“What?” Mom’s innocent expression was contradicted by the smile curving her lips. “Does he like you?”

“Are you his bae?” Dad chimed in. He loved using words he heard on TV to get a reaction from Josie and me. But Josie just said, “Good one, Dad,” and they all cackled.

“No and no,” I said, standing up, taking the phone, and putting it facedown on the table.

“You should invite them to Josie’s show tonight,” Mom said.

My stomach twisted, and even though I had half a pancake in front of me, I lost my appetite. I’d forgotten Josie’s performance of The Nutcracker was tonight. “Um, I can’t.”

Mom gave me a look that said an explanation was required.

“Ethan’s in Pittsburgh and Jude’s in Indiana and Margot… has something tonight.” I had no idea if Margot had something tonight. But I wasn’t going to ask her to come. As much as she would distract me from potential jealousy bomb explosions, I didn’t want her to see me on edge like that.

My phone buzzed and I grabbed it, hoping it would end the conversation. A photo of Colleen filled my screen. She was wearing a familiar white headpiece, and one of her eyes was scrunched closed. Got a bobby pin in the eye. Wish you were here.

She must have just finished “Waltz of the Snowflakes.” KDBS used bits of white paper as snow, released from big bags above the stage. After the waltz was over, the crew swept up all the paper and put it back in the bags so it could be dropped again in the next performance. But they’d also sweep up dirt, dust, and anything else that had fallen onto the stage. So after a few performances, you’d inevitably get hit in the face with a bobby pin.

Looking at the picture, I felt the familiar pull in my heart, wishing I was there, too. But if I were there, I’d be changing into my Chinese Tea costume. And Colleen would be prepping for Arabian Coffee, not Dew Drop or Sugar Plum. I couldn’t brush that aside anymore, or the uncomfortable feelings that came with it.

Josie finished her pancakes and put her dish in the sink with a clatter. “I’m gonna walk to Fiona’s to finish our snow costumes,” she said. “Her sister’s driving us to the school later. You guys should get there at six forty-five.” She glanced at me and then rushed upstairs.

I pushed my pancake around my plate. “Would it be terrible if I didn’t go—”

“If you can go to Winter Formal, you can go see your sister dance, like she’s seen you dance a hundred times,” Mom said.

“My thoughts exactly,” Dad added as he scrubbed some dishes.

I sighed. Case closed.