A Wright Christmas

My eyes skimmed the rows of excited children. This was our last official weekend for The Nutcracker. Three shows this weekend and then Lubbock Ballet Company’s Christmas Eve Spectacular show, which was a special matinee event for underprivileged children in Lubbock. All tickets were donated by parents and sponsors, and our charity director worked with the city and local elementary schools to promote the arts. It was everyone’s favorite show. It had been mine when I was here as a kid.

But I couldn’t deny that as I was looking over the kids, I was waiting to see a shock of red hair and to hear Aly’s excited voice. Isaac wasn’t usually this late. Aly should have been here already.

I checked my phone one last time, but I didn’t have any missed calls or texts.

“Peyton, let’s get you into costume,” one of the backstage managers said.

“Of course.” I followed after her. “Have you seen Aly?”

“I haven’t. Let me send someone to look for her.” The manager stopped a runner dressed in all black and asked her to find Aly. “Now, costume.”

By the time I was once again in a tutu, the runner had located Aly, and all was well. Except that Isaac had never texted me, which was strange. The night before, we’d stayed up all night in his hotel room, and now, he was ghosting me?

That didn’t feel like Isaac. My stomach churned over the possibilities, but I kept coming back to this being impossible.

In the wings, I swallowed hard as I moved up and down on pointe to work my ankles. I couldn’t accept that. He hadn’t been acting like a guy on the prowl. Isaac was kind and thoughtful. He loved his job and his family. He was a terrible liar. Always had been. There had to be an explanation.

“Peyton, everyone is set,” Cassidy said, nodding at me.

I took a deep breath and nodded. “Showtime.”* * *Dance swept me away.

I’d seen The Nutcracker a thousand times, and the magic of it all still transformed me. The Sugar Plum Fairy role was challenging, and yet muscle memory took over when I was out there. I never faltered. I never wavered. It was just me and the music and this perfect role filled with joy.

My heart beat in my chest as I took my final bow to a roaring audience—something I never tired of—and then ran gracefully into the wings.

Just as the curtain fell for the last time and I hit my wing, my foot collided with something backstage. I gasped as I stumbled forward, and before I could catch myself, I landed hard…on my knee.

“Fuck,” I spat, crushing the tutu as I lay on my back and tried to remember my breathing exercises. It was the only way I’d gotten through the worst of the pain the first time.

“Peyton!” Cassidy gasped. She fell to the ground next to me. “Are you hurt? What can I do?” She looked up at my partner, Reginald, and yelled, “Go get some ice!”

“I’m fine,” I got out through gritted teeth. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. You’re crying.”

Was I?

I wiped tears out of my eyes and came into a sitting position. “It’s okay. Just shock,” I told her. “What did I trip over?”

Cassidy left me for a moment and came back with a pointe shoe. “Who the hell would have left this here?”

I held my hand out for it. The shoe wasn’t the traditional satin pink. It had been dyed a deep brown, and the initials BB had been inked into the shank.

“Bebe would never be so careless,” Cassidy said.

“No,” I agreed, “she wouldn’t.”

Reginald rushed back over with ice then. I waved him off and let him help me to my feet. My knee throbbed, but I wasn’t reinjured. It wasn’t any worse than my normal pain after a performance. Or maybe…just a little worse. But I certainly wasn’t going to show that to anyone backstage.

“We have someone we need to speak with,” I told Cassidy.

“You think someone did this on purpose?”

I gritted my teeth. “Unfortunately.”

“Do you need help to walk, Peyton?” Reginald asked.

“No, I’m fine, Reggie,” I lied. “Thanks.”

“Should I get Nick?” Cassidy asked in a hushed whisper.

I nodded. “That would be best.”

I headed into the backstage area and waited. My knee was killing me, but not a single person would know it was the case. The younger kids filed out first and then the professional company members, who hugged me as they left. Which just left the high schoolers, who always dawdled longer than the rest.

My feet were planted, and the shoe was in my hand when the group of them came out of the dressing room. Bebe among them this time.

I held my hand up. “Bebe, I believe this belongs to you.”

Bebe gasped. “You found my shoe! Where was it?”

“It was in my wing,” I told her, handing it back.