Chapter 38 #2
“This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done,” he mutters under his breath.
I snort, holding my grin in place. “Smile, Pookie.”
“Call me Pookie one more time.”
I can’t stop the helpless laugh that bursts free as he turns back to the audience, his face morphing with a resolute nod.
“Ready?”
“Together.”
We turn, still gripping each other’s hands tight, and bow deep into the roar. The cheers swell even louder, like the whole room on its feet for us.
When we straighten, Logan glances at me sideways, sheepish grin stretching wide. I suck in a breath, cheeks aching from smiling so hard, and step forward.
“Well,” I say, my voice carrying through the mic that someone mercifully left live. “That was… not quite the opening number we rehearsed.”
Laughter ripples through the audience, and I spot Principal Delacourt's amused face.
I squeeze Logan’s hand, pulse still galloping, and gesture toward him with my free one.
“But since the curtain went up early for some unexplained reason," I glance toward the PTA moms, who are gaping at the response of the audience.
I guess they were expecting outcry. "You all get a bonus feature. Please welcome my, uh… very trusty assistant, filling in tonight as backup set crew since the doctors benched him. Your very own number eighty-two, Mr. Logan Miller!”
The place erupts—phones flashing, kids shrieking his name, parents whistling into their hands. Logan groans under his breath, but he waves anyway, muttering under his breath, “You’re killing me, Parnell.”
I beam at him, holding my smile while I mutter back. “Be thankful it’s not the other Parnell killing you.”
He shoots me a look, and my grin stretches wider, before turning back to the crowd.
“Now that we’ve, um, provided such a unique way to break the ice… let’s get this showcase started!”
The curtain sweeps the rest of the way across the stage, applause still thundering. Logan leans toward the mic one more time, dead serious.
“Chaz couldn’t make it.”
Zoe gasps, and Chase launches halfway out of his seat, hollering, “YOU’RE DEAD, MILLER!”
Parents laugh, even though they’re not entirely sure what this all means, and kids shriek with delight.
I groan, heat flooding my cheeks, and tug Logan by the arm back into the wings just as the first group of kids takes the stage for their festive choir opener.
He makes a beeline for a giant star resting on a chair, which has mysteriously lost half its glitter, while I rush to line up the rest of the kids waiting for their cue.
My heart’s still doing cartwheels from the kiss that half the damn city just saw, but I force myself to focus on straightening costumes.
I barely have time to give the rest of the kids a thumbs up as they dance onto the stage before I hear the PTA clucking behind me.
“Absolutely disgraceful,” Pamela mutters as I turn, her arms crossed tight. “A teacher, kissing a hockey player in front of students?”
“So inappropriate,” another mom adds with a prim little shake of her head.
“Oh, please.” I don't even look at them, just keep re-pinning stars onto yet another prop someone managed to dismantle again. “I’ve seen more graphic behavior at the PTA wine auction.”
Pamela sputters. “You think that kind of display sets a good example?”
“Honestly?” I whisper, straightening up from the display. “I think grown adults sabotaging a bunch of props and pulling the curtain early because they don't like the teacher is a far worse look. But what do I know?” I flash a sweet smile. “I just work here.”
Logan’s voice drifts over from where he’s finishing the glitter repair. “Funny. I didn’t realize school events came with a self-appointed morality committee.”
The moms whirl and Pamela stiffens. “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused.” He doesn’t even glance up.
One of the moms opens her mouth to fire back, but a quiet cough cuts her off.
“Is there a problem?”
Principal Delacourt steps out from the shadows, her expression as crisp as her blazer.
Pamela startles. “Oh—no, of course not. We were just—”
“Commenting loudly in front of our staff, students, guests and parents during a school event,” Delacourt finishes coolly. “Undermining faculty decisions. Casting judgment where none was requested.”
Another PTA mom flushes. “We just think—”
“I’m aware of what you think.” Her smile is pleasant, her eyes are not. “The Board and I have been observing closely all evening.”
Only then do they notice Mr. Dawson beside her, hands clasped loosely in front of him, expression utterly unimpressed by what he’s witnessed.
Delacourt continues, smooth as ice. “Ms. Parnell’s showcase is a success. The students are engaged, the audience is delighted, and I can assure you—” her gaze narrows “—your attempt to hijack the evening with gossip and interference has been noted. Formally.”
Pamela pales.
“And as for the curtain stunt,” Delacourt pauses, looking between the PTA members. “You’ll be pleased to know that the Board is reviewing backstage access protocols.”
Mr. Dawson speaks at last, his voice dry. “And disciplinary recommendations, if needed.”
The PTA moms’ eyes widen, and Pamela manages a thin smile. “Well. I uh, suppose that’s all settled then.”
“Not quite,” Delacourt says. “I imagine we’ll be following up.” She lifts her chin. “I suggest you take your seats, ladies. You’re disrupting Ms. Parnell—and the talent.”
Logan watches the PTA moms retreat to their seats like wet cats, followed by Principal Delacourt and Mr Dawson. Then he cranes his neck toward the front row, visibly bracing.
“I should probably go sit,” he murmurs. “Before your brother starts sharpening things.”
“Front row, far left,” I say sweetly.
His head snaps toward me. “That’s right next to Eli.”
“Mhmm. Saved you a seat and everything.”
“Great. Love that for me.” Logan winces, scrubbing a hand down his face. “Please tell Dusty I love him.”
I chuckle, watching him take a step, then hesitating. He lingers there at the edge of the curtain, eyes catching on me.
“Lu?”
“Yeah?”
“I meant what I said… You—this—it’s all worth it.”
Heat blooms under my skin, but I don’t look away. “Even if Eli murders you with his eyes for the next hour?”
Logan cracks a crooked grin. “Bury me under the flamingo.”
He finally steps back into the shadows, and a moment later I see him slide into the aisle seat beside Eli—who does, in fact, look like he’s imagining at least five different ways to commit a very slow homicide.
Logan just leans back in his chair like he has no regrets and every intention of pretending my brother’s eyes aren’t boring into the side of his head. And somehow, that’s all I need to see.
I turn my attention back to the kids' performance. They’re off-beat and their dance moves are out of sync. One is enthusiastically three steps ahead of the others, and another’s mouthing the wrong words entirely.
But every face is lit up, their smiles stretched the widest I’ve ever seen. Every set of eyes in the auditorium is taking it in, enthralled with the kids trying their best and being brave.
And for once, I don’t move. I don’t rush in to adjust or fix or over-perform.
I just stand still and take it in.
The glitter in the air and the chaos I wrestled into order. Every panic spiral, every whispered doubt. Every moment I thought they’d win, because they always seem to.
But not tonight.
Tonight, the curtain is rising because I made it rise.
And this moment, on this stage, with this messy and magic thing I built? It’s mine.
I’m not a stand-in, not a shiny distraction. Not some teacher-on-display for the PTA to praise or pick apart.
I bloomed anyway.
I split concrete.
And Logan—God, Logan—he’s not here because he had to be, he’s here because he chose to be. Not as a player, not as my brother’s teammate.
Just him.
My smile widens as I keep watching the kids, because for the first time in a long time, I know exactly who I am.
Not someone’s sister. Not someone’s mistake or someone’s trophy. Not some flighty teacher with a problem to solve or a standard to meet.
Just me.
On a stage.
With the boy watching me who never once asked me to shrink, only shine.