When I got into the backseat of the minivan at six thirty, I glanced at Jude’s house. All the windows were dark, which made me feel a little hollow. He was going to be in Indiana visiting family all break. It was strange to think that he’d been right across the street from me for three years and I hadn’t known. And that now, when he’d been gone for less than a day, I missed him.

I thought about texting him as Dad drove us to Hope Middle School, where Variations held their shows. We’d exchanged numbers after Winter Formal. I couldn’t think of anything to say, at least nothing that would make sense in a text. And he hadn’t texted me either, so…

I took deep breaths as we parked and I followed my parents into the auditorium. It had been ages since I was here. My winter and spring shows always overlapped with Josie’s, and ran for longer, so I never had time to go. The last time I’d seen Josie dance, she was probably ten.

Mom put the peach-colored roses she’d brought under her seat, the paper crinkling and the scent wafting through the air. Mom and Dad used to bring roses to my shows, too. I rolled and unrolled the program as the lights went down and the first painfully familiar notes of The Nutcracker rang out.

The curtain opened to reveal six dilapidated bunk beds surrounding a table of knives. I rolled my eyes. Instead of setting the opening party scene in a nineteenth-century home, Variations set it in a dystopian boarding school/butcher shop. A techno beat, smashing glass, and a revving chain saw sounded underneath Tchaikovsky’s score. The party guests leaped and gyrated and spun. There was some impressive flexibility, but nothing I saw grasped my heart the way ballet did. Not even close. Still, I clapped dutifully as each dance ended, counting down the numbers until the finale.

Josie was in a bunch of group dances, like the snow scene, where everyone wore long nail extensions on their fingers that made them look ghoulish. I could always pick her out, and not just because she was my sister. There was a musical quality to her dancing that I vaguely remembered from when we were younger, but of course it had evolved. Her movements were sharp and clean, but they always fit the emotions of the music. I checked the program and saw that she had a solo during the “Waltz of the Flowers” number—she was playing a “Rampaging Bumblebee.” I rolled my eyes again.