Page 66 of Forgotten Pieces

“Then sing.”

I take a deep breath and look away from him. I don’t know why it’s so scary. I sing at home all the time in front of my family. When I finally get the courage, I start singing Dolly Parton. When I finish I turn around to face Ryder and his mouth is hanging open.

“You have an incredible voice, Tacoma.”

“Thanks,” I say shyly, toeing at the rocks in the sand.

“If you want to do this Broadway thing you should try out for a school play or musical. Is there one coming up?”

I nod. I’ve looked at the audition sign up numerous times when I’ve walked past the theatre, too scared to put my name on the list. Hell, I’ve been too scared for three years to put my name on that list.

“Sign up,” he states matter-of-factly.

I’m still staring at the ground and just nod.

I hear him walk toward me and then see his feet in front of me. He lifts my chin so I am forced to look him in the eyes. “I’m not meeting with you again until you do.”

“Okay,” I answer back, knowing he’s serious from the look in his eyes.

He starts to walk away but stops. “Congrats again Tacoma. I am proud of you.”

I smile back at him and watch as he walks away.

I sit at the lake for a little bit longer, finding the courage to audition for the musical.

* * *

Ryder

I meet Tacoma two days later when she texts me. I had a shitty day again with my mom so I am hoping her text means good news. That she actually listened to me.

She looks nervous as she walks up to me at the lake. “What is it? Did you sign up to audition?”

“I did,” she answers solemnly.

“And?”

She groans, throwing her hands on top of her head. “I didn’t know that we needed to know ballroom dancing for this particular musical. I don’t know how. I figured I could practice acting and singing, but I don’t know how I could forget about the damn dancing,” she huffs.

“That’s it?”

“What do you mean ‘that’s it’, that’s a huge part of the audition.” She starts pacing. “I am in over my head. Who was I to think I could do this? I’m just a stupid cheerleader.”

I grab her by the upper arms. “You aren’t stupid, Tacoma. You can do this. I’ll help you.”

She raises a brow at me. “How?”

I let her go and brush my hand over my head before grabbing my neck. “When I was younger, my mom taught me how to dance.”

“What?” she shrieks.

“She said a southern gentleman should know how to dance. So she taught me.”

“You’re kidding.”

I shake my head. “It’s one of my favorite memories as a kid. I loved it. I also knew it meant she wasn’t on a bender.”

“Hey, I don’t want this to stir bad memories,” she says sincerely.

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