Ginny finished warming up and looked around, worried.  Her fourth rehearsal with Steven was due to begin at five, and it was five-twenty and he was nowhere to be seen.  This is bad.  

Tardiness was one of the biggest sins at Madame Rostov’s.  You got to class on time, or you were banished to the barre while everyone else worked, and you had to apologize afterwards.  And if you were too late, you just got sent home.  

But there was no sign of Steven, and Ginny bit her lip, looking at Mr. Mike.  He was glancing at his watch with the impassive expression that meant he was mad, though when he looked up he gave her a quick smile.  

“Was it snowing when you came in, Miss McGann?” he asked.  

“No sir,” Ginny answered.  Bad weather was about the only legitimate excuse for being late that the Academy allowed, and the first snowstorm of the year usually snarled traffic something awful.  But while the skies had been heavy, there had been no snow.  

“All right.”  Mr. Mike ran a hand through his hair.  “I’m going to make a quick phone call.  Work on your port de bras for the moment, and no slacking while my back is turned.”  

Ginny grinned at him, and he hurried out.  She knew he was teasing.  

Turning to the mirror, she obeyed, concentrating on getting the angle of her head and shoulders and arms just right.  As Mr. Mike said, she had to express a whole range of emotion in her role, everything from delight to dismay to fear to courage.  

But she kept wondering what was keeping Steven.  He didn’t like dancing with her, and sometimes he could be a little mouthy to the teachers, but he wasn’t the type to be late.  

As she moved, Ginny felt a soft pop across the top of her right foot, and looked down to see that her elastic had come loose.  Sighing, she lowered her arms and bent to pull off her slipper.  

Then she laughed, because of course in the ballet Clara yanked off her slipper to hurl at the Mouse King.  

Ginny examined the elastic.  It had pulled free of its stitching entirely, so she ran to the studio door and down the hall towards the girls’ locker room.  She’d only be gone a moment, and Mr. Mike knew she wasn’t the type to wander off.  

As she passed the offices on the way, though, she heard his voice coming from a half-open door.  “Mrs. Graham, he has a commitment--”  

He sounded really, really mad.  Ginny froze for a second, listening despite herself as Mr. Mike went on.  “I understand that, but we’re already into rehearsals--no, it’s not, but--”  

Whatever was going on, it didn’t sound good.  Ginny kept going, running lightly so her feet made no sound, and swung into the locker room to get her spare pair of slippers from her bag.  

When she came back along the hall, she couldn’t hear anything else, but Mr. Mike still wasn’t back in the studio.  Ginny let out a breath to settle herself, and went back to port de bras, wondering what had happened.  

It took about four more minutes for Mr. Mike to return, and then he waited to speak until she had finished her run-through.  “Very good,” he said, still looking annoyed, but not quite as much as before.  “My apologies for the delay, Miss McGann.”  

“Is Steven coming, sir?” Ginny asked.  

Mr. Mike heaved a sigh.  “He is not.  It appears that the Grahams are going to Barbados for the holiday.”  

Ginny felt her mouth fall open.  It was very bad manners to accept a role and then back out--though Steven might not have known about the trip, she supposed.  

“Yes,” Mr. Mike said, smiling a little grimly.  “I don’t think Mr. Graham will be returning to the Academy at all.  Though that’s not for general consumption, please, Miss McGann.”  He raised a brow, and Ginny nodded quickly.  

Mr. Mike relaxed, smiling more warmly this time.  “I know I can trust you to be discreet.  We’ll have to announce it soon anyway.”  He pursed his lips.  “I’ve already called Mr. Dellarosa, but given the hour we will simply continue with a solo rehearsal for you and pick up with him on Wednesday.”  

Ginny blinked.  She’d almost forgotten that Eddie Dellarosa was understudy for the Prince, and for a minute she was sorry, because he really would make a wonderful Drosselmeyer.  “Will he be able to catch up, sir?”  

Mr. Mike raised a brow.  “He should be fine; he’s had the role before, though in simpler productions is my understanding.”  He clapped his hands, clear indication that conversation was over and dance was beginning.  “Let’s go over the clock scene again, please.”  

Ginny obeyed, wondering how it would be to dance with Eddie.  But in her heart, she had to admit, she was relieved that Steven was gone.  

Tony was in his room, rooting around in Principles of Electronics for a particular circuit diagram when Jarvis appeared at the door and cleared his throat. “You are wanted on the telephone, Mr. Dellarosa.”

“Thanks,” Tony muttered, using a sock as a bookmark and sliding off the bed. He ambled out into the hallway and towards the living room, scooping up the receiver from the phone on the little table by the sofa. “Hello?”

“Mr. Dellarosa, I have some . . . fortunate news for you,” came Mr. Mike’s voice over the line. Tony frowned, since the man’s voice sounded strained.

“Yes sir?”

“Due to an ill-scheduled vacation, our principal, Mr. Graham will not be available to fulfill his obligations to our production, and therefore you will be dancing the role of the Nutcracker Prince.”

“Whoah,” was all Tony could manage for a moment, blinking.

Mr. Mike spoke again, his voice slightly weary. “May I count on your full participation, Eddie? I know it means a more intense rehearsal schedule for you, but this change of cast was completely unforeseen.”

Tony drew in a breath. “Yes sir, thank you. Um, I didn’t have an understudy for my part though.”

“Jill will fill in,” Mr. Mike told him. “She’s been in several productions and I can fill her in from the notes, so we will still have a Herr Drosselmeyer, although without the flair of our previous one.”

The compliment made Tony blush; he stammered a little. “T-thank you. When do you need me for rehearsal?” he looked around the living room, trying to focus on the cuckoo clock with the Roman numerals.

“Tomorrow is soon enough. You’ll need to see Mrs. Manouf for costume measurements beforehand. And Eddie, thank you. I appreciate your commitment to this production more than I can express right now.”

“You’re welcome,” Tony replied softly. “Does Ginny know?”

“She is about to. I will inform the rest of the company tomorrow of the changes. Again, thank you, Mr. Dellarosa. Tomorrow at four, sharp.”

Tony hung up and stared at the phone a moment longer, then broke into a huge grin. He spun in a delighted fouetté en tournant in his bare feet, narrowly missing a side table laden with a Lalique glass bowl on it before thinking better of his exuberance.

“Aunt Lucy!” he called, bounding through the apartment towards the kitchen, “Hey Aunt Lucy, guess what?!”

Zolie Manouf was a small lady with a mouthful of pins and the most expressive eyebrows Tony had ever seen. Since they had to do a lot of talking for her, he watched her face and followed directives by sight. A waggle and nod to one side meant ‘turn this way’; a quick scowl meant ‘stand still’ and a sudden surprised-looking rise of both brows meant ‘there! We are done.’

He held still as Mrs. Manouf measured his shoulders and height and most embarrassingly his inseam, her small, bird-like hands moving confidently. When the numbers were jotted down next to his initials on her notepad, she made Tony turn around and stared carefully into his face. She took the pins out of her mouth and smiled.

“You have very nice skin for a boy, Edward, and such lovely eyes! Soon the girls will swoon for you!”

He blushed fiercely, not sure what to say; yes, it was a compliment, but it didn’t seem right to say ‘thank you.’

Mrs. Manouf, however, didn’t seem to worry, and held up pieces of cloth under his chin, debating between blue and green. She settled on the green, and put it into the notebook. “All right, I think we will have a green nutcracker with red leggings this year. Very festive, eh?”

That was safer and Tony nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Mrs. Manouf continued, her voice soft. “I already did some prelim work on the Prince costume for that other boy, but I think with a little hemming it will be fine. Better on you, in fact.”

Tony nodded again; Mrs. Manouf motioned for him to hold out his arms at his sides. “At least your head will fit into the papier mâché one, eh?”

That made him grin, and seeing it, Mrs. Manouf smiled herself. “Good! A dancer with dimples will always win the audience. Come back before next rehearsal and there should be a jacket for you by then.”

Tony left the little costume office and made his way to the main studio, following the sound of chatter and music. When he walked in, Katie ran over to him and held out a hand for a high-five, which for Tony was about waist level. She grinned up at him, revealing no front teeth. “Mr. Mike says you got changed!”

“Yep.”

“Good,” Katie told him. “You are the goodest jetter.”

Tony figured out she meant jété, and smiled. “Thank you.”

“We get pizza tonight if we do good,” the little girl went on, clearly excited. “For everybody!” this seemed almost too much for her to take in, and she spun around at the thought then raced away again to join the other girls amid the crowd of dancers milling around.

Mr. Mike clapped for attention, and the room quickly went quiet;  he spoke in a low, firm voice. “Thank you so much for being here on time, everyone. I have a few quick cast changes to make, so here they are. Due to a schedule conflict, Mr. Graham will not be in our production of the Nutcracker this season. Instead, Mr. Dellarosa will be dancing as our principal, and our own Miss Jill will take his part as Herr Drosselmeyer.”

There was a sudden shift of attention to Tony, and he gave a small wave; Katie clapped and several others followed her lead. Mr. Mike smiled, but cleared his throat and spoke up again. “That was kind of you, and I would like to see that spirit kept up for the rest of the production because we are going to work tonight. Miss Jill will take the first Act company here in the main studio, and I would like Miss McGann and Mr. Dellarosa up in the B studio please. We will be working straight through to six-thirty, so take your bathroom breaks now, please.”

People began to move more purposefully now, and Tony spotted Ginny heading for the door. He fell in step beside her, nodding when she nodded to him. Studio B was much smaller than the one downstairs, and colder. Ginny turned on the lights and rubbed her arms, glad she’d warmed up.

She watched as her partner moved to the barre and began to stretch, moving easily, concentrating. Not wanting to get in his way, Ginny stepped to the center of the floor and did a few quick jumps in place.

“You can jump higher.”

Ginny looked over at Eddie, who was moving from leg stretches to arm ones. He was trying to look perfectly innocent, but she could tell he was waiting to see what she’d say. She lifted her nose a little and ignored him.

They both kept working, and then---“You can. I’ve seen you jump higher.”

“It’s not about how high Eddie. It’s about how graceful,” Ginny finally told him.

“Why not both?”

“Huh?” She stopped and looked at him, a little afraid, but also a little mad. Was he going to be as bad as Steve?, she wondered.

Eddie tipped his head and looked at her. “Remember what Mr. Mike said about making things big? When we were doing the part with me as Drosselmeyer patting your head?”

She nodded, remembering it well. Eddie went on. “Well, he said we had to do things big so the audience could see it. And if you do little jumps, it’s okay, but if you do BIG ones, you’ll really have them looking!”

Ginny frowned. “But I don’t want to do big ones. I want to do good ones. I want to be perfect.”

For a moment Eddie looked like he wanted to argue, but instead he closed his mouth and nodded.  It surprised Ginny, and to cover her confusion she returned to her jumps, concentrating until Mr. Mike came in.  He was followed by Señora Lopez, one of the pianists.  She took her place at the battered upright in the corner as Mr. Mike motioned to Ginny and Eddie.  They lined up in front of him; he was wearing his thoughtful frown, Ginny noticed.  

“Normally,” Mr. Mike said slowly, “I would start with your first transformation, Mr. Dellarosa, and we would take things in order.  But I want to see how you two work together, so tonight we will begin with the post-battle pas de deux.”  He pushed forward the bench that substituted for the couch she would “faint” onto, and Ginny lay down on it, Eddie finding his mark opposite her.  “So, the Nutcracker has just become the prince.  Let’s begin.”  

Señora Lopez started to play.  Ginny looked at Eddie; his scowl was gone, replaced by concentration, and she closed her eyes to simulate unconsciousness.  

His first move was to wake her with a hand on her shoulder, and right away Ginny knew he would be better to work with.  Half the time Steven had pinched her, but Eddie’s hand was gentle, and she sat up and rubbed her eyes, then opened them in pretend surprise at his appearance.  

The first part of their duet called for him to approach her and Ginny to dance away as if shy, and secretly she thought it was a bit silly, because if she’d just been rescued from giant mice by someone, at least she would say thank you.  But that wasn’t the story, so she slid away from Eddie each time he approached, trying to convey bashfulness.  

Mr. Mike stopped them every so often, correcting them or explaining some detail.  Eddie paid attention to him, Ginny was glad to see.  And to her--he was almost dancing at her, she realized, making her his focus.  It was such a difference that she found herself smiling at him as she came out of a fouetté, and he blinked and smiled back, looking a little surprised.  

When she had to lean into his arms Ginny didn’t hesitate.  He was shorter, she had to bend lower, but he was steady and solid, and she wasn’t afraid to trust her weight to him.  He grinned briefly at her as she straightened again, and Ginny wondered abruptly what he was thinking.  

When rehearsal was over Ginny was worn out, and she could see sweat on Eddie’s forehead just before he wiped it away with his sleeve.  Mr. Mike smiled on them both.  “Very good,” he said cheerfully.  “You will both need to work hard, but you knew that already, and you work very well together.  I get the feeling that this will be an exceptional performance.”  

Ginny blushed at his praise, and Eddie grinned again, though his cheeks were a little pink as well.  “Are you sure about lifts?” he asked, a bit cocky.  “She’s nothing but bones--it would be easy.”  

“Hey.”  Ginny frowned at him, and Mr. Mike humphed.  

“You’re both too young.  And before you say it, Mr. Dellarosa, it has nothing to do with your height--I would not have permitted Mr. Graham to lift anyone either.”  His eyes flicked to the side as he said it, however, and Ginny suddenly wondered if age was the reason for Steven too.  

Mr. Mike went on.  “You both have a copy of the rehearsal schedule, so be on time and we’ll make progress.”  

He clapped his hands, and they both made their révérence to him and to Señora Lopez before leaving for the locker rooms.

Tony found a note taped to his duffle, and unfolded it curiously.  It was in Jill’s neat handwriting.  Eddie--Gervase called.  Car is not working; take subway home.  Call when you leave.  

It took him a minute to figure out who “Gervase” was supposed to be.  Cool.  Tony crumpled the paper and tossed it into the nearest trash can, grinning as it slotted neatly into the receptacle.  He’d been on the subway several times with Jarvis or Aunt Lucy, but never alone, and this was a great opportunity to show that he knew what he was doing.  

After all, he’d already memorized the subway map.  

Calling Aunt Lucy’s only took a moment, and Jarvis cautioned him gravely about staying alert on the subway.  Tony promised to be careful, and half-ran out of the studio, slinging his bag over his shoulder.  

The nearest station wasn’t far, and the crowd was fairly thin, given that it was past rush hour.  Tony waited for the next train, squinting at the graffiti on the far side of the tracks and trying to make out the words.  

A half-familiar giggle broke his concentration, and Tony glanced over to see Ginny and Trish.  They were huddled together like girls did, talking fast, and as he watched Ginny gestured, sending them both into fresh giggles.  

It made him want to smile.  They weren’t cute the way Katie was, or mysterious like the older girls, but they sounded happy.  It was interesting to see Ginny outside the studio, too--she was always serious when she danced, concentrating hard, but right now she looked like any other kid.  

Both of them looked up as the train arrived, but they didn’t see him, and on impulse Tony followed them into the car, collapsing into a seat since there were open ones.  Ginny and Trish sat down too, and as the train jerked into motion they squirmed around to face each other across their seats.  It was hard to hear them over the roar and clatter, but he thought Trish said “Miss Susie?”  

Ginny held up both hands, palms out, and to Tony’s surprise they began a fast clapping pattern, chanting together.  Their hands moved so quickly that he almost couldn’t follow the pattern, and the words of the rhyme made him laugh, because they were almost dirty.  He’d never seen kids do something like that before, and it was pretty neat.  

The girls kept going, faster and faster, and then suddenly finished with a flourish, interlacing their fingers on the last clap and leaning their foreheads together to giggle some more.  Curious, Tony got up and wandered down to their seats.  “Hey, where’d you learn to do that?”  

Both of them sat up straight, the laughter disappearing, but then Ginny smiled.  “Oh, hi Eddie.”  

Her friend smiled too, looking up at him.  “My sister taught me, and I taught Gen.”  She nudged Ginny, who merely shoved her back.  “What happened to your limo?”  
Ginny rolled her eyes.  “That’s rude, Trish.”    

Tony grinned and sat down one seat past them, swinging his duffle to his back.  “‘D rather take the subway.  Nobody breathing down my neck, you know?”  

That made them both giggle again, and then Trish started explaining clapping rhymes to him.  Ginny let her do most of the talking, though she would interrupt every so often, and then they started demonstrating different claps for him.  It was pretty cool, actually--they made it look easy, but he could tell it took a lot of practice to get that fast.  

They were almost to his stop when Ginny glanced past him down the length of the car, her smile disappearing.  She looked quickly away, grabbing Trish’s elbow and leaning in a bit.  “It’s the Creepy Guy,” she hissed.  

Trish’s smile vanished too, and Ginny squeezed her arm.  “Don’t look!”  

Tony stiffened.  “Who’s the Creepy Guy?” he demanded.  

Ginny grimaced.  “He’s a weirdo.  He likes to follow us from the station back to our block.”  

“He gets close and then he...says things,” Trish said, looking actually frightened.  “Dirty things.”  

That made him mad, right there.  Nobody should scare little girls who had to walk home in the dark alone, especially not jerkoffs with dirty mouths.  Tony slipped the strap of his duffle off his arm, tipping it so that the next lurch of the train knocked it off onto the floor.  Rising to pick it back up, he glanced the way Ginny had been looking, spotting the guy right away.  He was kind of scruffy, and he was watching the girls with a funny little grin on his face.  

Tony slung his bag back over his shoulder and sat back down.  “I’ll walk home with you.”  

Ginny blinked, and for a second he thought she might argue, but Trish looked relieved.  “Really?  Oh wow, thank you!”  

Ginny bit her lip, then looked up at him.  “That’s...really nice of you,” she said seriously.  “Thanks.”  

Tony grinned down at her, feeling like he was miles older than them.  “No big deal.”  He wasn’t quite sure how he was going to explain the delay to Aunt Lucy, but he kind of had a feeling that she wouldn’t be too mad if he told her why.  

So he stayed on the train past his stop, and the three of them talked about dancing while Creepy Guy kept his distance.  Tony glanced at his watch at one point, trying to figure out how much time he had before Aunt Lucy freaked out, but either way he wasn’t going to back out of the deal.  

Creepy Guy followed them up out of the girls’ station, but he hung back almost a whole block; Tony checked a couple of times, trying to keep it casual.  Ginny and Trish kept talking--in fact, Tony was starting to think that Trish never shut up--but he didn’t mind.  It was cheerful, and both girls were pretty smart for nine.  

Their neighborhood wasn’t as high-class as Aunt Lucy’s, not by a long shot, but it wasn’t bad, he thought.  The stores had bars on the windows, but none of them looked trashed, and none of the apartment buildings had broken doors or windows.  
When the girls stopped in front of one building, Tony glanced back, but Creepy Guy was gone.  Probably gave up, he thought with satisfaction.  

Someone called Trish’s name from a window two stories up, and she got a guilty look.  “Gotta go, thank you Eddie, see you tomorrow Gen,” she said fast, and ran up the steps and inside.  Ginny giggled.  

“She forgot to clean the gerbil cage again, I bet,” she said.  Standing on the first step, she was still a little shorter than Tony.  “Thanks for walking us home.”  

“No big deal,” he said again, and frowned a little.  “Why do you guys go by yourselves if he shows up?”  

Ginny looked frustrated.  “My parents have to work a lot, and Trish’s mom can’t always come pick us up.  If we told them--”  She turned her hands up gracefully, and Tony knew what she meant.  

Tell the parents, and never get to go anywhere alone again.  They might even have to stop dancing.  

“You know, you could probably kick him pretty good,” he said thoughtfully.  “Like a quick rond de jambe to the crotch.”  

Ginny’s eyes widened, and when Tony grinned she burst into laughter.  He almost leaned over and ruffled her hair, but then remembered how much he hated it when adults did it to him.  “See you next rehearsal?”  

“Yeah.”  Her smile was really sweet.  She gave him a little wave and bounced up the steps.  Eddie watched until the door closed after her, and then turned around and headed back towards the station, humming.  

He spotted a public phone at the end of the block, so he stopped and called the apartment.  The quiet “Mrs. Bereford-Tipton’s residence” was in Jarvis’ voice, and Tony let out a quick breath of relief.  

“Hey, it’s me.  I got kinda delayed, but I’m heading home now.”  

“All right,” Jarvis said, and while he didn’t usually sound anything but calm, his voice was a bit relieved too.  “Your aunt is quite worried.”  

“Yeah.”  Tony felt guilty.  “I have a good reason, but it’ll be easier if I just explain when I get there.”  

“Very well.  You’ll be home in...?”  

“Half an hour, I think,” Tony estimated.  He said goodbye and hung up, glancing around just in case Creepy Guy had made a reappearance, but the only other people on the street looked like normal folks coming home from work.  

Aunt Lucy was waiting on the velour couch when Tony came in.  “Where have you been?” she demanded, sounding pretty mad, though to him she looked more upset than angry.  “If this is how you behave when you’re on your own--”  

Tony set down his bag and straightened his shoulders.  Aunt Lucy wasn’t half as scary as his dad...or even his mom...but she could ground him but good if she decided to, so he went for respectful.  “I walked a couple of kids from Madame Rostov’s home.  They, uh, they’re only nine, and there was some creep on the subway following them.”  

As he’d hoped, she softened.  “Oh--oh, well, that was good of you, Tony.  Very, um, gentlemanly.”  

Tony shrugged, a little embarrassed.  “Yeah, well, I called as soon as I could.”  

Aunt Lucy sighed.  “Very well.  Clearly Maria is raising you correctly.”  Her smile was small, but her anger seemed to be gone.  “Just be careful, all right?”  

“Yes ma’am.”  Tony relaxed.  

Behind him a throat cleared.  “Mr. Dellarosa’s supper is getting cold,” Jarvis said gently from the entrance to the dining room.  

Aunt Lucy waved a hand.  “Go, go--I’m sure you’re hungry.”  

He was.  Tony turned and took two steps towards the dining room, but another gentle harrumph made him turn back for his bag.  Grinning at Aunt Lucy’s rolled eyes, he grabbed it up and went to eat.  

It was snowing when Ginny left the studio, small starry flakes floating down from the endless blackness overhead.  She pulled her fuzzy hat down over her ears and set off along the sidewalk, smiling at the snow; she loved snow even when she had to walk in it.  

Tonight she was alone; Trish’s rehearsal had ended earlier, and Ginny’s mom and dad were working late.  She didn’t mind going home alone...much...even if she did have to take the bus.  

The stop was halfway down the block from Madame Rostov’s.  Ginny leaned against the signpost and waited, hoping that she hadn’t just missed the bus; as much as she liked snow, it was cold out.  

The studio door banged open, and she saw a figure come out and jump down the steps--Eddie.  He always came out like he had been shot from a cannon.  But at the bottom he stopped and looked up, tilting his head way back.  

Ginny watched him.  He stayed that way for a little while, and she wondered what he was doing, but finally he straightened and started walking her way, holding out one hand to catch the flakes as they fell.  

As he came closer, she saw that he was smiling, even though his fingers and nose were already red with cold.  “Don’t you have any mittens?” Ginny asked.  Her own were blue to match her coat and hat.  

Eddie blinked and looked up.  “Oh, hey, Ginny, what’re you doing here?  I thought you took the subway.”  

“I’m not allowed to go alone,” Ginny said, still a little annoyed by the rule.  “I have to take the bus instead.”  

He cocked his head, narrowing his eyes.  “Doesn’t that take longer?”  

Ginny sighed.  “Yeah, but it’s safer.”  

Eddie snorted.  “That’s dumb.”  

Since she agreed with him, Ginny didn’t argue.  Eddie hitched his bag higher.  “Come on, I’ll go with you, and that way you won’t have to be alone.”  

Ginny hesitated, tempted, but in the end she shook her head.  “I can’t.  I promised I wouldn’t go on the subway without Trish.”  

She raised her chin, almost sure Eddie would laugh at her for it.  His mouth twisted up and he looked kind of disbelieving, but then he just shrugged.  “Okay.”  

He dumped his bag on the bench, and grinned at her.  “I can get home this way too.  How soon does it get here?”  

Ginny wondered suddenly if he didn’t like going home alone either.  “Ten minutes, probably.  If it’s not late.”  

The snow was falling faster, and Eddie tilted his head back again to look up at it.  There were flakes melting on his hair, and the corner of his mouth kept turning up.  Ginny eyed his hands.  “You really should have mittens.  And a hat.”  

“Don’t like hats,” Eddie said absently, but he shoved his hand in his coat pocket and came out with a pair of new-looking gloves, which he put on without really looking at them.  

“You like snow,” Ginny guessed when he cupped his hand to catch more flakes.  

Eddie glanced over at her.  “It’s too warm where I come from for snow,” he said after a moment.  

She was going to ask where that was, but then she remembered how he’d acted the last time she’d asked.  “If it keeps going there’ll be enough for snowmen tomorrow.”  She swept the dusting off the top of the bench into her mitten and squeezed it.  Yep, it was good building snow.  

“Cool,” Eddie said, shaking the snow off his glove.  He started looking up again, and Ginny smiled to herself and bent down to gather more.  

“Use your wrist and your fingertips, Tangerine,” she remembered her father telling her.  “And don’t forget the rotation.”  

The snowball hit Eddie smack in the chest, making him jump, and Ginny couldn’t help laughing at the surprise on his face.  For a second she thought he was going to be mad, but then he yelped and dove for the snow on the ground, and Ginny shrieked and ran back towards the studio steps.  

His snowball hit her right between the shoulderblades, and Eddie whooped.  “Gotcha!”  

 By the time the bus showed up they were both panting with laughter and running, and almost too warm for their jackets, which were covered with snow.  They trooped onto the bus, Ginny first, and she paid and sat down while Eddie rooted around in his pockets for change.  

“Whew.”  He collapsed into the seat next to her, dumping his bag on the floor despite the dirty meltwater all over the place.  “So how long is this ride?”  

“It’s about forty minutes for me,” Ginny said.  “I think you’ll get off sooner, though.”  

Eddie squinted into the distance, though she couldn’t see what he was looking at, then nodded.  “Yeah, I think so.”  

They talked about building a snow Nutcracker until they reached his stop.  

Saturday rehearsals were longer, but Tony didn’t mind.  They were a nice change from being trapped in school cooking along with the radiators, and he knew he could finish his homework in a couple of hours on Sunday night.  That left the rest of the weekend for dancing, soldering, and reading, and exploring if the weather was good enough.  Aunt Lucy had bought him a bunch of cold-weather gear, but he still had trouble when the wind started howling.  

The other thing about Saturdays was it was rehearsals for all the crowd scenes too, which meant dancers everywhere.  When the big studio was cleared out for Mother Ginger and the Polichinelles, Tony grabbed a towel and made himself scarce, looking for a spot to sit down for a bit and maybe read the latest issue of Popular Mechanics.  

He decided on the stairs to the fourth floor, and headed in that direction.  They didn’t get used as much, and while they were a little chilly the window gave enough light to read by.  He could scrunch up against the wall if anyone needed to go up or down.  

But as he put his hand on the door to the stairwell he heard someone beyond, and paused.  

“I don’t know why Mr. Mike chose you.”  Tony recognized the voice--Flavia Barricelli, the older girl dancing the Sugar Plum Fairy.  She had a nice voice, really throaty, but she was pretty snooty, and tended to ignore the younger dancers unless she had to work with them directly.  Her little sister was Ginny’s understudy.  

But Flavia didn’t sound snooty now; she sounded mean.  Tony cocked his ears, curious.  

“You’re too short and too young, and that hair--”  Flavia made a tsking sound.  “Whoever heard of a Clara with red hair?”  

And that told Tony who she was talking to.  He frowned hard, debating between opening the door or going for one of the teachers.  But Flavia was still talking.  

“You should bow out and let Celia have the role; it really would be better for everyone.”  

“Mr. Mike picked me,” Ginny answered, her voice so quiet that Tony could barely make it out.  

Flavia laughed, and the sound made Tony frown even harder.  “Only because Celia was out sick during tryouts.  If she’d been there you never would have stood a chance.”  

The slightest of sniffles reached Tony’s ears, and he made up his mind.  Reaching for the doorknob, he turned it carefully, pushing the door open as quietly as possible.  

Flavia was standing with her back to the door, en pointe so she towered even more over Ginny, her hands on her hips.  Beyond her was Ginny, staring at the floor, and the way she was biting her lip made Tony really angry.  

“Actually,” he said, his voice as casual as he could make it, “Madame Rostov picked Ginny for Clara.”  

Flavia started so badly she actually fell off pointe, catching herself on the turn of the bannister.  Ginny’s head jerked up, and Tony saw tears on her cheeks.  

Flavia’s mouth was open, and her face was turning red.  Tony narrowed his eyes the way his mother did when she was really pissed off.  “Celia sucks compared to Ginny,” he added.  “So quit trying to scare her and get out of here before I tell Mr. Mike you’re trying to run Ginny off.”  

Flavia was at least six inches taller than Tony, and three years older, but he guessed he’d flustered her pretty good, because she didn’t say anything, just pushed quickly past him and back out into the corridor.  Tony closed the door after her and looked over at Ginny.  “You okay?”  

She had her hands over her face, and she shook her head miserably.  Tony hesitated, but he didn’t want anyone else coming in and finding her, so he went over and put a hand under her elbow.  “Come on.”  

He led her gently up half the flight of stairs to the landing, pulling her out of sight of anyone who might come in through the lower door and making her sit on the first step above the landing.  Ginny sniffled into her hands, her shoulders quivering, and Tony sighed and sat down next to her.  

“Flavia’s a bitch,” he said bluntly.  “And a liar.  She’s just mad because Celia didn’t get the part.”  

His mother would wash his mouth out with soap if she ever heard him use that word, but she wasn’t there, and in this case he figured it applied.  Ginny lifted her head to look at him in shock, her eyes red, and Tony pulled the towel from around his neck and handed it to her.  “Here, blow your nose.”  

Ginny didn’t, but she did wipe her face.  “She’s right,” she said in a whisper.  “Clara doesn’t have red hair.”  

“How do you know?” Tony asked practically.  “She has whatever color hair the best dancer does.”  

She didn’t look convinced.  Tony cocked his head.  “Look, you know Mr. Mike is fair.  He picks people because of their dancing, not their looks.  And if your hair really was a problem they’d just make you wear a wig or something.”  

That made Ginny splutter a little laugh, and Tony grinned.  She wiped her eyes again.  “How did you know that about Madame Rostov?”  

Tony hesitated again, but he really didn’t want to lie to Ginny, not when she was looking at him with such big trusting eyes.  “I don’t know it, I was just trying to get Flavia.  But I bet it is true.”  He shrugged.  “Isn’t that why she comes to the tryouts?”  

Ginny blinked.  “Yeah...”  

“There you go then.”  Tony patted Ginny’s shoulder gingerly.  “You going to be okay?”  

She swallowed, then nodded, her chin coming up, and Tony relaxed.  “Thanks,” she added, in a whisper.  

“Any time.  Come on, let’s go get a Coke.”  

Ginny stood up and folded the towel neatly, and smoothed her hair back, though a few wisps kept curling stubbornly up.  Tony smirked at the back of her head, and didn’t point them out as she led him back downstairs and into the hall.   

The wait for the Number 55 bus was boring, especially just after sunset. Ginny didn’t like sitting on the bench because it was metal, and cold, so she walked around it. The big sodium streetlight made a nice arc on the ground around the stop, so she could see everything around her, and sometimes she thought it was like a spotlight.

Eddie had started waiting with her now, and he didn’t like sitting on the bench either. “Man, I hate a frozen butt, and by the time you get the bench warmed up, the bus comes.”

She giggled at that; sometimes he said things like he was serious, but she knew he was trying to make her laugh. Eddie didn’t do it often when they were dancing—once in a while—but when they were hanging out, he could be funny.

It was starting to snow very lightly now, and Ginny wanted to get home because it was pizza night. She only half-listened to Eddie as he said something about making robots, and all of a sudden she did a quick pirouette, liking the way her breath made a little vapor trail around her. Eddie stopped talking and looked at her; she stopped, but he waved to her to keep going.

“It looks . . . different when your hair’s down,” was all he murmured.

Ginny felt her face get hot, but she turned and went into the steps for the scene they’d just been rehearsing earlier, near the very end of the Nutcracker. She reached out, and Eddie moved into position, catching her hand in his, his glove cupping her pink mitten.

She let him brace her for her arabesque, and they moved from that to her three fouetté en tournants, which flowed into the half turns. For the first time, Ginny understood how good it was to dance with Eddie. It didn’t matter that they weren’t in the studio, or in the cold auditorium; they could do this anywhere, even at a bus stop and it was right.

Ginny loved the feel of the snowflakes, and the blue glow of the twilight. She loved that Eddie looked like he was having fun too. It was hard to be graceful in snow boots, but she managed and at the end of the segment when she knew she was supposed to twirl and lean back into his arms with her own extended, Ginny did it without hesitating.

They paused, holding the pose, and all of a sudden the slow, loud sound of clapping hands rang out in the snowy night. Eddie gently pushed her back up to standing, and she looked around for where the sound was coming from, her face getting red again.

“Lawd child, that was so bee-YO-ti-FUL,” came the cheerful call of the bus driver. The 55 had pulled up, and the folding doors were open, revealing the grandmotherly face of the driver. At the windows, several other passengers were smiling and applauding.

“That was great!”

“I didn’t know we had stars riding this route!”

“When’s your show?”

Ginny ducked her head, too embarrassed to talk, but Eddie climbed up the steps and stood at the front of the bus next to the fare box, smiling. “We’re doing the Nutcracker at the Wilson Auditorium in one week, and Ginny here is the star. You can get tickets at the Rostov Dance Academy and they’re cheap. Come and see us; the show’s really, really good.”

The passengers smiled and nodded, a few looked as if they might actually do it. Ginny slipped into an empty seat, still pink, but when Eddie sat down next to her, he lightly bumped her shoulder with his own. “That was cool.”

“I didn’t know anyone was watching us!” she blurted in a whisper.

He grinned at her. “Well they were, and you were great, even in boots. I wish Mr. Mike would let you dance with your hair down,” he added, and brushed a few melting flakes from her head.

Ginny bit her lips and smiled at Eddie. “You were great. I knew you’d be in the right place.”

Eddie blushed; the red spreading over his fair skin, and he ducked his head, quiet for the rest of the ride to her house.

“All right, take a break, Ms. McGann.  Fifteen minutes.”  Mr. Mike nodded to her, and Ginny lowered her arms with a puff of relief.  Saturday rehearsals were great--they had practically the whole day to work on refining their pieces--but they did wear her out.  Even Eddie was tired by the time they were dismissed.  

Ginny rolled her head on her neck to ease an ache and left the little studio.  I need a drink of water--and I hope the apple’s still in my bag--  Normally eating was not encouraged at Madame Rostov’s, and never in the studios, but Mr. Mike had given all of the Nutcracker cast a special lecture.  

Listen to your bodies, he’d told them, smiling in that dry way he had.  Pain is the way your body tells you something’s wrong, and hunger is the way it tells you it needs fuel.  We do not want to see any of you hurt yourselves because you didn’t listen.  

So long rehearsal days meant snacks were permitted, as long as they didn’t leave trash lying around.  The hallway was packed with dancers stretching, talking, and exercising, and she dodged around them to the water fountain, filling up on cool water before finding her bag.  

There was not only an apple, there was an orange too.  I think Mom’s been sneaking stuff into my bag again.  Ginny fished them both out and went to find a quieter place to sit, where she wouldn’t get accidentally kicked by someone warming up.  The stairwell, maybe--  

It was empty, with no one going up or coming down, and Ginny pattered up the stairs to the first turn, planning on sitting there where Eddie had taken her after scaring off Flavia.  But someone was already there.  

Eddie was staring at the window in the turn of the stairwell, his expression so lost that Ginny’s breath caught in her throat.  But then he noticed her, and scowled.  

“What do you want?” he asked rudely.  

She almost backed away, but he didn’t just look angry, he looked miserable too.  Something was wrong, and she wanted to help.  

So Ginny sat down next to him on the stair.  “Mr. Mike wants us both in Studio Three in ten minutes,” she told him, pretending not to be scared of him.  

Eddie glared some more, but Ginny rubbed the apple on the sleeve of her leotard and took a big bite, looking out the window herself.  Eddie didn’t say anything, and after a minute she felt his anger stop pushing at her.  He sighed.  

Ginny held out the orange, still looking through the window, and felt him take it from her palm.  A moment later the sharp smell of citrus made her nose tingle, even over the apple juice.  

She finished her bite and took another, chewing slowly and swallowing before speaking.  “Are you okay?”  

Eddie was quiet for a while longer, and then finally he sighed again.  “I was supposed to go home right after Christmas, and now it looks like I can’t.”  

His voice was low--he wasn’t even trying to sound like he didn’t care.  Ginny thought about it for a little while.  She knew Eddie had a secret--he didn’t answer questions about his life, for one thing, and while he’d mentioned his aunt he didn’t talk about his parents either.  Ginny hadn’t thought about it too much; she’d just figured that maybe they were dead, or maybe divorced.  

“That’s too bad,” she said after a while.  It was sad to think of Eddie leaving, but he obviously wanted to go back home.  

“Yeah.”  He sounded bitter, and Ginny finally turned to look at him.  He was peeling the orange carefully, so that the rind came off in one long curl, and he didn’t look back up at her.  His hair was hanging in his eyes.  “I mean, it wasn’t a sure thing, but...”  

“That’s still a pain,” Ginny agreed.  She couldn’t imagine being away from her parents for Christmas.  Just the idea made her feel sad.  

Eddie finished pulling off the rind and started splitting the orange into sections.  Ginny took another bite of apple.  

“It’s not like I don’t like New York,” Eddie said quietly, still staring down at his fruit.  “But I miss home, you know?”  

Ginny watched as his clever fingers laid down another wedge.  “What’s it like?”  

He glanced up at last, his mouth twisting.  “Warmer than this.”  

That made her grin a little, and he looked back down, smirking.  “I dunno.  Different.  More spread out.”  He arranged the wedges into a pattern on the spiraled rind.  

“You’ll get to go back eventually, though, right?”  

Eddie flicked the pattern with a finger and it fell apart.  “Yeah.  Eventually.”  

He didn’t sound sure, and that made her sad too.  But then he popped one segment into his mouth and looked up, trying to smile.  “Anyway I’ll get lots of presents.”  

“That’s an advantage,” Ginny agreed.  “What are you asking for?”  

“Wrenches,” Eddie said around another segment, and Ginny blinked.  

“What?”  

“Wrenches.  The snap-on kind.”  

“Oh.”  She nodded.  “My mom has a set of those.”  

Eddie offered her a piece of orange, but Ginny shook her head.  “What do you want?” he asked, eating it himself.  

“The Vaganova ballet book.”  Ginny smiled behind her apple.  “I keep getting it out of the library, and it’s a pain to return it.”  

“Yeah, I bet.”  

They finished their snacks without saying any more, and then got up to go back to rehearsal, but Ginny could tell that Eddie felt better, and she was satisfied.  

The head was terrible. Tony hated the way it felt, and the eyeholes were uneven, making it hard to see and hit his marks. Mrs. Manouf empathized, and tried to make the padding more comfortable.

“You are lucky you do not have to dance the entire story in it, though.”

Tony knew what she said was true, but it didn’t make it any more fun to wear it.

They were rehearsing in the auditorium now, and the sets were being built all around them. Mr. Mike and Jill were old hands at keeping the rehearsals on track, and there were several parents helping out as well, making sure the dancers had their sweaters and leg warmers and bobby pins within reach.

During a break, when Mr. Mike was working with Mother Ginger, Tony sat with Ginny in the front row seats along with Phillip and some of the Sugar Plum fairies. Ginny was focused on watching Trish, but Tony could tell her mind was somewhere else. He tried to get back to his calculus textbook, but the seat wasn’t comfortable, so he gave up and set it aside. “You okay?” he asked.

“Huh?” Ginny blinked, and shot him a glance. “I’m just . . . thinking.”

“Hard work,” Tony agreed, just to tease her. Usually she would grin at something silly like that, but this time Ginny just looked at him blankly, and he saw that she’d bitten her thumbnail down to the quick. That little sign bothered him, and Tony sensed there was something much more to her preoccupation.

“Hey, I’m serious. Is something wrong?” he asked softly, so the other dancers around them couldn’t hear. She didn’t respond for a minute, and then, after seeming to come to some internal decision, she leaned towards him and it came out in a quick whisper.

“My dad’s getting sick again.”

Tony hesitated. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Ginny nodded reluctantly. “I heard Mom talking on the phone to Gramma Leigh, and I know I shouldn’t listen in, but . . . I did. He’s getting tests at work today.”

Dimly Tony remembered Ginny’s dad worked at a hospital, and he shifted in his seat uncomfortably, wishing he could say something reassuring. “Oh.”

“Don’t tell anyone,” Ginny sighed. “Okay? He’ll get better like last time, I know he will. It just makes me sad when he’s sick.”

“Okay,” Tony agreed, and awkwardly rubbed her thin shoulder. “He’ll get better.”

She flashed a hopeful smile at him, blinking a bit, and then Mr. Mike called for them to come up and get into position on the stage. Tony followed Ginny, keeping his gaze on her and feeling for the first time, that maybe someone else would be having a rougher Christmas than he would.

Ginny knew that the only thing that should be on her mind should be dancing, and maybe school, but that phone call kept coming back.  Her Daddy didn’t look any different, but he took a nap almost every evening he didn’t work late, and somehow Ginny knew that something was wrong.  

She couldn’t remember all that much about when he’d been sick the last time; she’d only been six, and it had been summertime, so she’d spent a lot of the time with Gramma Leigh upstate at the farm.  But she did remember that before he’d gotten sick, Daddy had picked her up and tossed her in the air every night when he got home.  

He hadn’t done it since, and while Mom said it was because Ginny was too big, Ginny knew that wasn’t true.  She was still small and light.  

Finally she had to know.  She waited until Friday, when they were eating macaroni and cheese for supper--just the two of them, since Mom had to work late.  

Daddy wasn’t eating much of his macaroni, Ginny noticed with a sinking feeling; mostly he was just pushing it around on his plate, even though he was asking her questions about rehearsal.  So she just asked.  

“Daddy?  Are you sick again?”  

Mr. McGann blinked, his fork stopping its trip around his plate, and then he laughed, shaking his head.  “I told Gwen you would know.”  

Ginny bit her lip, and he reached across the table to pat her hand.  “Yes, Tangerine, I am.  Sometimes my kind of cancer comes back, and this time it has.”  
He was smiling, but she didn’t feel any better.  “But you’ll get well, right?”  

“Don’t worry, I’m tough.”  He winked.  “I beat it once, I can sure do it again.”  

Ginny relaxed some.  “Are you going to go bald again?”  

Mr. McGann laughed again.  “Probably!  I’ll have to borrow some of your hair to cover me up--think you can spare some?”  

He tugged one of her braids, and Ginny giggled.  “I need it for the show!”  

“Oh, I can wait until after.”  Mr. McGann took a bite of macaroni and spoke around it.  “Next time your Prince walks you home, ask him in.  I’d like to meet him.”  

“Usually you’re not here,” Ginny pointed out.  “But okay.  I don’t know if he will.”  

“I’ll bake cookies, then,” her Daddy said.  “I have yet to meet a young man who can resist cookies.”  

Ginny rolled her eyes; he was getting silly again.  She finished her dinner with a lighter heart as he teased her about what kind of cookies Nutcracker Princes might like.  

Of course he would get better.