Page 100 of Breaking the Ice

Why did I wear these heels today? They might be cute, but screw that. My feet scream with every mincing step I take backstage, running from one task—finding the correct microphone cord—to another—locating a missing teddy bear. Don’t ask.

But I endure the shoe torture, because I’m supposed to be dressed professionally for this. It’s part of my final project grade, after all. I’m pretty sure it’s going to be a disaster of epic proportions, so while my feet and calves clamor for sneakers, I need all the points I can get. I can’t afford to get docked for not wearing the proper attire, not when I’m probably going to lose a million points because everything falls apart in the middle of the spring concert.

The kids won’t know how to get off the stage. There will be a giant pile-up, and fifth graders will trample the kindergarteners while giggling manically. They will forget the words and all start crying. Or worse, go rouge and sing something inappropriate.

Anxiety rises in my chest, hot and panicky. My breath shortens, and I undo the top button on my blouse. I can’t get enough air. I fan my face, trying to circulate some oxygen because I’m probably dying.

Sinking onto a prickly wooden box backstage, I lift my sweaty hair off my neck and try to create a breeze. My feet ache more now that I’m sitting. How is that possible?

At a noise behind me, I turn. It’s Mrs. Vanloo, my supervising teacher. Her gray bob is streaked with purple, and she rocks the flowy maxi dress that covers her ample frame.

I move to hop up, but she waves a hand at me. “No, sit for another second.”

She perches next to me on a matching box, letting out a deep sigh. “I know this is for your final grade, but I probably would have canceled this concert if I could.”

I wince. “Still not enough faculty help?”

She shakes her head, brown eyes bracketed by lines. “No. I need to get back to the cafeteria before Mrs. Schenkel is overrun, but I wanted to check on you.”

I lift my shoulders in a shrug. “I’m fine.”

We both know I’m not. “I really thought Mrs. Summers and her teenagers would show up.”

Mrs. Vanloo holds up her phone, displaying a text message. “Her youngest got sick.”

“Oh.” It better not be spreading through the student population. I can’t handle that on top of everything else.

She sighs again and pats my knee. “But Mr. Gonzales is capable. You don’t get to be an assistant principal if you can’t wrangle a cafeteria full of children.”

“I just wish…” I trail off, then clear my throat. “I had this whole plan for how they’d rehearse while they were waiting to go onstage. Maybe I can be in there to help make that happen, and you can man everything backstage?”

“No, one of us needs to be on each side of the wings directing traffic.”

“Right.”

“So would it be helpful if I brought a hockey team to volunteer?” a familiar voice behind me asks.

I spin around, almost falling off my wooden box. Has the stress caused me to hallucinate? I blink, trying to clear my vision, but no—Evan and a dozen of his teammates really are standing backstage.

I continue to gape as a crooked smirk spreads across his face. “Put us wherever you need us, Madam Director.”

“Is this for real?” My voice shakes.

“Yep.” Evan pops the P on the end of the word and gives me a delighted grin. “We’re volunteering in the community.”

“Um.” Shaking off my stupor, I get to my feet and pull myself together to survey my new stage crew. “How many of you are comfortable with kids?”

Evan and Jonas raise their hands, plus Mateo and Ryan. I point to them. “Great. I’m going to put you guys in the cafeteria. Your job is to help the teachers keep the students calm and busy. If you can organize them into groups to practice, that would be amazing.”

I turn to the next set of guys. I recognize Caleb and Levi, who live with Jonas, and a few freshmen who are harder to identify without a name and number on their backs. “Okay, you guys are going to be in charge of props. You can help get the sets and risers on and off the stage and free up a few more teachers to help me wrangle the kids backstage. I’ll give you cues when it’s time.”

They nod and smile, then disperse, finding places to sit and wait.

I turn to my husband, hovering behind me.

“You guys have a game tonight. It’s Big Ten conference time. Home, against Notre Dame, right?” I raise a brow. “You better not be missing it for me.”

“You know my schedule?” Evan smiles, his eyes turning soft.