***

It’s not like regular weird, it’s super weird. Shayna places me right at her side. Legit. It’s like Shayna, the choreographer, the costume designer, Shayna’s mom, and me.

This is going to be fun.

Mrs. Greenberg gives me a hug. “Bella Rena, bubbeleh, Shayna told me what happened. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I always loved watching you dance. You possessed such spirit.”

I hug her back, rolling my eyes over her shoulder, but I can’t help smiling. “And I snuck in cookies,” she whispers in my ear.

I crack up, only because Shayna’s obsessed with no one eating in the auditorium.

Her mom’s a rebel. Love it.

Atara hops over to us. She looks beautiful with a full face of makeup and her hair in a braided bun with colorful ribbons woven through. A black robe covers her costume; I wonder, for the first time, what theme she ended up choosing. I’d feel bad about my lack of interest, but honestly, I’m barely holding back the tears for this one night. I couldn’t have faked it more than this.

“Good luck, hon,” I say, giving her a quick hug.

She pulls back and looks at me. “I really appreciate you being here. Really.”

I know it’s hard for you, her eyes tell me silently. I nod back, not trusting myself to say anything more.

***

Then the curtain is rising and Shayna is on stage welcoming us all. She says an introduction about the power of dance and then says, “Tonight is about choices. Because isn’t that what our days are filled with? Choices between good and better, between good and bad, between bad and worse? A special friend of mine taught me that recently, that grace is so much more than a perfect pirouette. It’s about life and how you choose to live it. Bella Rena Martin, thank you for inspiring us with this year’s recital theme: Choosing Life.”

I sit there, absolutely stunned, as the audience explodes into applause and Mrs. Greenberg gives my shoulders a squeeze. My theme. They were using my theme. With a little Bella Rena 2.0-inspired twist. Whoa.

Shayna slides into the row and gives me a wink. I wink back. Ow, my face hurts from smiling so much.

The curtain rises once more and there’s Atara. Her routine will both start and end the night.

She is incredible. Her costume is a blend of colors, she looks like rainbow cotton candy, and she is good.

She glides and leaps and bounds about the stage and I understand her struggle; it’s so clear, and it’s so familiar. Overcoming, choosing, triumphing.

The music stops, she freezes, and then she takes a bow. The audience is cheering, chanting her name, and my face is wet, because aren’t those my cheers? They should’ve been mine. But they’re not. And here I am, once more, with a choice. Remain bitter and angry? Or be the friend Atara deserves? And although it takes everything I am and then maybe a tad more, I clap and cheer and pump my fist until I’m hoarse.

She is just as amazing at the end. I clap, calling out her name, and meanwhile I feel empty and drained, as if I’d traveled somewhere far away. And maybe, I muse later in my room, maybe I have. Maybe I’ve traveled into the recesses of the adult world? Maybe tonight wasn’t so much about a dance solo as much as about me becoming less self-involved?

Besides, I comfort myself right before I drop off into a deep dreamless sleep later that night; I’m a better dancer. So there’s that.

(Originally featured in Mishpacha Jr., Issue 809)