Caleb sighed and stood, stretching his arms above his head and revealing a rather impressive six-pack. “You can try.” His voice was low as his gaze dropped to Archer’s. “But you’re going down.”

Archer raised an eyebrow at Caleb. Maybe.

6 Moonlight

“Dancers!” Stewart paced along the front of the stage, Judy trotting at his heels. “For those disinclined to observe such things, I would like you to note that it is Saturday.” He stopped and stared at them, gripping his cane, eyes wild. “Saturday! Do you know what this means?”

The dancers shifted, eyeing one another.

Betty raised her hand. “It means that … tomorrow is Sunday?”

“Yes!” Stewart bellowed. “Yes, Betty, very well done. Tomorrow is Sunday. And what happens on Sunday?”

“The guests arrive?” Betty continued, on a roll.

“The guests. Arrive. Tomorrow.” Stewart took a deep breath then threw his head back. “Tomorrow! Tomorrow, people! Retro is merely passable. Latin is middling. Urban is abysmal. Around the World and Broadway? In utter shambles! I need your blood, your sweat, your very tears today, my darlings. Today … we dance!” He flung his arms out and froze as if waiting for applause.

“Uh, Stewart?” Mateo pointed behind him. “The costume designers and photographers are here, though.”

Stewart turned to verify that they had indeed interrupted his big finish, then sniffed at them. “Oh, yes. Very well. We dance … later today.”

The seamstresses descended with their racks of costumes, paying special attention to Archer, Beau, Ben, and Betty, who hadn’t had a chance to try anything on yet. The photographer and her assistant took over a corner of the stage and began setting up their equipment. Stewart shuffled and sighed his way around the hubbub while Mateo got them organized.

“Let’s get everyone into their contemporary costumes first for the headshots,” he decided, “then we’ll do a few pairs for each show after.”

The others seemed unimpressed with all the bustle around them, but Archer was secretly thrilled. This made it feel less like summer camp and more like an actual show. He stood patiently for the seamstress as she measured and pinned and sorted through his clothes. Each dancer would have their own rack backstage, a neat row of all their costumes for the six shows. His favorite had to be the Latin—slinky black pants and a loose-fitting dark purple and scarlet top cut down to his waistband. Mateo’s costume was black and sparkly, with hints of matching purple and scarlet shimmers. For a second, he pictured the two of them together, tight in their hold.

“You’re up, Archer,” Mateo called when the seamstress had finished checking Archer’s billowy contemporary shirt.

“Okay.” He stepped over to the screen, a little nervous. He hadn’t had dance photos taken in a long time.

“Stand on the X, please,” the photographer said. “Chin down a bit … That’s it. Now take a breath, and smile.”