The Do-Over
Page 25
“Thank you all for coming tonight.” She placed her hand above her eyes and scanned the audience. “Especially those of you who stayed. This is my final performance, and I choreographed it myself. I’m grateful for all the opportunities I’ve received at the Modern Dance Program here at Hayvenwood. I need to give special credit to Colton Keyes. His song, Finding My Way Home, has always been very special to me.” She graced us with a coy smile.
“Sometimes you hear a song, and you think it’s written for you.” She swallowed, the microphone magnifying it to a gulp. I didn’t think she’d meant to say something so personal. A pink blush spread across her chest, confirming my suspicions. “Anyway, that’s the reason I chose it for my final act. I’d be remiss if I didn’t mention Colton Keyes coming to this very stage next week. Thank you.”
She walked back into the shadows. I blinked, wondering if I’d heard her right. Was she actually going to dance to my little brother’s song? And not just any song, but the one I helped him write, in a weird way.
The familiar rhythm started up. The robe was gone. She wore a lace camisole—what I’ve heard referred to as a baby doll dress. Her long jet-black hair was loose and flowing behind her with each graceful movement. Her body was muscular and feminine, lithe and toned.
I mouthed the lyrics as she moved to them, giving the words a physical presence. I understood for the first time what people meant when they said “poetry in motion.” That’s what Lilly Franklin was…a poet, an artist, a creative in a conformist world.
The man died, but the boy still lives.
A Tin Man in disguise, ruled by bad decisions and lousy inhibitions
Waiting for the sun to shine.
If you’re going to send me something,
Send me soap to wash away these sins,
Send me a coat to keep me warm against the wind,
Send me a boat so I can sail to a warmer place,
Most of all, send me hope.
I need a little more to make my way back home.
She climbed onto this fake staircase leading to nowhere, the only prop on the stage. As she leapt backward into the air, my heart soared with her, beating with raw, pounding panic. Defying gravity, she landed on her feet with a flawless finish. This wasn’t a dance. I was watching pure physical emotion she shared with me…with all of us.
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MK Schiller
Stories about love and other four-letter words
Not knowing a word of English, MK Schiller came to America at the age of four from India. Since then, all she’s done is collect words. After receiving the best gift ever from her parents—her very own library card—she began reading everything she could get her greedy hands on. At sixteen, a friend asked her to make up a story featuring the popular bad boy at school. This wasn’t fan fiction…it was friend fiction. From that day on, she’s known she wanted to be a writer. With the goal of making her readers both laugh and cry, MK Schiller has penned more than a dozen books, each one filled with misfit characters overcoming obstacles and finding true love. Want more news on MK’s exclusive giveaways, sales, and new releases? Sign up at mkschillerauthor.com
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