio thoughtfully. He would settle for the Nobleman role provided anyone but Hàoyǔ got Silvio, but that wasn’t likely; Emmanuel and Hàoyǔ had brought home the most titles the years their class was invited to compete against other schools of dance state-wide. Now that they could both dance en pointe and were strong enough to be cavaliers in a performance, it was unlikely both of them would be looked over for the part of Silvio.

Soon afterwards, Collin pulled down the overhead, turned off the lights and turned on a projector. Judging by the flickering and gritty quality of the footage, Silvio y Angeline had indeed not been performed for some time. Emmanuel wondered why. It was possible Angeline having feelings for a boy and girl in the ballet had caught the attention of censors. It was too bad.

As everyone watched the story play out on the projector, Emmanuel thought that at least it wasn’t a boring ballet, even though it was like The Nutcracker in that there was arguably more prancing than plot. Toward the end, Silvio and Angeline made the decision to run away and be happy together, but then Fulvia had to ruin everything by accidentally poisoning the Nobleman and blaming it on Silvio. Upon discovering Silvio and Angeline’s absence, the aristocrats assumed that Silvio had kidnapped Angeline, and formed an angry mob to destroy the innocent Silvio. Emmanuel’s hyper-empathy sent him wincing as the soldiers rushed across the stage and forced Silvio to his knees. They then pinned him to the ground as Angeline helplessly reached for him where she was being held fast by several soldiers. A circle of dancers surrounded the doomed toy as bits of glass and wood went ying everywhere, to insinuate Silvio’s demise. Even Hàoyǔ seemed slightly unnerved, when Emmanuel’s gaze wandered in his direction.

Emmanuel’s hand shot up the moment his teacher flicked the lights back on, leg thumping up and down as Shohei turned the lights back on. Um, excuse me, Mr. Sasaki? If Mr. Abbott’s playing the wizard uncle, did you already decide who else is going to play whom?

Actually, this time we’re going to audition for specific roles. I know, I’ve seen you all perform for years, Sasaki added mildly, waving his hands to restore order as the classroom began chattering. Emmanuel looked over his shoulder at Tamah, who looked completely thunderstruck. It was common knowledge among his students that Shohei despised auditions and the stress that came with them, nor did he approve of the fact that people’s performances only seemed to heighten when they were vying for a particular part. Shohei had a pretty unorthodox style in that on the rare occasion there would be any formal try-outs for a show, they came out weeks of rehearsal for the new production . He liked everyone to learn and practice each other’s choreography beforehand, partially because he claimed that doing so made everyone flow a bit more harmoniously on stage. "But did I not mention this performance will be especially significant?

First of all, clear your calendars in January. Shohei announced jovially, lip curving into a coy smile. While most of our performances will take place at the Perafori  Community Theater as per usual, one of our scheduled shows will take place in Los Angeles’s infamous theater, the Anna Pavlova Center of Art and Dance."

A deathly silence. Emmanuel stared , uncomprehending. Then— "Los Angeles? California?"

The room exploded into titters, gasps and exclamations; Emmanuel couldn’t resist looking to his right again. Hàoyǔ looked positively stunned, frozen in his seat. After a moment a small, dazed smile appeared on his face and began to grow—it was lopsided and made him look slightly clownish. Emmanuel wished he had a camera.

Los Angeles, the City of the Angels. Chances were travel fees would be an absolute nightmare, but somehow Emmanuel would make it happen. He absolutely must make it happen; he hated asking Abuela to cover it when she’d done so much already for his sake.

Settle down, settle down! Shohei laughed, waving his hands. The commotion reluctantly stilled somewhat. Now, I’m sure you have lots of questions, so please give Mr. Sidorov your full attention.

Good day to you all, Ivan greeted, in a richly-accented voice. And might I say before I begin that I’m flattered to be surrounded by such talent."

Some of you might already be familiar with this gentleman and his work, Collin chuckled, giving Ivan what looked suspiciously like lidded bedroom eyes. Or of his school, the Edward Gorey Academy of Ballet and Theater. The titters died down almost immediately. Shohei continued, He hails from Moscow and his services have been enlisted from Bolshoi multiple times. Ivan has led over a dozen hopefuls such as yourself to national championship and critical acclaim.

The man bowed his head in gracious acknowledgement. While I do trust Shohei’s judgment, I will be looking in on the auditions as well. As EGABT’s  roses are plucked, he said languidly, prowling about the classroom like a sleek and well-fed pussycat, ....with the greatest of care. For this tremendous honor, he clutched his aloft st in emphasis, ....is something the very best foam at the mouth for. Keep in mind your fellow students in great Russia would gladly sever limbs following their performances in turn for the opportunity. But the honor is not your only incentive to succeed. To my two stars, Silvio and Angeline—should your performance be as spectacular as Shohei promises it will be, you will receive assets to advance your dancing career.

The room was now so silent a pin dropping would have broken the sound barrier. Ivan grinned knowingly. I am offering a full, two year scholarship, he announced, ....at my Los Angeles campus so that you may train among the best in the world. Should I see you continue to excel, I would be pleased to provide you with an extension.

Emmanuel’s mind had neatly  wiped itself blank. A second later it was whirring at full speed.

He was approaching graduation this year and had certainly combed through college pamphlets. Of course he ordered one from EGABT , though he surreptitiously pilfered it from the mailbox like a bad report card. But tuition was over fifty-eight grand a semester if you were in-state! He didn’t even want to think about numbers when you took out-of-state tuition into account. One year at that college would wipe out his tiny funds he’d accumulated during his time as a server, and would set him back tens of thousands of dollars in debt. Add the numbers for two years of tuition, and you were looking at a sum of almost a quarter of a million dollars. Wide-eyed, Emmanuel whistled, unable to help himself. There were other schools, and other far, far more practical alternatives than looking into performing arts as a career, anyway. But Ivan’s school was one of the best damn performing art institutes in the country, on par with Ivy League standards as far as drama academies could go.

Ivan serenely raised a hand, and the room silenced almost at once. Next week, Shohei will begin to drill you in some of the routines, to give each of you a taste of what I’m looking for. Be warned, he added lightly, and something sickly-sweet began trickling in his honeyed-tones. "That as this performance may be the most important in your lives, I expect your full dedication to this endeavor. I cannot stress this enough."

Shohei cast Ivan the tiniest of frowns, but beamed and promptly joined in when the room burst into applause. Seconds later the class was dismissed.

Emmanuel. Hàoyǔ. Shohei nodded at them before either could head out. A word with you two, please.

Oooooooh , somebody’s in trouuuuble , Martina sang as she threw her cat-shaped ITA bag over her shoulder.

"How? The season hasn’t even started yet !" Emmanuel protested, hands in the air.

"You two would manage, Tamah muttered, playing a game on his phone. I’d be shocked if you two even got through the door without an argument this morning."

Emmanuel had nothing to say to that. Clearly amused, Tamah expectantly turned to a disappointed-looking Affiya. Told ya he couldn’t make it. I’ll take those ve bucks we bet via cash or PayPal. I’ll also accept Venmo.

Emmanuel and Hàoyǔ tentatively approached the desk. Emmanuel straightened again and fought to keep his heart from sliding up his trachea as they did so. Shohei contemplated them both fondly, patiently waiting for all the other students to trickle out. Just as Emmanuel believed he could bear it no longer, Shohei at last spoke.

In all my years at this studio, I’ve never had more dedicated students than you two, Shohei declared, teeth showing in a small, slight smile. Emmanuel’s breath caught in his chest; Hàoyǔ bit his lip. I know how much this opportunity would mean to the both of you, but needless to say, there’s only one for the dancer who plays beside Angeline.

What are you looking for? Hàoyǔ asked at once.

Shohei hummed and studied them both, eyes narrowing thoughtfully, tongue just wetting his lip. ....I could see both of you playing the part, he confessed, entwining his fingers and resting his chin upon them. Hàoyǔ, I see in you a Silvio whose movements are passionate, executed as magnificently as expected of the Anna Pavlova Center. Hàoyǔ ushed scarlet at the praise and Emmanuel would’ve loved to sock him. And Emmanuel, in you I see a Silvio passionately in love, lighting up the entire room with a glow as to convince the audience of his devotion. It was Emmanuel’s turn to blush; praise from Shohei was a rare gift.

You would both dazzle us all, I know, Collin assured from across the classroom, packing up stray booklets.

"Casting is seldom ever straightforward, but this performance in particular will not be an easy decision to make, Shohei stated ruefully. I’m almost glad that there will be some great delay before the auditions themselves...but knowing the both of you, it will still be incredibly difficult."

I’m willing to do whatever it takes, insisted Hàoyǔ immediately, just as Emmanuel piped in, You can count on me!

Startled, the two looked at one another, only to look away just as quickly. Shohei’s smile took on an edge of bittersweet fatigue. As you saw in the production, Silvio progresses from very slow, delicate, and controlled movements to something wilder, faster, singing with passion and purpose and life! exclaimed Collin, bustling over to add his input.

"While I realize the two of you are each very good at executing one form, if you cannot be both, neither of you will earn the part, I’m afraid. You must also keep in mind that the role of Silvio is extremely demanding; Swan Lake will look like a day at the beach in comparison to Silvio y Angeline."

Emmanuel gulped; Swan Lake was notorious in the ballet world for just how technically difficult it was to execute. And Emmanuel had never even had to be Odette.

Which is why I must remind you two to be atop your physical forms, Shohei concluded, rising from his desk. There was the slightest of pauses before Collin added kindly as well as pointedly: And to keep your diets ship-shape.

Emmanuel turned bright red.

~*Chapter Two*~

When Emmanuel, Martina, Affiya, and Tamah left the studio for the day they reconvened, unironically, at a McDonald's. In the net-encased play area little children shrieked and waved from behind plastic domed windows in brightly-colored elevated tunnels. Emmanuel watched a scrawny boy carefully mountaineer up a long slide by gripping its sides, giggling as he invariably slipped down two inches for every three he gained. Emmanel grinned a bit wistfully. Hey, Martina. He pointed to the plaster Ronald McDonald clown, who was holding his yellow-gloved hand aloft the You Must Be This Tall height rod beside the playplace. Maybe you should take advantage of the fact that you're still short enough to hang out in the kids area. It's what I'd do.

Slurping her large coke, Martina just flipped him off from where she stood apart from the line with her food, and the four of them laughed. Emmanuel approached the cashier with more than a little trepidation on his part. It would be nice if ordering food weren't an existential crisis. If he were shopping for a new house he'd have one in an hour with the right money, not caring in the least about words like paneling, paint, grout or window treatments . That was just u. But Mama never sent Emmanuel grocery shopping anymore, because what took the average person thirty minutes took him three hours.

He ordered a Happy Meal, and stuck out his tongue at Affiya's snickering. "Say what you will, woman, but you know you jelly. You know you cried out in your soul for a toy just now. He nodded to the posters advertising the small collection of animal-themed toys. Understand once you see mine you'll be prostrate with woe, wringing thine hands and gnashing thine teeth and offering me thine firstborn for that toy. Well, tough luck."

Emmanuel didn't actually care (much) for the toy, but it was an excellent subterfuge just the same. Portion sizes in a Happy Meal were smaller than in a typical small serving at McDonald's: A child's-sized portion of chicken McNuggets and fries equaled just 310 calories. Emmanuel had checked two calorie-listing sites on his phone in the parking lot, and again on the menu. The bag of apple slices (35 calories) were a harmless addition, but Emmanuel ordered a large diet coke just the same to ll up on.

While I'm mourning and weeping in this valley of tears, how about I take a photo of you and your Happy Meal to show Hàoyǔ in class tomorrow? asked Affiya innocently as Emmanuel collected his food, teasingly aiming her phone at him. Emmanuel squawked, abruptly hiding his Happy Meal behind his back.

"Affffiiiiyyyyaaaa? I'm not saying I will kill you and everyone you know if you do that, but I'm not saying I won't , either."

Their food obtained, everyone scooted into a booth. Emmanuel was grateful for his wallet's sake they  hadn't picked Salad Ballad for lunch, which was a popular haunt for ballerinas in their troupe to pick over expensive greens. Thankfully a few wrinkly dollars had appeared in Blue's cup holder that morning and Emmanuel thought fondly he could guess the culprit. As everyone tucked into their food Emmanuel peeked inside his yellow and red box, face falling. They left out the toy.

Wha? Tamah choked out in-between a generous mouthful of Big Mac. " No."

Funny, observed Affiya mildly as she helped herself to her parfait. "I don't seem to be paralyzed with grief, but you sure are mourning and weeping in this valley of tears."

That officially makes this a Crappy Meal, Emmanuel declared flatly, reluctantly pushing his tray away. They assume just because I’m seventeen I don’t have feelings.

"That could’ve been me, Tamah mused, shaking his head. You should sue. If you can sue over too-hot coffee, you can probably sue for mental anguish."

Nah, I wouldn’t go that far. But I think this confirms my theory about Hàoyǔ, Emmanuel complained, overturning his box to dislodge fallen fries. Some unsuspecting McDonald's employee once accidentally forgot the toy in his own Happy Meal when he was a little kid. That's why he looks so jolly all the time.

He's probably had a grudge against humanity ever since, agreed Tamah with a burp. "That would probably be my villain backstory."

How in the world do you eat so much and stay so small? Affiya asked Martina in amazement, watching with an awe that just skirted the precipice of fear as Martina grazed through her first five McNuggets like a starving bear shortly before hibernation.

I’m a scientific anomaly, Martina answered thickly, gouging out sweet and sour sauce packets with her meat. Internally, I'm a black hole. I'm dedicating my body to science when I die.

Emmanuel decided to steal a fry from Martina's plate, if only because poached food tasted infinitely better than anything. Martina neatly smacked his hand away. "Ouch! I'm guessing that the aforementioned black hole is stationed exactly over where your heart should be."

Speaking of hearts, I think every ballerina in class this year is going to take a page out of Silvio’s book, remarked Affiya. When everyone looked at her curiously, she explained, "You know. They’ll be heartless . Get it? She laughed weakly at her own joke. Oh, forget you plebeians."

"'Fiya, first of all, I’m a lesbian , not a plebian . Get it straight, or not straight, as it were. Secondly, the other dancers are probably going to be more like Fulvia : A honey badger who will gladly tear people’s eyes out their sockets if that gets her what she needs, berated Martina, leaning back in her seat. People are probably going to start leaving tacks in each other's shoes by tomorrow."

Everyone cringed. We've all known each other for years now, Tamah began uneasily, and Emmanuel’s taste buds steadily seemed to evaporate just as he was about to enjoy the cute bitty-green apple slices. "It's probably just gonna be the same rodeo with every new production: Everyone wants the star roles, everyone can't have a star role, and everyone just shakes hands after the role sheets have been posted because that’s all you can do. And then everyone fetches lawn chairs and snacks when Emmanuel and Hàoyǔ inevitably start mud wrestling over casting. Even that one time they were both just cast as soldiers years ago."

"Mr. dePaola cast Hàoyǔ as soldier number three and me as soldier number four during The Steadfast Tin Soldier !" Emmanuel erupted, banging his st on the table. The still-sore edges of that particular wound smarted. "That was blatant favoritism at work!"

Tamah rolled his eyes as he stirred his ice cream. Honestly, I think the way you and Hàoyǔ insist on taking the time to massacre the other each and every season is your weird way of saying you care. But most of us in the masterclass will be graduating in the Spring. We all get that only a handful of us are meant to make it much further than this class in the ballet industry. That's why this is our cue to support each other for our last production together and not take casting so personally. Emmanuel wished he had Tamah’s faith in humanity, as well as the M&M McFlurry he was eating.

"But this production is going to be as personal as it gets. That scholarship package? Worth six figures! Suddenly Affiya turned to Emmanuel. Emmanuel, do you think you could put a rest to it?"

What?

She slyly gestured to her wobbling soda, and then to Emmanuel's leg jerking erratically underneath the table. Creating seismic waves.

Abashed, Emmanuel tucked his hands beneath his thighs and tried to cease his best efforts at the jitterbug. Tamah, are you going for Silvio? The awful words spilled out like an oil slick and Emmanuel briefly contemplated hiding his face in one of their bags. Tamah chuckled and shook his head. "Nah. I've got enough going on this year trying to figure out where the hell I'm going to college without me trying to take on a leading role on top of everything else. Besides, that Ivan guy weighs like negative two. He probably doesn’t want a beefy guy to play Silvio."

Ivan can pirouette straight into a flaming dumpster if that’s true, Martina interjected rudely. Tamah fistbumped Emmanuel, whom not for the first time wished his childhood friend were queer in any sense of the word. Don't worry, dude. I won’t be going against you for the part.

Near-giddy with relief, Emmanuel allowed his aching shoulders to droop. You're not beefy. You're perfect and built like a machine and I will kick the ass of anyone who says otherwise. But thanks, man.

The ballerinas are going to become deranged, Martina murmured wisely, and Emmanuel pictured her in a hooded robe over a re in a cave, murmuring grim prophecies. If they want any chance at all to continue on to a professional bracket, this will probably be the one chance they get unless their parents have an extra million-dollar donation they can give to a ballet academy. Otherwise...

....otherwise they miss their bus ticket out of town, finished Emmanuel, stirring his soda a bit harder than necessary with his straw. Hey. He suddenly didn't know where to look. "I know I’ve asked this before, but is anyone else here maybe thinking about pursuing dance after senior year?"

"Nope. I mean, I might join a class or club at college for fun, but that's about it, Tamah rebutted evenly as he draped his arms atop the booth. I honestly think I want to pursue a degree in engineering. I’ve always been fascinated by science fairs and how stu works. My poor mom supports me in whatever I want to do, but I can't help but wonder at the fact that she signed me up for ballet years ago so that I could be a nice, artsy-fartsy child, and this is how I repay her."

If only she could've turned you, there might've been a chance, joked Martina, st-bumping Tamah. "But I totally get it. Everyone knows my mother forced me into ballet classes when I was a little boy– Affiya and Tamah burst out laughing. –because I kept sassing my stupid sexist rst-grade teacher. She was that dumbcluck who said women should dedicate themselves to being obedient wives and mothers if they didn’t join a religious order. It's a testament to my dedication to women's liberation that I made her life an unmitigated living hell."

Oh yeah, I remember you mentioning her, Emmanuel reminisced absently. Didn't you drive her out of her profession?

"Not my fault she burst out crying and hid inside the supplies closet during class. You'd think a nun would have a stronger stomach."

Emmanuel smiled at the memory. I remember when your mother first dragged you to Mr. Sendak's class in hopes of softening you out some. You attempted to scale out a window.

"Something like that. Anyway, Mom said I only had to stay for a few weeks and I wound up staying long-term, partially because I genuinely do like ballet–"

"–let's hope so, after over a decade–"

–and because I've actually developed a tolerance of you slobs by now, Martina

concluded imperiously, placing a hand over her heart in self-congratulation.

How generous of you. Affiya’s words were as dry as dust.

I know, right? But I want to get into Michigan Tech, and after that start pursuing a degree in IT, Martina concluded, furtively helping herself to one of Emmanuel’s chicken nuggets. Emmanuel thought she’d say something to that effect. After all, Martina had more brains than her petite statue ought to physically accommodate. "Pretty sure you officially started working towards your degree when you were in a hospital bassinet. My mom calls you when she wants tech support. Honestly girl, you're not even going to have to apply. All you'll have to do is tell the office of the registrar 'I go here now,' and they'll be all 'kay, thanks.’"

D'aww. Martina scooted over to squeeze him in a side hug.

What about you, ‘Fiya? asked Emmanuel tentatively, hoping the lingering prepubescent squeak in his voice came off as disinterest. Are you going to try out for Angeline?

If Emmanuel were stripped of nearly all his memories save for the two performances they'd starred in together, he thought he wouldn't be unhappy in the least. Affiya thoughtfully whirled a strand of hair around her finger. "I’ve always loved auditioning for principal roles. But the role of Angeline should really go to someone who knows without a shadow of a doubt that they want to expand their dance education and join a corps de ballet. And while I'll always love the theater, I just..."

"It's just so all-consuming ! Tamah exclaimed just as Emmanuel opened his mouth. Affiya nodded fervently as Tamah ranted, There's just no half-assing being a ballet dancer. I don't regret all those weekends we spent competing, or performing, or all the bus trips we took to compete and perform, but when you practice for hours after school, you honestly just have so little time for an actual life."

"Augh, it’s just exhausting , agreed Affiya, rubbing at her face emphatically. I’ll be cheering harder than anyone when I toss both my cap and my slippers in the air for commencement."

Emmanuel’s drink slipped from his fingers into his lap. Face heating up, he seized a handful of brown napkins from a dispenser on the table and dabbed at himself. He was grateful for a reason to keep his head down.

"I wouldn't mind having a life, after all these years, Martina added dreamily. Being able to sleep in on Saturday mornings again like the Good Lady intended."

But we– Emmanuel began helplessly.

"Plus, let's not kid ourselves: Most ballerinas don't get paid jack , and we have to buy and break open new slippers for every performance. If I had the money back my mother spent on ballet lessons, pointe slippers and travel fees alone, plus everything else, I could probably buy a gaming desktop easily," Tamah emphasized, slapping the table for emphasis.

Dad just says I need to do whatever it takes to be happy, Affiya commented fondly.

Emmanuel suddenly felt so sad that anything he'd been trying to slip in the conversation crumbled apart in his esophagus, falling back down deeper within himself. With a smeared-on smile he briefly contemplated seeking refuge beneath the table and making it his new digs. "But I'm fascinated by veterinary science, and I have a pretty solid idea of what I want to do with my life. And I don't want to spend all of senior year with my life revolving around this performance the way I would if I were its leading lady. I want to try getting an internship at a vet's office, and go to prom. I can’t tell you how many events I’ve missed out on thanks to ballet."

...so you really won't be trying for school in Los Angeles, huh. Emmanuel wasn't asking a question.

Affiya merely shook her head, her demeanor knowing. I don't want to move too far away from home. I'm all Dad has after he and my mum split, so I need to be able to come for some weekends at least.

Martina gently nudged Emmanuel’s foot with her own. Looks like only one of us can go on playing games for keeps in Neverland. Maybe if Emmanuel paid the employees rent, they'd allow him to set up a fort beneath this table until ‘round about the end of time. That just leaves you to carry on the torch, Emmanuel.

"Oh, if someone has to, Emmanuel faux-preened, batting his eyes as everyone laughed. He was suddenly aware of how lonely he was. I'll get you all tickets to my first LA performance."

"...you gotta understand that no one's gonna hold it against you if you can't afford it, buddy. Tamah said quietly, placing his hand on Emmanuel’s forearm. Hàoyǔ is gonna give everything he has."

"So am I! protested Emmanuel at once. He was mortified at how the edges of his own voice strained with agitation. Tamah raised his hands placatingly. We know, we know, but there's really no telling who Shohei is gonna pick in the end. And Hàoyǔ will be competing like his life depends on it."

Swallowing, Emmanuel looked around the table for support. Did no one really believe he could take Hàoyǔ? Granted, Hàoyǔ had been named lead two or three times more than Emmanuel. Not that Emmanuel was keeping score. Except for the fact that Emmanuel’s internal scoreboard might as well be mentally scratched within the inner confines of his skull. He morosely stirred his soda with his straw. "God, Hàoyǔ’s such a prick. If his family can afford to give him a flashy new car, he could afford college without the help of a scholarship. Now he’s just screwing with me by going for the Silvio part."

"You’ve always been screwing with each other, Affiya pointed out with a mouth full of chocolate chip cookie . To the surprise of no one."

"Just not literally . To the surprise of everyone ," emphasized Martina, ducking as Emmanuel tossed a balled-up napkin at her head.

"Speaking of family, does anyone recall the last time anyone from Hàoyǔ’s family ever came to one of his performances? Tamah asked, brow creasing slightly as he wracked his memory. I don’t think I ever see anyone from the audience greet him after curtain call. Even whenever he lands a main role. At the end of each showtime, he always just grabs his bag and rushes out the door like the building’s on re. Even when there’s a reception and refreshments afterwards. Refreshments!"

But Emmanuel could not be distracted from his favorite pastime. "Who knows. Any family who raised someone like Hàoyǔ is probably giving lectures on the ner nuances of kicking puppies or snatching ice cream cones out of the hands of small children. Hàoyǔ doesn’t need the Silvio role. His family is probably loaded. My family..."

Emmanuel took several prolonged gulps of his soda, because the lump suddenly swelling in his throat seemed intent on bursting. "...well, Holly, Carlos, and Maria fought