Startled, I turn to see her in the open door, smiling, and realize that I’ve lifted up my hair and have one hip cocked out, and I didn’t even hear her come in. Obviously.

“Oh, hi!” I say, dropping my arms. “No, just thinking.”

“It’s nice to see you practicing. I feel like I never see you around,” she says.

“I’ve been here!” I wave my hand around to indicate the building. But it’s true—I haven’t been here enough.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” I say. “So much going on.”

She nods. “I know you’re always on top of things,” she says. “Don’t forget I’m still here to talk if you need to.”

Warmth in my chest.

“I know you are,” I say. I hug her impulsively, making her oof and laugh, but she hugs me back. “Sorry!” I say.

“You’re okay,” she says. “You can come see me just to chat,” she says.

The thought of that—it sounds like such a relief. She always makes tea and lets me put my face down on her couch, or pace around the room, or cover my face and moan about life. I always leave feeling better. But I can’t go until we’re done with the show. I can’t lie to her about it.

“I’ll visit,” I say. “I’ll catch you up on everything.”

And I really do wish I could confide in her, tell her I’ve found a way to get to Angles, that it’s a cooler, sparklier, more nerve-racking, and potentially wonderful idea than I could have imagined, and all the angst, so many costumes, this new style of dance that is so exciting. But then she catches me off balance.

“We also still have to talk about your funding,” she adds, and my thoughts screech to a halt.

“Right,” I say, bobbing my head. Hoping I don’t look as guilty and panicked as I feel.

“I have some calls in,” she says. “It’s going to be okay.”

“I know it will,” I tell her, my stomach twisting in half. I just can’t tell her why.

The rehearsal room that Katherine booked isn’t the biggest or the nicest, but it’s in the basement and at the end of a corridor, so we think it’s probably safe to work on acts that clearly aren’t related to our showcases or ensemble pieces or anything else that seniors like us should be spending time on. Katherine is in her leotard, whipping her Hula-Hoop around her waist. She can work the hoop all the way up to her armpits and down her thighs, and then step out on one side and hula-hoop with her leg extended in front of her and her toe pointed. She grins at us. She’s showing off.