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The crowd claps. The emcee gets back on the stage.
“Next up, we’ve got a very special performance for you,” they say. “These kids have been working so hard toput together this dance number for you, so everyone make sure they feel the love.”
The crowd erupts into applause. There’s no more time for hesitation or nerves or questions. I usher the kids toward the stage, sending them up a short flight of steps and out before the crowd.
I stay off to the side, barely hidden by the curtain at the edge of the stage. A couple of the kids dart a look toward me, including Elizabeth, but the majority of them are soaking up their moment, gazing fearlessly out at the crowd as they take their places and wait for the music to begin.
That’s it. Come on, y’all. You’ve got this.
I think the words over and over, like maybe I can project my belief toward these kids if I feel it hard enough.
The music begins. A couple kids start moving subtly to it, counting out the beats of rest. Then they all explode into motion.
I watch their (and my) weeks and weeks of choreography and practice fly into action. The kids hit their marks, moving around each other with hardly a stumble. The front row does a dramatic spin that inspires a round of cheers from the crowd, then the back row rushes up to take their place, waving their arms and stomping their feet in time with the music. The whole crowd starts clapping in time with the music, and I can see the anxiety and fear draining out of the kids.This isn’t a big stage or a huge crowd, it’s a park in Everett, but the people who came out this weekend to celebrate the beginning of Pride month are giving my kids their full support and attention, and that means more than any massive parade or crowded club down in Seattle. This is just kids expressing themselves, kids having fun, kids being themselves with no fear of repercussions while the adults around them support them.
It’s beautiful. It’s the sort of thing Luke never had growing up. Hell, I barely had it, and I wasn’t in the closet. Things have changed so, so fast, and even if I had to delete some nasty comments about “grooming” that snuck onto the social media page for our little dance troupe, this undeniable sign of progress warms my whole chest. No amount of petty hate can put a love this big back into the closet.
I relax and watch the kids go through their routine. There have been a couple stumbles here and there, but nothing major. Things have gone more smoothly than I dared to hope, and I can tell the kids feel that as they barrel toward their big finale.
Just when I might claim victory, however, I chance a look at the crowd. I only mean to gauge the reaction we’re getting, but I find far more than I bargained for when I dare to take a peek.
Luke is here.
He wouldn’t stand out if he weren’t so damn big, but there he is, his sandy hair visible above the rest of the crowd. He’s dressed plainly, and unlike most people, he isn’t clapping along. Still, the look on his face is pure wonder. It’s not just the kids, I know. It’s the whole event. The stage, the vendors, the park, the banners. He’s never gone to anything like this. He’s never dared get close to anything that might threaten his ability to hide. Yet here he is, and he’s nearly as overwhelmed as my fledgling performers.
His eyes shift, suddenly locking onto mine. They widen instantly, fear replacing some of his awe. I know it’s not because of me in particular, but rather because I know him, I recognize him. He has beenspotted. That rational explanation doesn’t make it hurt any less when he stutters back a step and gazes at me in horror, however. I can see him wanting to flee. I probably have five minutes maximum before he’s gone.
I can’t let that happen.
The kids finish their performance, and the crowd goes nuts for them. I get out of the way so they can exit the stage, most of them wearing wide, toothy grins as they do. I stay with them, despite the urgency beating in my chest. They want to hug me. They want to relive the performance with me. I’m their teacher and I need to be here with them while their adrenaline is high from their first performance.
Still, I’m a bit relieved when the kids start flying toward their parents and some of the other volunteers. They’re eager to rehash the story yet again, and I take my moment while I can, quietly slipping away while they’re busy getting congratulated by loved ones.
I round the stage, struggling not to jog. A quick scan of the crowd tells me Luke has already bolted, but he can’t have gotten too far. He must be here somewhere.
Then I spot him, once again thanks to his sandy hair bobbing above most other heads around him. He’s retreated to the vendor area, and I have to beeline across the field where people sit and watch the stage to reach him.
Browsers drift idly among the stalls. I’m a bowling ball barreling through them, skipping sideways to squeeze between bodies and stands selling scented candles. Unfortunately, I’m not as big as Luke. I can’t expect people to move for me. But being shorter and slimmer has its advantages. I dance through the crowd, darting my way through narrow gaps until I spot Luke heading out of the park and across the street. He must have parked his car on one of the side streets around here, and now he means to find it and escape before he has to talk to me.
There’s no way I’m letting that happen.
I have gone through way too much with this man to let him disappear. I know he didn’t want to be recognized at a Pride event, but it’sme. If anyone should feel safe to him, it should be me.
I catch him a full block away from the park and event. He’s walking quickly, head down, and I have to grab his wrist before he finally notices me. He jerks, spinning around with wide eyes and yanking his wrist free.
“Don’t run,” I say. “It’s me.”
He calms a little, but not entirely, and I hold my breath as I wait to see if he’s going to flee.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Luke
“NOT HERE.”
I speak before I can panic. Sebastian asked me not to run, but it’s taking all I have to keep facing him on the sidewalk. I don’t want to run, I don’t want to disappoint him, but it’s only been a week since he came over, and a lot has happened since that night, and I don’t feel ready for any of it. I need a second to slow this down, a second to breathe. This isn’t a rejection of him, but the fear is clawing its way up my throat, and I need a safe place where I can take a breath.
“Okay,” Sebastian says. “Can we go somewhere?”
