Chapter 28
Backstage was a hush of trembling breath and the soft squeak of slippers against the floor. Gwen stood near the curtain, tucked between Camila and another dancer, her heart hammering like it was trying to leap from her chest.
“You’re gonna be great,” Camila whispered, gently bumping her shoulder.
Gwen gave a tiny nod, her cheeks already flushed. She peeked out to the audience through a gap in the curtain.
There they were.
Her parents, front and center, rigid and neatly dressed, eyes locked on the stage with expectation etched into their posture.
And a few rows behind them—Miles, Amaya, and Ganke, squeezed together. Amaya was holding a little handmade sign that read GO GWEN GO!!! in glittery pink letters. Ganke was filming something, probably for their future memories (or memes). Miles was just watching the curtain, a soft little smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
The music began.
Lights flared.
And Gwen stepped into the spotlight.
The routine was harder than anything she’d ever danced. Not technically—it wasn’t the most complex choreography—but it was solo-heavy, exposed. She was supposed to lead the second act now. To embody the character’s sorrow and resilience.
She almost slipped once.
Almost.
But she caught herself mid-pirouette, grounded her foot, and pushed through.
She felt it halfway through the performance. That quiet, rare thing. Flow. Her heartbeat syncing with the music. Her limbs moving on instinct. She wasn’t thinking about her parents or her grades or even about Miles.
She was just dancing.
And when the curtain fell at the end, there was silence.
A beat.
Then a burst of applause.
Backstage again, Gwen tried not to cry. Camila hugged her so hard they almost toppled over.
“You nailed it,” she beamed. “I think Ms. Lemire actually got teary.”
Gwen laughed, light-headed with relief. “I think I did, too.”
Outside, after all the photos and flower bouquets, Gwen found her friends waiting. Amaya launched into her with a squeal and nearly knocked her over with another hug. “You were so pretty up there! Like a swan, but edgy.”
Ganke gave her a thumbs-up and showed her the most unflattering screenshot possible from the video. “New phone background, thank me later.”
And Miles?
He stepped forward, smiling soft and proud. “That was beautiful.”
“Thank you,” she said, cheeks hot.
“Also, I may have cried,” he added with a wink.
She rolled her eyes. “You definitely cried.”
They laughed, and it felt easy.
From the corner of her eye, she caught her parents watching from a distance. They didn’t say much—just nodded once, her dad offering a single, “Good job.”
Not perfect. But something.
The street was quiet, washed in that golden glow of streetlights and the occasional hum of a passing car. Gwen walked beside Miles, clutching the little bouquet Amaya had shoved into her arms after the performance—sunflowers and pink roses and some blue flowers Gwen didn’t know the name of.
Her pointe shoes dangled by their ribbons from her wrist, and her feet ached in a satisfying way. Her hair was messy now, bits of glitter clinging to her cheeks.
Miles kept glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.
“Still coming down from the performance high?” he asked, his voice soft.
“Kind of.” Gwen smiled, breathing in the cool air. “I didn’t fall. I didn’t cry. Ms. Lemire didn’t scold me. So yeah, I’m feeling pretty invincible right now.”
“You were invincible,” he said, bumping her shoulder. “You were incredible.”
She turned her head, catching his eye for just a second too long.
“Thanks,” she said. “Really. I was so close to freaking out before going on. But then I saw you in the crowd, and I guess I just… kept breathing.”
Miles looked a little stunned, like the words hit him right in the chest.
They crossed a quiet intersection. Gwen’s free hand brushed against his by accident. She didn’t pull away this time. Neither did he.
Their pinkies touched for a moment before his hand slowly, gently slipped into hers.
They kept walking like that—hands joined, no big declarations, no teasing. Just quiet.
At the edge of her dorm building, Gwen turned to him.
“So…” she said. “I owe you a proper thank you. For, you know, showing up. For existing.”
He grinned. “You’re welcome. I’ll keep doing it.”
She laughed.
“Wanna hang out again soon?” he asked, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. “Like, just us. Maybe a not post-ballet-show kind of thing?”
Gwen tilted her head, pretending to consider. “Hmm. I do like food. And you.”
He blinked. “Wait—you said that like—”
“I’ll go out with you again, Morales.”
He smiled so wide she thought her heart might combust. “Cool. Awesome. Cool-cool-cool.”
She rolled her eyes but squeezed his hand before slipping away toward the dorm door.
“Text me,” she called.
“Already am,” he replied.
And when she got to her room, he actually had.
[Miles]: so next time u can’t get out of a grand jeté… just leap into my arms, it’s fine
[Gwen]: ew.
[Gwen]: but also yes
The dorm lounge was bathed in golden light, the kind that made even the old couch look aesthetic. Gwen was cross-legged on the floor, flipping through physics notes while Miles leaned against the arm of the couch, munching on a bag of chips. His curls had grown out just enough to start falling over his forehead.
Gwen glanced up. Squinted. Then made a face.
“You look like a golden retriever who needs a trim.”
Miles blinked. “...What?”
She grinned. “Your hair’s getting long. You keep puffing it out like you’re in a shampoo commercial.”
“Excuse me,” Miles said with exaggerated offense, “this is premium hair. Can’t rush greatness.”
“Oh yeah?” she said, biting her pencil. “You gonna start a conditioner vlog next?”
He leaned closer dramatically. “Maybe I’ll get it braided.”
Gwen’s reaction was instant. Her head snapped up, eyes shining. “Wait—that would actually look so good.”
Miles choked. “Gwen. I was joking.”
“No, I’m serious!” she sat up straighter, legs folding underneath her. “You’d look amazing. Like... cooler than usual. Like—‘I could steal your girl, but I won’t, because I’m humble’ kind of energy.”
Miles chuckled, half flustered. “Okay, dang. You planned that whole aesthetic out fast.”
Gwen smiled and tilted her head. Then, more softly: “Would you let me do it? Braid your hair?”
He raised an eyebrow, thinking she was still messing with him. “What, like... actually?”
“Yeah,” she said, a bit quieter now. “Just for fun.”
He hesitated. Then shrugged with a smirk. “Sure. But if I come out looking like a sad corn maze, we’re fighting.”
She grinned, already pulling her phone out. “Deal. But just know—if I do a good job, you’re legally required to let me post a picture.”
“I knew there’d be a catch.”
“Oh hush. Sit down, golden retriever.”
The floor was covered in open hair tutorial tabs, empty snack wrappers, and a whole lot of failed hair ties. Gwen sat behind Miles on the floor, her tongue poking slightly out in concentration, fingers working carefully through his curls. Miles, incredibly patient, had been sitting still for nearly three hours—half because Gwen kept bribing him with gummy worms, and half because… well, he kind of liked this.
“Okay, I think I’ve finally figured out the difference between a braid and whatever crime I committed on the left side of your head an hour ago,” Gwen said, leaning closer. “This one might not be tragic.”
“You say that like I didn’t just live through a braid that looked like a squirrel fight,” Miles mumbled, scrolling on his phone.
“Be grateful. That squirrel braid had character.”
He chuckled but tilted his head obediently when she nudged it. “This is weirdly relaxing, though.”
Gwen smiled softly, her fingers stilling for a second. “Yeah… me too.”
It was quiet, except for the hum of her playlist and the rustle of hair sections being gently separated. Gwen was more focused than she’d been in hours—each braid tighter than the last, neater, more confident. She’d found a rhythm.
The door opened.
Amaya froze in the doorway.
She blinked.
In front of her sat Gwen, legs folded, hair in a messy bun, focused intently on Miles’ hair like it was a final exam. Miles was sitting with the calmness of a monk, letting her braid away like this was a daily occurrence.
Gwen looked up at the sound.
“Oh. Hey, ‘Maya.”
Amaya dropped her bag and gasped. “OH MY GOD.”
Miles turned, alarmed.
“No, no, don’t move!” Amaya shouted dramatically. “This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever walked in on. You guys look like the Netflix original version of How To Braid a Boy.”
Miles laughed. Gwen flushed. “It’s not romantic,” Gwen said quickly. “It’s… practice.”
Amaya raised an eyebrow, dropped onto Gwen’s bed, and grinned. “Practice, huh? Well, it’s working. Your boy’s lookin’ fine.”
“He’s not my—ugh,” Gwen groaned, hiding her face in her hands.
But she didn’t stop braiding.
And Miles?
Yeah. He was smiling too.