The auditorium was a cave of velvet shadows and hushed expectation. Martin's eyes adjusted, scanning the dim rows of seats. And then he saw her—a splash of brightness in the dark. His mother, Andella. Her pale skin and vibrant, coppery-orange hair seemed to gather what little light there was, making her impossible to miss. He made his way down the aisle and slid into the empty seat beside her.
She turned, a smile instantly breaking across her face. "You actually came," she whispered, her voice thick with affection. She leaned in to plant a kiss on his cheek, but he ducked away with a practiced, teenage grimace.
"I promised Sadie," he muttered, his eyes fixed on the stage. "So, here I am."
"Well, you're just in time," Andella said, nodding toward the curtain. "She's next."
As if on cue, the announcer's voice filtered through the speakers. "Next on stage, contestant number fifteen, Sadie Cologna, performing the 'Cupid Variation.'"
The curtain parted. Sadie walked into the pool of light. At eleven, she possessed the same light-skinned complexion as Martin, their shared heritage more apparent in the dense, dark curls of her hair. Woven through the brown, like hidden threads of fire, were hints of their mother's signature orange. She took her starting position, poised and still.
The first notes of the piano piece floated through the auditorium, and Sadie began to move. She was grace and precision, each extension of a limb, each pointed toe, a silent language of effort and beauty.
Outside the heavy doors, Jennifer tugged at the sleeve of her school blazer, her nerves a live wire under her skin. Caleb—who everyone but family called 'K'—stood beside her, a silent, brooding statue with his hands shoved deep in his pockets.
"You really didn't have to come, you know," Jennifer said, not looking at him.
"Came to watch Sadie," Caleb grunted, his voice flat.
"Really?" She shot him a sidelong glance.
"No," he said without missing a beat. "Came to see if I'd have to stab Martin in the head. Multiple times."
"K!" Jennifer hissed, swatting his arm. "Don't even joke about that! He's going to take it fine. We've known him forever. He's not… he wouldn't just…" Her confidence wavered, the words dying in her throat. The fear was a cold stone in her stomach. "What if he says no? What if it wrecks everything?"
Caleb's perpetually furrowed brow seemed to deepen. "Then I stab him. Problem solved." He paused. "Actually, I might stab him either way. Preemptive strike."
"You are not stabbing Marty," Jennifer said, her voice dropping to a low, fierce whisper. "You back off. I mean it."
Caleb didn't answer. He just stared at her with his usual impassive, faintly disapproving scowl, which was his default expression for most of life.
Just then, a familiar voice cut through the lobby's murmur. "Jenny! K! What's up?"
Jennifer jumped as if shocked. Martin. She spun, a too-bright smile plastered on her face. "Marty! Hey! We're… good!"
Martin walked over, a curious look on his face. "I invited you guys for the whole thing. Why are you only showing up now?"
"Y'know," Jennifer said, waving a vague hand. "Traffic."
Martin stared at her, deadpan. "You live four blocks away, Jen."
"I do? Really?" She let out a high, nervous chuckle that sounded fake even to her own ears. As she floundered for a better excuse, she saw Martin's gaze shift past her to Caleb.
Caleb was just… staring. His dark eyes were locked on Martin, unblinking, his frown etched deeper than usual.
"What's with your brother?" Martin asked, nodding toward Caleb. "He mad at me or something?"
"Oh, Caleb?" Jennifer said too quickly. "That's just his face. You know how he looks." She desperately changed the subject. "What are you doing out here, anyway? Isn't the show still on?"
"It just ended," Martin said, crossing his arms. "Which is why I'm a little annoyed you missed it."
Their bickering was interrupted by another voice, sharp and carrying from the auditorium doors.
"Martin! There you are!"
Andella emerged, a look of mild exasperation on her face. "Where are the drinks I asked you to get ten minutes ago? I'm parched!"
"Uh-oh," Martin mumbled. He turned back to his friends. "Wait here, okay? I'll be right back."
He hurried off toward a concession stand tucked in a corner of the lobby, lined with chips and candies. He quickly grabbed four bottled sodas, the glass cold against his palms. As he turned, his path was suddenly blocked.
The girl from the lobby—the one with the icy stare—stood directly in front of him, flanked by her two friends. They had formed a silent, deliberate wall between him and the auditorium doors.
"Woah," Martin said, shifting the bottles in his grip. "Hi?"
The girl in the center, the leader, looked him up and down. "You're Martin Cologne," she stated, her voice devoid of warmth.
"Cologna," he corrected automatically. "Do we… know each other?"
"Whatever," she dismissed, taking a small step forward. "I just have a message for you. Our school isn't big enough for both of us. So, you have a choice. You leave voluntarily this term…" She let the sentence hang, her meaning clear in her cold, unflinching gaze.
The weight of the sodas felt suddenly heavier in Martin's hands. The dull ache in his chest, momentarily forgotten, gave a faint, ominous throb