Mr. Hawkins was sitting nearby, looking over the script one last time. He didn’t seem to notice the trouble with Cogsworth.
“You know what they say —” The kid shrugged. “A stitch in time saves …” He looked at a passing townsperson. “What does it save?”
“Nine.” The girl giggled. “It saves nine.”
“Nine what?” Cogsworth waited, but when no one answered, he shrugged again. “Whatever. As long as I get a stitch in time.” He laughed at his own joke, and the volunteer parent kept sewing.
“Twenty minutes, people.” Mr. Hawkins was feeling the pressure —that much showed on his face. But his tone was kind and patient. If this was their last show, like everyone in the cast their teacher was determined to enjoy it.
Ella was used to this, the chaos that took place backstage before any show —especially opening night. But she wanted to find Holden. None of this would be normal for him and Ella worried that the confusion would make him forget his song, the words and the melody. He still did push-ups every now and then. Once during a dress rehearsal. But not tonight, Jesus … please, not tonight.
She had a feeling where she’d find him. More than once during the last week she found Holden in the prop room, all by himself, counting the buttons on various costumes. Ella darted down a short hallway and opened the last door on the left. Sure enough.
Holden was dressed in his costume, looking every bit the Prince. But he wasn’t counting buttons. He was holding his hands out in front of him, turning in wide, graceful circles —dancing with an imaginary partner. He stopped and turned when he heard her enter the room. “Opening night.” He smiled, his eyes bright. “Seven p.m.”
“That’s right.” She held her hand out to him and Holden took it. They held hands regularly now. Ella figured he could tolerate the physical touch because it took him back to their childhood, when they held hands constantly. Otherwise, Holden was still sensitive to anything too sensory. That was the word she came across whenever she googled autism. Too much sensory stimulation and a person on the autistic spectrum would shut down or burst into a tantrum. In Holden’s case, he would drop to the ground and do push-ups. His mother had told her yesterday that they’d solved that mystery too. Push-ups meant he wanted his dad. The revelation only made her care more for Holden.
She stopped near the door, their hands still linked. “You’re a good dancer, Holden. You don’t have to practice.”
“Practice before opening night.” He nodded, his eyes downcast, almost shy. “I’m a Prince. Seven p.m.” He met her eyes and like so often, he began to sing. “Tale as old as time … True as it can be.”
His voice melted her. She took in his broad shoulders and tall stature, the smooth complexion and always piercing blue eyes. “Yes, Holden.” She smiled. “You’re definitely a prince.” She led him down the hallway and out with the others. He still didn’t like to be rushed, didn’t like being in the middle of chaos. So Ella was careful to sit with him in the back of the room. By then people were settling down, just ten minutes before curtains would go up.
It was only then that Ella heard a sound that made her heart hesitate. The walls backstage were paper thin, and a crowd of people could usually be heard. Certainly by now if the theater was filling up, they would hear something. But that was just it.
The sound Ella heard was silence. Nothing.
Holden released her hand and squirmed in his seat. He sensed things better than other people, and this was one of those moments. Ella hid her disappointment in the deepest basement of her heart. “This will be fun, Holden. You’re going to do great.” “Seven p.m.”
“That’s right, Holden. Seven p.m.”
By now his parents would be here, and her mom. too. Her dad was even going to try to make it. Ella smiled at the picture of both her parents sitting in the audience together. She and her mom had talked more lately, and Ella had a feeling they would talk more when the show was over. But for now she was too busy. Holden deserved all her attention. This was about to be his shining moment—his second shining moment. And if her classmates showed up the way she’d asked them to at Michael’s memorial, then today would mark a turning point for all of Fulton.
She’d talked to LaShante, but her friend hadn’t heard whether people were coming. “I’ll talk to them,” she said. “Sometimes I wonder if anyone even remembers what happened to Michael.”
LaShante had been coming to church with Ella since Christmas, and both of them had prayed for tonight’s performance.
“I have a surprise,” she told Ella yesterday. “I can’t promise you anyone will be there. But I still have a surprise.”
Surprise or not, Ella struggled against the disappointment flooding her heart. If no one showed up tonight, the performance would be weakened by an empty auditorium. The death sentence for the drama program and Mr. Hawkins. Maybe God’s plans were different than they had hoped.
Holden shifted, more uneasy than before.
I can’t do this, God … I can’t be discouraged. Holden deserves more than that. Please … help me. She sat up straighter and found the smile that had faded in the last few minutes.
“It’s okay, Holden. Everything’s okay.”
He nodded, rocking the way he did when he wasn’t sure. Then he grinned at her and sang in his softest voice. “Ever just the same …” His song was so soft no one but her could hear him. Especially because the other kids were still settling down, grabbing last-minute costume pieces and adjusting their hair, finding their props. Holden found the next line about the surprises in life.
“That’s right, Holden.” Ella tilted her head. Could he know her uncertainty … the fact that she feared the surprise of an empty auditorium? “Ever a surprise.”
A look of hope danced in Holden’s eyes. “I prayed.”
“You prayed?” She loved this kid, the way his heart was so pure. “You prayed for our show?”
He hesitated, his gaze off to the distance for a moment. Then he shook his head. “I prayed for the seats.”
“The seats? In the auditorium?”
“One thousand fifty-three seats.” His answer came quickly. “I prayed for one thousand fifty-three seats.”
“You counted them?” Ella tried to imagine when Holden had found time during the rehearsal to count each seat in the theater.
“Really?”
“One thousand fifty-three.”
Ella wanted to hug him, hold onto him and promise him that if he’d prayed for every seat in the auditorium, then certainly God would make sure they were filled. But she wasn’t sure.
“You did the right thing, Holden. Keep praying, okay?”
He hesitated, and for a few seconds he looked more confused than he had in a long while. Then he stood and walked across the room, grabbed his backpack, and brought it back to his seat beside her. He unzipped it and began sifting through the contents. He was looking for his PECS cards, something he hadn’t done in more than a month. They must’ve fallen to the bottom of his bag, but he finally grabbed onto them and started sorting through them. The old Holden all over again.
“Holden …”
He didn’t hear her, didn’t acknowledge the presence of her voice.
“Holden, you don’t need those cards … You can do this. You can talk to me.”
Slowly … very slowly he stopped sifting through the flash cards. He took one from the deck and set the rest carefully inside his backpack. Then he handed the card to her.
She took it, surprised. This wasn’t one she’d seen before. It was covered with music notes and in the center was a heart. There were no words, but the message was obvious. “You love the music? Is that it, Holden?”
He smiled, a shy sort of smile. “That for you, Ella. Because hearts are for love.”
“Love for the music?” She wasn’t sure she understood him. And even as the most wonderful feeling came over her, she wanted to be sure. “Hearts for loving the music?”
“Hearts …” He looked at her, str
aight into her soul. “Hearts for you, Ella. Hearts are for love.” For a few seconds he wrung his fingers together, fighting the nervousness that was trying to consume him. “Hearts are for love.”
Ella looked at the card. She would save it forever, in a place where she could see it. Because she was pretty sure no one had ever loved her as much as Holden Harris loved her in this moment. He loved her enough to fight his uneasiness and tell her exactly how he was feeling. She blinked back tears. “Can I hug you?”
“No.” He might’ve seen the irony in his answer, because he gave a nervous laugh. Then he reached out and took her hand. “Beauty and the Beast.”
She smiled at him. They had nothing to fear tonight. The musical they were about to perform was a party, a celebration. No matter who was in attendance. They had prayed for a miracle, and God had given it to them in a song. Ella’s research told her that faith alone didn’t always account for unlocking a person trapped in the private world of autism. God was with Holden, whether he lived somewhere in his own world, or here with the rest of them. In his own world he spent his days hearing the music and praying for everyone, every hour. He cherished precious memories and he had found a way to be near his father, even when the man was thousands of miles away at sea. Yes, Holden was fine.
The miracle wasn’t for Holden, it was for the people who loved him.
And in this case, God had given them music as a way to reach Holden. That, and the memory of their long-ago friendship. Ella held a little more tightly to Holden’s hand. The friend beside her had changed her life. Because of him, she would never be the same again, and neither would anyone who came to see the play tonight.
Even if most of the one thousand fifty-three seats were empty.
TRACY HAD THE STRANGEST FEELING AS SHE AND DAN WALKED from the parking lot to the theater that night. Kate was already inside. She’d come early with the family of a friend so both girls could pass out programs. They were running later than Tracy liked, but she suddenly stopped short of the front door—off to the side and out of the way of other people arriving. She turned to Dan. The two of them wore their Sunday best, dressed up for a performance they never dreamed they’d get to see.
“You know how I feel?” She tilted her head, the cool spring breeze dancing in the air around them.
Dan allowed a quiet laugh. “If you’re like me, you’re scared to death.” His smile faded. “What if he can’t do this … I hate the thought that maybe we’re setting him up.”
“Dan …” A calm confidence came over Tracy. “He’ll do it. He’s been perfect at every dress rehearsal.”
“I know … but still.” He seemed to remember how she’d started the conversation. “Okay, so how do you feel?”
She came closer to him, and looped her arms around his waist, her eyes on his. “When we lost Holden, I always had the sense that someone kidnapped him. Stole him from us.”
Dan nodded. “I felt that way too.”
“But we couldn’t report him missing or … or go looking for him because …” She felt the familiar sadness rise within her. “… he was still there. Right across from us at the dinner table.”
Her husband touched her face, listening. He was so much more attentive now, as if he, too, had returned from some faraway place. Somewhere farther away than Alaska.
“The thing is,” Tracy tried to find the right words, “so many times … more times than I can remember … I wanted to get in the car and drive. Just drive. As far and fast as I could in search of the boy we’d lost.”
Tears blurred her vision, her sorrow great over the missed years. But even with her tears, a glimmer of today’s hope put a catch in her voice. “But here … tonight … I feel like I’m finally about to do what I always wanted to do all those years.” She turned and nodded at the front entrance. Two tears slid down her cheeks. “Go through those doors and find my son.”
HIS CAST AND CREW WERE READY, MANNY HAWKINS HAD NEVER been more sure in all his life. This play—if it was his final effort —would be the sweetest yet. He had no doubts. In the past months, he’d learned the value of a life and the worth of doing the unconventional.
Yes, he’d learned much from Ella Reynolds and Holden Harris —lessons he’d take with him long after the theater program at Fulton High closed down: the ability to love, for instance. And the skill of looking beyond a person’s outside appearance. And he’d learned to pray. No one prayed like Holden Harris. All that flapping … Manny understood now. Holden was praying. No surprise that most of the cast had taken to joining in. It was common now at the end of a rehearsal or when a scene wasn’t coming together to see the cast circle up and hold hands, praying to a God no one in the drama department had publicly acknowledged before this.
He thought about the administration and the warning he’d been given at the beginning of the year. His principal would be in attendance tonight, no doubt, counting empty seats. The end was at hand. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t go out the way Holden would go out.
“Okay, young thespians.” Manny felt a sudden lump in his throat. Drama program or not, they had won something much more than a packed house this year. “Let’s circle up.”
The cast seemed to sense the bittersweet feeling in the room. They didn’t joke or laugh or talk among themselves. It was five minutes to curtain call, and all eyes were on Manny. He waited until they were all in the circle. Holden and Ella were the last to join in, but they joined, Holden taking direction like any other student. Manny watched and for a single instant he remembered the way Holden had looked at the beginning of the school year, how Manny had fought against having Holden even observe the class. His behavior so strangely erratic, his ability to communicate nonexistent.
The transformation was nothing short of what they were about to watch on the stage tonight.
Manny nodded at Ella. Not many students had lead prayer before musicals at Fulton High. But tonight was different. Ella stood a little straighter. “Let’s pray.” Her voice was clear and calm. “Dear God, we know You are with us, and that You’ve done something very special here.” She paused and Manny pictured the empty theater that awaited them on the other side of the stage door. He coughed a couple times so he wouldn’t break down and cry. Ella continued, her confidence other-worldly. “No matter what … no matter how tonight turns out, we have won. As a team, and as individuals, and as people who believe in something bigger than ourselves. Please … go before us tonight. And God, we dedicate this performance to the student who taught us how to believe in the impossible. Holden Harris.” She paused, collecting her emotions. “We dedicate tonight’s performance to him. In Your name, amen.”
Manny’s heart was full, and he wasn’t sure how he would speak after Ella’s prayer. But as was protocol for opening night, it was Manny’s turn to take the stage first—before the first note of the overture was played. He would walk through the door and welcome the crowd —however sparse. He would do his best to avoid the eyes of the principal and any other members of the administration, and he would tell them the truth: the show they were about to see was nothing short of a miracle.
Manny drew a deep breath. Give me strength, God … help me stay positive for the kids. He held up his hand, quieting the students. “Scene One, be ready in the wings.” He straightened his striped tie and adjusted his best white shirt. “I won’t be long.” He walked up a slight ramp and opened the door. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting in the auditorium, especially as the spotlight hit him. But even as his brain was trying to comprehend the scene before him, the room burst into applause. Not the applause of a few rows of people doing their best to be polite.
But rousing, deafening, thunderous applause.
Manny stopped and his knees shook. He prided himself on staying composed, on handling the real-life drama at Fulton High even in a year like this one. But there was nothing he could do to stop his tears. He wasn’t quite to the microphone, but he couldn’t take another step, couldn’t proces
s what he was seeing.
The house was packed.
No, it was beyond packed. Students and parents filled every seat … every single one … and more were lined three deep along the walls at the sides and back. He scanned the crowd and he saw kids who had never been to a play at Fulton High—the skaters and cheerleaders and science club … the debate team … and halfway up the right side of the auditorium was a group Manny never thought he’d see in this building. Jake Collins and his buddies.
They didn’t wear jerseys, but rather buttoned-down dress shirts. And as the applause from the audience grew, it was Jake and Sam who were the first to stand. Others joined them until the entire auditorium was on its feet. And it occurred to Manny that this wasn’t the end. The drama program at Fulton High would live on after tonight. Only then did Manny’s teary eyes find their way to the floor seats, the place where the band was set up, ready to begin.
One chair was empty, a chair in the front row of the flute players. The seat belonging to Michael Schwartz. But next to the empty seat was a fresh face. Manny knew about the surprise —the girl was a natural. The band director was amazed at her progress in so little time. He smiled at her, a girl who never would’ve played the flute if this year had turned out differently.
LaShante Wilson.
She grinned and raised her shiny flute in a sort of salute. He responded with a nod and then he waved at the rest of them, at everyone who had heard Ella’s talk that terrible day four months ago. Michael’s death had touched them after all. They were here because they cared. Because no matter who they were or what they stood for, they needed each other.
The crowd finally settled down, and Manny moved to the microphone. As he did, he saw Holden’s parents—sitting in the second row. They looked happy, but nervous. Manny could understand. But they didn’t need to worry. They weren’t about to see a group of kids doing a favor for a guy with special needs.
Unlocked Page 27