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They are mere silhouettes on the shadowy stage, but when the lights ping back on, neon and pastels, June stands in a line with five other ballerinas with one hand on her hip and the other clinging to a vibrant lollipop accessory.
I leap from my seat. I can’t help it.
I whoop and holler so loud, the whole crowd of parents laugh. Theo laughs, too. Mrs. Bailey hides her face behind her palm, while Mr. Bailey tugs me back down to my chair, and I continue to wave like a lunatic to the tiny performers onstage.
June spots me, her face beaming.
She only breaks character that one time, right at the beginning, waving back at me and accidentally dropping her lollipop. But the moment the music starts, she dances like a dream, like she was always meant to dance.
She is flawless.
She is magical.
My heart flutters with joy as I watch June skip around the stage, twirling and proud, confident and strong. She takes a bow, and the crowd erupts with applause.
She is brave.
June never stopped dancing after that.
She loved it so much, she did it a hundred more times, then a hundred more. She told me once, a long time ago, that that recital might have been her very first memory—only, she doesn’t remember the recital itself.
She remembers me.
She has a vivid recollection of me rising to my feet in a sea of people, shouting like a maniac, calling her name and cheering her on. She also remembers what I told her when she got scared. The thing about being brave. She said she’s kept those words with her all her life, clinging to them tightly whenever she has felt afraid.
I wish I could admit to doing the same…but fear is an ugly, unpredictable beast, and the greater the fear, the more strength it takes for us to face it.
I’ve had a lot of fears over the years, but only one has truly torn me up, shredded me from the inside out, and nearly killed me.
The fear of losing June.
Two years later, I came face-to-face with that fear.
6
FIRST FALL
JUNE, AGE 6
The leaves are crisp and crinkly beneath my rain boots as I stomp through the backyard, following behind Brant and Theo.
I can’t help but startle when thunder rolls in the distance. It’s Halloween night, and everything feels a lot spookier on Halloween night. The dancing tree branches, the roar of the wind, and even thunder. Definitely thunder.
We’re still in our costumes after a long night of trick-or-treating in a nearby subdivision, since we don’t have many neighbors on our quiet street. Theo is Mario, Brant is Luigi, and I’m Princess Peach. Mama took lots of pictures, and everyone told us we had the best costumes they ever saw. I collected so much candy in my bucket that Dad said he had to take some of it for himself or else the bucket would break. He took all of the Snickers bars because they were the heaviest.
Brant spins around to glance back at me, carrying a flashlight in his fist. He points it under his chin, waggling his eyebrows as shadows and yellow light dapple his face. “Where’s Aggie? Don’t you want him to keep you safe from the ghost stories?”
I shiver when a dank draft sweeps through. “He’s still handing out candy with Mama. You and Theo will keep me safe,” I say, my small legs trying to catch up.
“Did he dress up in a costume, too?”
“No. He’s already an elephant.”
Brant’s face brightens with a smile, reminding me of a lightning bug at dusk. I stare at him for a moment, and the prickle of fear fades away. His face is handsome and brave, with eyes like the earth: a little green, a little brown. He has dents that pop up on both cheeks when he smiles wide, and Mama says they’re called dimples. I love Brant’s dimples. I pretend they were made just for me.
“Are you sure you wanna come, Peach?” Theo takes long strides toward the tree house, adjusting his Mario hat with one hand and carrying a big bowl of popcorn with the other. I can hardly see him through the darkness. “We’re going to tell really scary stories.”
Another chill rushes down my spine. “How scary?”
