CHAPTER TWENTY-seven #8
LIAM
Yeah, that's hot.
LUKE
???? Two-for-one combo.
CODY
How do we get on this level??
ME
HELLO??? That's not the point! Can we stay on topic before I throw my phone into traffic?
ELIJAH
What exactly are you asking us to do?
ME
I need a game plan on how to get THE girl. I'm desperate here.
LIAM
Easy. Write a love letter on a puck and wing it at her window.
CODY
Or serenade her outside her dorm. Shirtless. Preferably raining. Preferably abs out.
KENTARO
Don't do that. ?
ME
Why not?
KENTARO
Because you'll look stupid.
ELIJAH
Or — just a thought — you could act like a normal human being and talk to her.
ME
Cap, please. I'm trying to win her back, not bore her to death.
LUKE
Alright, brainstorm session after practice at La Playa. Beers, nachos, and we're coming up with a full playbook.
LIAM
Yeah, we're talking power plays, breakouts, set plays for this man's love life.
CODY
Operation Get Zach's Girl? is officially live.
KENTARO
This is so dumb.
LUKE
Shut up and be supportive.
LIAM
Yeah, goalie. Just sit there and look intimidating like you always do.
KENTARO
??
ME
La Playa after practice. You better bring good ideas, boys.
CODY
Don't worry. By the time we're done, she's gonna be on her knees and ??????
ME
Can we keep this PG, please?
CODY:
?? Damn, you must really like this chick.
ME
VERY.
ME
And she's my best friend — so let's keep the innuendos to a minimum before I punch a wall.????
ELIJAH
FORMER best friend.
ME
Thanks, Cap. Super helpful. ??
ELIJAH
??
LIAM
Bring your wallet. You're buying.
ME
Fine.
CODY
We just witnessed history. ?? Zach finally whipped enough to buy us drinks.
I pocket my phone and scrub a hand over my face, grinning despite myself.
This is either going to be the best idea I've ever had...
Or the dumbest.
Either way, my Sugarplum's about to get the full Westbrook treatment — the wooing of a lifetime.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CAROLINE
When Adam and I step into the ballet studio — one of the large practice spaces in the Performing Arts Center — the faint scent of rosin and polished wood hits me first. The room is bright, sunlight streaming in through tall windows that line one wall, reflecting off the mirrored panels on the other.
A long wooden barre runs along the mirrors, and the sprung floor is scuffed in all the right places, evidence of hours and hours of dancing.
Professor Callahan is already there, standing near the center of the room with Professor Charlotte Baker— Ridgewater's ballet professor— the two of them mid-conversation when we walk in.
Off to the side, two ballet students are at the barre, warming up.
One girl in a black leotard and pink tights moves through a set of pliés with effortless precision, knees bending and straightening in perfect time as one hand rests lightly on the barre.
Beside her, a tall guy mirrors the exercise a few feet away, his focus absolute, his free arm sweeping in perfect arcs as he lowers and rises, muscles shifting under his fitted rehearsal shirt.
Neither of them glances over when we enter — they're too locked in, breathing even, movements sharp and controlled.
Professor Callahan glances toward the doorway and her whole face brightens.
"Oh, there you two are!" she calls out, cheerful as ever, motioning us over.
Adam and I cross the room, our footsteps muffled against the sprung floor. The two ballet students pause mid–plié, stepping back from the barre, and even Professor Baker turns her head, posture as poised as ever, her arms still loosely folded.
By the time we reach them, the dancers have joined the small circle forming near the center of the room.
"Charlotte," Professor Callahan says, her voice warm with that teacher-proud tone she gets, "these are Caroline Pennington and Adam Klein — they're leading the play the Drama students are putting up for the Winter Showcase."
Miss Charlotte's mouth curves into a friendly smile as she steps closer and extends her hand first to Adam, then to me. "Ah, so you're the ones we've been hearing about. Good to finally meet you both."
Adam shakes her hand firmly. "Nice to meet you too," he says, and I nod along, smiling as I take her hand.
"It's so nice to meet you too, Professor," I say.
She waves a dismissive hand with a good-natured laugh. "Oh, please — call me Miss Charlotte, like my students do. Or Miss Charlie, if you want to make me feel young."
"Got it," I chuckle, tucking a piece of hair behind my ear. "Miss Charlotte it is."
Callahan gestures to the dancers. "And this is Betsy and Keith — two of our senior ballet students, and they'll be helping with your choreography."
Which, okay, quick rewind.
Yesterday during blocking rehearsal, Lucy pulled Adam and me aside and dropped this little bomb: she and Professor Callahan had been debating whether or not to sneak in a ballet number at the end of the play.
Like... a legit ballet number.
At first, I thought she was joking, but nope.
She laid it all out, explaining how it would be this big romantic finale — me and Adam dancing together as the Prince and the Sugar Plum Princess, our love literally bringing magic back to the land. Very fairytale, very twinkly lights and happily-ever-after.
And honestly? I kinda loved it. No, I definitely loved it.
Lucy even said, "If you two aren't comfortable, no pressure. We could always just have a group of fairies dance instead."
Which, sure, fine... except, hello? A random ballet fairy circle at the end? Cute, but it wouldn't hit the same.
So, of course, I blurted out that her first idea was better and made way more sense.
Adam actually agreed for once — shocking, I know, considering how much he hates the idea of wearing tights or anything remotely ballet-adjacent. I can practically hear him already, whining about wardrobe changes before we've even learned a single step.
And that's how we ended up here. Meeting Miss Charlotte and two of her best dancers, who are apparently going to whip us into ballet shape before opening night.
Pray for my feet.
Betsy wipes her hand on her warm-up pants before offering it with a bright grin. "Hi! It's nice to officially meet you guys."
"You too," Adam says, shaking her hand, and I follow, adding, "Looking forward to working with you."
Keith offers a polite handshake as well. "Same here. Should be fun."
Professor Callahan clasps her hands together, her usual smile in place but with that edge of urgency that always sneaks out when she starts talking schedules.
"So, here's the thing," she says, glancing between all of us. "We've got eight weeks before opening night. Between play rehearsals and your regular ballet practices, it's going to be... tight. Which is why I want to get the dancing lessons started as soon as possible."
Miss Charlotte lets out a low laugh, shaking her head. "Gruesome is the word. My students' schedules are already insane. Half their evenings are spent here, the other half in rehearsals for the showcase."
She throws Betsy and Keith a look, like she's reminding them not to slack.
Betsy just shrugs, still smiling. "We're used to it."
Keith adds dryly, "Doesn't mean it's not brutal."
Callahan's smile tilts, grateful. "You're saints. Truly—thank you."
"If it's for the showcase, we'll manage. Somehow." Miss Charlotte says.
"That's so good to hear," Callahan says, nodding once.
"And before everything else—" her eyes flick briefly toward Adam and me, "These two actually have some ballet in their background, so it's not like you'll be starting from zero.
It should only take a short refresher to bring their muscle memory back, and after that they'll be ready to move directly into the choreography. "
Adam's head snaps toward me. "Wait—hold up. You did ballet?"
I give a sheepish shrug. "It's... a long story."
Betsy perks up instantly, eyes bright. Even Miss Charlotte leans in a little, curiosity clear.
"So when did you take ballet?" Betsy asks.
"Since I was five," I admit, "up until middle school. It was kind of my thing for a while."
Adam blinks at me like I've just unveiled a hidden superpower. "How did I not know this?"
"Because I don't exactly go around announcing it?" I shoot back.
Charlotte nods thoughtfully. "Well, that's a pleasant surprise. Having that foundation will save us quite a bit of time."
"And make our jobs easier," Betsy adds with a grin. "If you already know the basics, we can jump right in."
"Hopefully. It's been years, but I'm hoping my legs still remember the difference between an arabesque and an attitude — and don't make me look like I'm inventing a third option."
Betsy chuckles, the sound light and genuine, and I can't help laughing with her. "Trust me, you'll do great. It'll come back faster than you think."
Her encouragement softens something in my chest, and I give her a grateful smile.
I didn't even realize how much I needed that until right now.
Yesterday I was all confidence — like, sure, no big deal, I can totally handle a five-minute ballet number. But standing here today with three actual professionals?
Suddenly it feels official. And terrifying.
Because next to them, my "few years of ballet" sounds about as impressive as saying I once watched The Nutcracker on TV and called it training.
The next half hour slips by in a blur of back-and-forth planning. We go over schedules, juggling everyone's rehearsals until we land on the only slot that makes sense — 8 p.m., four nights a week, Tuesday through Friday.
Betsy and Keith are slammed during the day with their own showcase prep, and Adam and I are booked solid with our own rehearsals as well, so late evenings it is.
Because apparently, sleep is optional now.
And really, who dragged me into this? No one. Just me and my stupid, all-consuming passion for my craft. Or whatever you call this madness that has me agreeing to everything just to make the showcase look like some grand spectacle.