Jude glanced at the auditorium doors. “Are you going in?” There was a coldness to his voice now. No smile, no gleam in his eyes.

I opened my mouth, but then Celia and a few other seniors rounded the corner, chatting and shoving each other around. “Come on, Judey Boy!” Celia said, pulling Jude by the arm into the auditorium, and then he was gone.

I stood there for a few more seconds before walking away.

I drove home, replaying every excruciating detail from Saturday night until my head hurt. I hoped that by some miracle, my parents’ Monday schedules had changed and they wouldn’t be home. But when I opened the front door, Mom and Josie swiveled around on the couch.

“Don’t you have rehearsal today?” Mom asked as Dad walked in from the kitchen.

“It was canceled.”

“She’s lying,” Josie said. I glared at her, but she didn’t even have the decency to look guilty. I knew she was still mad about me missing her Nutcracker solo, but I hadn’t figured she’d rat me out.

“Thanks a lot,” I muttered. I charged upstairs before my parents could say anything, slammed my door, and lay facedown on my bed.

A few minutes later, there was a knock, and before I could say anything, Dad walked in. He pulled out my desk chair, spun it around so it was facing me, and took a seat. “So,” he said after a beat. “This morning you tried to get out of going to school. And right now you’re missing rehearsal. I’m sensing a pattern here. What in the music world we’d call a motif.”

I sighed and propped my chin in my hands. He was going for the “lighten the mood” approach. “I didn’t want to go. It’s not a big deal.” I tried to keep my voice monotone, but it wobbled a little on the last few words.

“Sweetie…,” Dad started, leaning forward with his elbows on his thighs, his hands clasped together. “I don’t know what this is about, but there’s something I’ve been wanting to say for a while. I know I haven’t talked about this much. But after your injury, I was so terrified. And not just by that external fixator monstrosity, although that was…” He shuddered. “Seriously, how did no one else pass out when they looked at that thing?”

“Dad,” I said.

“Sorry. Tangent. I was terrified it would be a long time before you found something you were passionate about, that made you as happy as ballet did,” Dad went on. “I knew you’d find it eventually, but I didn’t know when. And you’re a passionate person, kid. I didn’t know what would happen to all that passion if it didn’t have anywhere to go.”