Eight Count ✔️

EIGHT

Dax left more than one parting gift.

Brushing the leaf with my thumb, I find that the leaf bends like a different type of dance. The movement is simple, yet it is precise and holds an elegance I wouldn't bother to describe to someone. I doubt I could explain well enough to gauge their same level of respect for the tiny veiny leaf.

I place the flattened sample back in its place on the last page of the book, centered on the manila paper.

The olive leaf doesn't nod its point or sway to speak, the flattened specimen only stares back at me, speaking without speaking. The speech, the peace of silence.

I nod in my response, a silent agreement to myself rather than the olive leaf I stare at.

I did need this book.

Dax was right in more ways than one.

Patting the hair atop my head, I do a once-over in the mirror. There are any imperfections of the half bun peaked on my head or the curls cascading down my shoulders like the small waves that ripple off the coast in the city.

It's showtime.

My finger lace around the knob but quickly skip to the loose fabric at my side after the door swings wide.

Immediately, a strong tension slaps me, growing in intensity while I tiptoe down the black hallway, away from the glaring exits and neatly potted plant with a small divot in the dirt.

"Aye! Dawn, you ready? I heardd you got that lead in the fade." My head snaps right, and I'm greeted by a petite girl, a bit shorter, with rich brown eyes that complement her skin in a way I may have envied in my high school years.

I can't recall her name either way and am left grasping thin air. "I did. I didn't expect to."

The girl continues speaking, maybe about something related to the previous lead's injury or pre-performance nerves. Though, I can't find the strength to give a listening ear, not now, at least. At any other time, I'm sure I would have welcomed the aimless chatter.

Ariel whistles from her spot against the chipped chair, right beside the sea of backpacks, the place I need to stash Dax's book in. "You all are on in ten. Be ready!"

Sidestepping the brown-eyed gril, I excuse myself with a crisp. "I'll be back."

My head spins with stretches I could use to warm up, the rehearsals, and the minutes turned to hours before. Zipping up the book proves more difficult than it should be. I'm sure that has to do with the jumbled state of my mind, something I need to clear before stepping on stage.

I glance at Ariel, rightward, she holds eight fingers up, and can't help but smile.

Is this even real?

Blinking, I find myself in a midnight blue costume, not orange, surrounded by people in identical flowing forms.

This is real.

This is real, somehow, by chance.

There is something so wrong and right about that.

From the swift sway of blue to the growing growl of speech, I know time is warping around me faster than I can follow. The beat is hard to track, hard to keep in rhythm with and when my own voice breaks the barrier of time's dance, my words fall into a disgraceful category of speech, almost unintelligible.

"Good luck to you, too" is what I went to say. I have doubts about the what my fellow performer heard and what face they made under the soft blue glow of lights, the announcer's voice drawing us in a blanket of noise. The noise in question is like radio static in my ears.