Chapter 17: The Recital

Sabrina's POV

Elliott had signed himself up for department night, on the sheet taped to the seminar room door, under "Talent."

He had written: Elliott Wainwright, dance, four minutes.

"You don't have to," I said, standing with him in the supply closet behind the stage.

"Yes, I do."

He was in a black practice skirt and a gray shirt.

His glasses were off, which made him look younger and furious.

"I've hidden this for eighteen years," he said. "I'd like to find out what happens if I stop."

I straightened the hem of his skirt.

"I'm going to watch everyone in that room who might laugh," I said. "And I'm going to glare at them in order of height."

"That is very kind and slightly insane."

"I'm told those are the same thing."

He almost smiled. Then the dean called his name, and he walked out.

I took a seat in the third row, next to Valerie.

She was holding a paper cup of punch in both hands.

The first note of the music played.

Somebody in the second row snorted.

I turned around and looked at her, and she stopped.

Somebody on the left giggled, and I looked at him, too, and he found something very interesting on the floor.

Then Elliott began to dance, and nobody needed glaring at.

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