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“I know … but still.” He seemed to remember how she’d started the conversation. “Okay, so how do you feel?”

She came closer to him, and looped her arms around his waist, her eyes on his. “When we lost Holden, I always had the sense that someone kidnapped him. Stole him from us.”

Dan nodded. “I felt that way too.”

“But we couldn’t report him missing or … or go looking for him because …” She felt the familiar sadness rise within her. “… he was still there. Right across from us at the dinner table.”

Her husband touched her face, listening. He was so much more attentive now, as if he, too, had returned from some faraway place. Somewhere farther away than Alaska.

“The thing is,” Tracy tried to find the right words, “so many times … more times than I can remember … I wanted to get in the car and drive. Just drive. As far and fast as I could in search of the boy we’d lost.”

Tears blurred her vision, her sorrow great over the missed years. But even with her tears, a glimmer of today’s hope put a catch in her voice. “But here … tonight … I feel like I’m finally about to do what I always wanted to do all those years.” She turned and nodded at the front entrance. Two tears slid down her cheeks. “Go through those doors and find my son.”

H
IS CAST AND CREW WERE READY
, M
ANNY
H
AWKINS HAD NEVER
been more sure in all his life. This play—if it was his final effort —would be the sweetest yet. He had no doubts. In the past months, he’d learned the value of a life and the worth of doing the unconventional.

Yes, he’d learned much from Ella Reynolds and Holden Harris —lessons he’d take with him long after the theater program at Fulton High closed down: the ability to love, for instance. And the skill of looking beyond a person’s outside appearance. And he’d learned to pray. No one prayed like Holden Harris. All that flapping … Manny understood now. Holden was praying.
No surprise that most of the cast had taken to joining in. It was common now at the end of a rehearsal or when a scene wasn’t coming together to see the cast circle up and hold hands, praying to a God no one in the drama department had publicly acknowledged before this.

He thought about the administration and the warning he’d been given at the beginning of the year. His principal would be in attendance tonight, no doubt, counting empty seats. The end was at hand. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t go out the way Holden would go out.

“Okay, young thespians.” Manny felt a sudden lump in his throat. Drama program or not, they had won something much more than a packed house this year. “Let’s circle up.”

The cast seemed to sense the bittersweet feeling in the room. They didn’t joke or laugh or talk among themselves. It was five minutes to curtain call, and all eyes were on Manny. He waited until they were all in the circle. Holden and Ella were the last to join in, but they joined, Holden taking direction like any other student. Manny watched and for a single instant he remembered the way Holden had looked at the beginning of the school year, how Manny had fought against having Holden even observe the class. His behavior so strangely erratic, his ability to communicate nonexistent.

The transformation was nothing short of what they were about to watch on the stage tonight.

Manny nodded at Ella. Not many students had lead prayer before musicals at Fulton High. But tonight was different. Ella stood a little straighter. “Let’s pray.” Her voice was clear and calm. “Dear God, we know You are with us, and that You’ve done something very special here.” She paused and Manny pictured the empty theater that awaited them on the other side of the stage door. He coughed a couple times so he wouldn’t break down and cry. Ella continued, her confidence other-worldly. “No matter
what … no matter how tonight turns out, we have won. As a team, and as individuals, and as people who believe in something bigger than ourselves. Please … go before us tonight. And God, we dedicate this performance to the student who taught us how to believe in the impossible. Holden Harris.” She paused, collecting her emotions. “We dedicate tonight’s performance to him. In Your name, amen.”

Manny’s heart was full, and he wasn’t sure how he would speak after Ella’s prayer. But as was protocol for opening night, it was Manny’s turn to take the stage first—before the first note of the overture was played. He would walk through the door and welcome the crowd —however sparse. He would do his best to avoid the eyes of the principal and any other members of the administration, and he would tell them the truth: the show they were about to see was nothing short of a miracle.

Manny drew a deep breath.
Give me strength, God … help me stay positive for the kids.
He held up his hand, quieting the students. “Scene One, be ready in the wings.” He straightened his striped tie and adjusted his best white shirt. “I won’t be long.” He walked up a slight ramp and opened the door. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the dim lighting in the auditorium, especially as the spotlight hit him. But even as his brain was trying to comprehend the scene before him, the room burst into applause. Not the applause of a few rows of people doing their best to be polite.

But rousing, deafening, thunderous applause.

Manny stopped and his knees shook. He prided himself on staying composed, on handling the real-life drama at Fulton High even in a year like this one. But there was nothing he could do to stop his tears. He wasn’t quite to the microphone, but he couldn’t take another step, couldn’t process what he was seeing.

The house was packed.

No, it was beyond packed. Students and parents filled every
seat … every single one … and more were lined three deep along the walls at the sides and back. He scanned the crowd and he saw kids who had never been to a play at Fulton High—the skaters and cheerleaders and science club … the debate team … and halfway up the right side of the auditorium was a group Manny never thought he’d see in this building. Jake Collins and his buddies.

They didn’t wear jerseys, but rather buttoned-down dress shirts. And as the applause from the audience grew, it was Jake and Sam who were the first to stand. Others joined them until the entire auditorium was on its feet. And it occurred to Manny that this wasn’t the end. The drama program at Fulton High would live on after tonight. Only then did Manny’s teary eyes find their way to the floor seats, the place where the band was set up, ready to begin.

One chair was empty, a chair in the front row of the flute players. The seat belonging to Michael Schwartz. But next to the empty seat was a fresh face. Manny knew about the surprise —the girl was a natural. The band director was amazed at her progress in so little time. He smiled at her, a girl who never would’ve played the flute if this year had turned out differently.

LaShante Wilson.

She grinned and raised her shiny flute in a sort of salute. He responded with a nod and then he waved at the rest of them, at everyone who had heard Ella’s talk that terrible day four months ago. Michael’s death had touched them after all. They were here because they cared. Because no matter who they were or what they stood for, they needed each other.

The crowd finally settled down, and Manny moved to the microphone. As he did, he saw Holden’s parents—sitting in the second row. They looked happy, but nervous. Manny could understand. But they didn’t need to worry. They weren’t about to see a group of kids doing a favor for a guy with special needs.

They were about to see their son.

Manny smiled despite his trembling hands. He could hardly wait to see the reaction of his drama students, to sit in the wings and watch them play to a full house. He found his voice, but only long enough to thank them for coming.

“And now …” Manny waved his arm toward the curtain, “I present to you Disney’s
Beauty and the Beast”

T
HE SHOCK OF PLAYING TO AN OVERFLOW AUDIENCE DIDN’T
wear off through the entire performance. Ella had chills up and down her arms through every scene, every song, every line. The cast and the band members delivered each moment like the rarest gift, a show of thanks to the people who had decided on this night to come together. In the name of Michael Schwartz or the name of Fulton High or in the name of God, who maybe meant more to them now.

But whatever their reason, they were here for Holden Harris —the one student who loved everyone.

She caught LaShante’s eyes early in the first scene, and the two shared a smile. Maybe Michael had a window somehow, a way to see how the song had gone on, how his love of music had spread to a girl who might otherwise never have discovered her gift. They were well into the second act when she began praying for Holden between scenes. He was sitting in the wings, in a chair by himself, and when the music wasn’t playing, he was rocking. Rocking the way he’d done when she first met him.

Please, God … not tonight. Don’t let him slip away.

She needed to get a message to LaShante. If the flute players could start “Tale as Old as Time” earlier than usual, during the transformation, then Holden would be okay. She wasn’t needed on stage for a couple minutes, so she raced back to the classroom and scribbled a note for her friend. Then she found one of the tech guys. “Here … get this to LaShante … the black girl in the front row playing the flute.”

The kid didn’t ask questions. He was gone before she made her way back to the wings. Holden was still sitting there, alone in the darkness. “Just a few minutes, Holden. Your big song.”

He kept his eyes on the stage, on the Gaston scene playing out.

“Are you ready?” She crouched down beside him, her yellow dress flounced out around her ankles.

This time he looked at her. “Tale as old as time.”

“That’s right.” She didn’t have long. She took his hand for a few seconds and then gave it a light squeeze. “I’ll see you out there.”

He smiled. “Beauty and the Beast.”

Ella knew her part well enough to keep delivering her lines, giving her best performance ever. But she was keenly aware that the scene with Holden was drawing near.
Please God … let LaShante get the message.
Time seemed to move into a speed warp, and suddenly the moment was upon them. Gaston appeared to stab the beast, and then fall to his death. The Beast lay on the floor, gasping for breath.

“No,” Ella cried out. “Don’t leave me … please.” She breathed hard and fast as she fell to her knees. Her body heaved as she grieved the loss of her friend. “You can’t leave.” She sat up, her attention completely on the face of the Beast. “I … I love you.”

With that the haunting sounds of transformation began. A curtain shrouded in fog came around them and made the moment magical. The Beast slid behind the curtain and lumbered into the wings. It was Holden’s moment. His time to join her on the stage. But he was nowhere to be seen.

“Holden,” she called out quietly into the foggy darkness. “Where are you?”

At that same instant the lilting sound of the entire flute section kicked into gear. The music was “Tale as Old as Time” —Holden’s favorite song. And there in the fog, before she could
waste another second panicking over what might go wrong, Holden appeared before her.

He smiled, his eyes intent on hers. “I’m here,” he whispered.

“Good.” She kept her voice low. The lights were coming up, the transformation complete.

Holden looked stunning, standing inches from her in his white and gold costume, his shoulders back, strength and kindness emanating from his eyes, his expression. Never in all the times they’d rehearsed this number had Holden recited the actual line, the one the script called for. But the miracles God was working tonight were still playing out. Holden touched her shoulder. “It’s me, Belle … Can’t you see? This is who I’ve been … all along.”

Ella’s lips parted, and for a long moment she wasn’t sure if she could recite her name, let alone her lines. It was like Holden was no longer playing a role, but rather telling her something about himself. That this—and not the boy she’d met last fall—was who he really was. She smoothed the wrinkles in her dress and tried to remember her words. All the while the music played. LaShante and the tech guy had done what she asked and now … now the music was giving Holden a chance to shine.

Focus, Ella … come on.
“It’s … it’s really you! I can’t believe it.” She reached out and took Holden’s hands.

And with that he began to sing. “Tale as old as time …”

It was her turn to sing, but before she could begin, something happened in the audience—something none of them had planned for or rehearsed. Those in attendance were clapping, louder and louder. The band seemed to understand that Ella needed time, so they played the same eight bars of music again.

But what about Holden? How would he respond to the thunderous applause. She searched his eyes, but he only moved closer to her, so close she almost wondered if he was going to kiss her. But at the last moment, he brushed his cheek against hers and spoke near her ear. “It’s okay, Ella. Wait for the music.”

Up until this moment, Ella couldn’t tell the difference between what was acting for Holden, and what was real. But now she knew. This wasn’t acting … this was Holden as real as he could be. The Holden he might someday become even without the music. Gradually the applause faded, and the band picked up by repeating where they had left off. Ella stood straighter, breathing deep before she began to sing. She smiled into Holden’s eyes as he began twirling her in graceful circles.

The other cast members joined in, Cogsworth and Lumierre and Babette dancing in sweeping arcs around Ella and Holden at the center of the stage. “… Beauty and the Beast.” Holden finished the song in a moment Ella knew she’d remember forever.

Ella wondered if everyone in the audience was crying the way she was, if they were processing the message Holden was singing. At the beginning of the year they’d been wrong—all of them. Wrong about Michael Schwartz and wrong about Holden. It had been tough to look past Holden’s strange exterior, past his quirky behaviors and non-communicative nature. But now …