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TJ

I walked into the dance studio lobby early on Saturday morning and locked the door behind me before heading toward one of the smaller studios in the back and flipping on the light. As I traded flip-flops for jazz shoes, I breathed deep, inhaling the stale scent of sweat and rosin mixed with the vanilla-scented air freshener Donna insisted on plugging in despite it doing little to mitigate the smell. Some might wrinkle their nose at the aroma, but for me, it was a comfort.

There was a special kind of peace in a quiet dance studio. No little ballerinas chattering away. No instructors calling out corrections over music blaring through speakers. No preteens shooting videos for TikTok, their phones propped up on the ballet barre, oblivious to the fact that they were in the way of everyone else using the space.

It was just me, the mirror, and the Marley floor.

I popped in my AirPods, not bothering to pair my phone to the sound system, and scrolled through my playlists, debating my options. Skipping past the upbeat pop I typically used in my jazz classes and the beat-heavy hip-hop tracks, I opted for something more mellow.

As Lizzie McAlpine’s breathy voice floated into my ears, I took a seat on the floor and began working through my warm-up, enjoying the dull ache that came with twisting and stretching my muscles as I loosened my body.

And because this warm-up routine was one I’d been doing for years, I moved on autopilot and allowed my mind to wander. I was moving into the dorms today, about to start my senior year of college, and it was crazy to think I’d finally arrived at this point in my journey.

As the oldest of three brothers, raised in a single-parent household, my life hadn’t been easy. I’d learned how to work hard, to be an independent problem-solver, yet not so independent that I didn’t know how to lean on someone when necessary. Ma didn’t take shit from anyone, and she expected all of us to handle ourselves responsibly, but she also expected us to be there for each other when needed.

As a result, I’d lived at home for the first two years of college so I could be around to help ensure my brothers got to their activities. I’d run errands for my mom and helped my brothers with their homework between my coursework and my job as an instructor and choreographer at Donna’s School of Dance. When my youngest brother Trent finally got his driver’s license, Ma insisted my other brother Tyler and I move into the dorms so we could have a true college experience. Tyler had joined a fraternity and moved into their house last week, but I’d opted to stay in the dorms again.

I figured most seniors chose to live off-campus, but I wasn’t one to do much drinking or partying, and I liked the convenience of being able to walk to class. Besides, theater rehearsals often ran late into the evening and it was nice to not have to worry about driving home afterward.

Body loose and warm, I switched up my music to the solo piece I needed to finish choreographing before my private student arrived in half an hour. Shannon was an adorable eleven-year-old who moved with grace and a maturity that belied her young age. She always came to the studio ready to put in the work, then left with bouncy smiles after. The perfect balance of joy and determination often difficult to find in dancers of any age, let alone one so young.

Shannon arrived a short time later and we spent a pleasant forty-five minutes finishing her musical theater routine, ending with a high-five and a quick chat with her mom, before I moved on to the next student.

Three private lessons and four group classes later, I was back in my flip-flops and threading my way through the parking lot to my car. After baking in the hot August sun for hours, sliding into the driver’s seat felt like slipping into a sauna, and I immediately rolled down the windows in an effort to release some of the hot, stuffy air.

By the time I pulled into the driveway of my childhood home ten minutes later, the air conditioning in my beat-up Camry had finally reached something resembling a cool temperature. I stepped out of the car, pulling up the hem of my T-shirt to wipe the sweat from my brow, then grabbed my bag and trotted up the half-flight of stairs that led to the door of our split-level home. I needed a shower, food, and a nap, in that order.

I shut the front door behind me, a shiver running through me as my body struggled to adjust to the sharp temperature drop from outside to in, but I was thankful to be out of the heat.

“Tommy? That you?” I smiled at my mom’s voice floating down from the kitchen. She was the only one who called me Tommy. Everyone else called me TJ.

“Yeah, Ma!” I dropped my bag on the floor and kicked off my sandals.

“Don’t you leave that bag by the door. Someone’s bound to trip over it.” I rolled my eyes but picked the bag back up, along with my flip-flops, and headed upstairs to the kitchen.

“Hey.” I dropped a kiss on the top of her head, where she sat at the kitchen table sorting through the mail. Her hair was damp from her shower. She’d likely only been home for about an hour after finishing her weekly Pilates class.

“Boy, you stink. How was class?”

I unscrewed the lid of my water bottle and shoved it under the bottle filler in the fridge door. “Classes were good. And don’t worry, showering is at the top of my agenda.”

“What time are you heading down to the dorms?”

I glanced at the time display on the microwave, doing clock-math in my head while I screwed the lid back on my water bottle. “Probably between three and four.”

She nodded. “You’re sure you don’t want help?”

“I’ve got it. Besides, weren’t you and Trent planning on heading out to Gram’s today?”

“She’d understand if we skipped this week. She knows you’re moving in today.”

“If you want to help because it will make you feel better, you’re certainly welcome. But don’t rearrange things on my account. It’s really just a couple of boxes and a suitcase.”

“You’re too damn independent for your own good.”

“You say that like it has nothing to do with the way you raised us.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go take your shower. I’ll heat up a little lunch for you before you go.”

I flashed her a smile. “You’re the best!”

“Don’t you forget it!” she called behind me as I headed down the hall to shower.

* * *

It was closer to four before I rolled out of our driveway, Camry packed with my stuff. Ma was the sort of person who had a big, squishy heart and a spine of steel. She was strong and independent as fuck, had the biggest laugh of anyone I’d ever met, and had no shame in letting the tears fall. I’d had to remind her I was attending college here in Omaha and was only twenty minutes away.

The campus was bustling with the sights and sounds of move-in day. Res Life volunteers in red T-shirts assisted students and their families as they loaded carts with their belongings and guided them toward the loading zones. I found a spot on the curb and began loading my own cart.

“Need a hand?” I looked up to see my brother approaching and shot him a smile.

“Ma text you I was on my way down here?”

“Yup.”

I shook my head, but the smile remained. Tyler had moved into the frat house a week ahead of me because it was rush week, and I had no doubt he’d headed over here as soon as he’d gotten the text from Ma, no questions asked. It was just how we were raised.

We made quick work of unloading the car and Tyler waited on the curb with the cart while I moved my car to the parking lot. The elevators were extra busy on a day like today so we chatted as we waited in line for our turn to go up. Tyler’d had a busy week with all the rush activities and was relieved he didn’t have anything going on tomorrow since classes started the day after that. We made plans to meet up for lunch and watch some preseason football at the Student Union.

When it was finally our turn, we squeezed onto the small elevator with our cart and rode up to the fourth floor, this time chatting about Gram’s eightieth birthday party next month. Aunt Lydia and Ma had been planning this thing for weeks and were driving us all a little mad, asking for our opinions about things, which were inevitably the wrong opinions, on subjects none of us really cared about. But we all loved Gram more than just about anyone else, so we endured the endless questions and party talk, knowing the end result would be worth it.

“Did Ma show you the plates she ordered?” Tyler shook his head as we pushed the cart down the hall toward room 402. “She was going on and on about how expensive these clear disposable plates were, so I asked her why we didn’t just use paper, and the look she gave me… You would have thought I suggested we sacrifice a puppy.”

Tyler chuckled. “Sounds about right. I just nod and go along with whatever she wants, but then last week, she got upset with me for not having an opinion.”

I punched in the code for the door and swung it open. “It’s impossible to win, man.”

I turned to begin unloading the cart since it was too wide to fit through the door but pulled up short when I realized someone was already in the room.

My breath caught and my mouth fell open.

Not just someone.

Him .

The lost boy with blond locks framing his face like a halo. There hadn’t been a day in the last five years that I hadn’t thought of him and wondered if he was alright. If he’d figured out he was stronger than he thought.

“Sunshine?”