We repeat the choreography. This time, she deftly slides into most of the right moves, though she does spend half the routine with her neck craned toward me. Her switch leap series is a flop, but she pushes through to make it toward the final tumbling pass and the simple last bit of dance. (By the time you hit the fourth tumbling pass, you’re flat-out exhausted. Even waving to a crowd cheering your name feels impossible. So I kept her last few motions easy.)

Ryan drops down from the bars. “How’s it going over there?” he calls, wiping sweat from his brow.

“Good!” Hallie and I shout at the same time.

“Jinx, you owe me a soda,” she says quickly. As Ryan approaches, she lowers her voice. “Not that I even drink soda, but, you know.”

“I’ll get you a Gatorade,” I reply.

“Can I see how it’s going?” Ryan asks.

“What do you think, Hallie? Are you ready for music?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she says, jutting out her chin. “Let’s do this.”

She scrambles over to the starting spot, settles into the first pose, then peeks back at me, as if to ensure she’s doing it right. I nod and turn on the music. On her own for the first time, her performance is rough and uneven. She nails certain sections of choreography, though I’d still like to tighten up the way she moves and performs; other bits, though, she stumbles through, or forgets entirely. I watch her face freeze when she realizes she has no idea how to transition from upright and standing to down on the floor for the wolf turn. She doesn’t have enough time to figure it out; the music has already moved on. So she spasms and drops to the floor, shouting an apology as she goes.

“That’s part of it?” Ryan deadpans.

“Yeah, doesn’t it look great?” I joke back.

Hallie flits through the rest of the routine, shouting a dramatic “Ta-da!” as she hits the final pose.

“Needs some work,” Ryan suggests kindly.

“But we’re on the right track,” I insist.

“I’ll run through it twenty more times today,” Hallie promises.

“That’s not necessary,” I say. “Let me buy you that Gatorade, and then we’ll drill the choreography until it’s muscle memory.”

Hallie skips through the gym, leaning on one balance beam as she kicks up her feet and clicks her heels in midair, making her way toward the vending machine in the lobby.

“Motivating her with treats? Interesting coaching strategy,” he points out.

“Effective coaching strategy,” I correct him.

I head toward the lobby. Ryan makes a soft noise like he’s clearing his throat, and when I look back toward him, his mouth is half-open, like he’s about to say something.

“Yeah?” I ask.