“Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to JANUS!” Judge Cressett’s voice rumbles across the amphitheater on the hilltop. “At this time we would like to ask everyone to please turn off their cell phones. The show is about to begin.”

I look out from behind the flat we built and take stock of the audience. The amphitheater is teeming with moms and dads and sisters and brothers—all here to observe what will surely be known as one of the Five Great Tragedies in the Life of Ian Ontario Hart.

“Well, boys?” says Devon, with his usual confidence. “Here it is.”

“Is this it?” says Cole. “The end of our innocent youth?”

“After this we’ll never be the same,” adds Miranda.

“Definitely the end of any political ambitions I totally didn’t have,” says Mark.

Devon jolts me in the shoulder. “Ready to embarrass yourself, Hart?”

But Cole gives me an encouraging look. “Just keep your head up, man. We’ll get through it.”

At the end of the day, I guess Cole’s kinda all right, you know? I mean: If Alva likes him, how terrible could he be? I look at Ash and catch him reading my mind.

“I’m glad you patched things up with Alva for us, by the way,” he says, leaning in. “Forgot to thank you for that …”

“Wait, didn’t she tell you?” I ask. “I didn’t fix it—Mark did.”

“Mark?”

“Places, boys!” Ms. Fitz says to Ash and me, pointing toward our separate marks on the stage.

“No partner, huh, Hart?” says Miranda.

That’s when I remember that, in all the madness, Jeremy made his escape.

“All alone, how pitiful,” says Devon from his place next to me.

But before he can enjoy my reaction, he’s distracted by something in the audience and forgets all about me.

“There!” he whispers, grabbing Miranda’s arm and pointing out into the crowd. “Holy crap. You see him? Right there …”

I follow his hand. “What, your brother?”

Devon looks up, and for a second he seems like he desperately needs to talk to me—until he remembers our big fight. Then he turns his back and returns to Miranda. “That’s my crazy brother Colin.”

Miranda cranes around to get a better look. “Really?” she says. “How’d he get here? Didn’t you say your mom and dad didn’t come?”

I startle at this. “Devon, your parents didn’t come? But I thought …”

Devon just acts like I don’t exist. He doesn’t even do me the courtesy of glaring. “He must’ve, like, hitchhiked or something,” he says to Miranda.

“Crazy!” she responds. “You are so lucky to have a cool older brother.”

“Yeah, not really. He’s probably—crap, he must be here to get blackmail on me,” says Devon. “To cancel out my blackmail on him!”

She raises her eyebrows. “You gotta admire that commitment.”

“He’s committed, all right.” Devon starts backing away from the stage. “Can you see his cell phone? I can’t tell. I gotta get out of this.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” Miranda demands. “I need my partner.”

“I can’t go out there, Miranda,” says Devon. “I can’t let Colin get video evidence of me dancing in a stupid play.”

Miranda cocks her head to the side with a dangerous coolness. “But, Devon, then I’ll look like an idiot out there … you don’t want that, do you?” There’s this hard look on her face, but Devon doesn’t see it because he’s just noticing the wall of clones that have closed off his escape route at the stairs leading off the stage.

“You don’t understand,” he says.

“Ninety seconds everyone!” Ms. Fitz calls out cheerfully, and disappears to the other side of the curtain.

Devon pales and looks around for help from the rest of our discipline.

Razan smiles like she’s been waiting for this moment all summer. “You know something, Rembrandt?” she says. “There comes a special day in every bully’s life …”

“You mean, when they realize there’s always a bully who’s bigger than them?” says Remy.

“No matter who you are,” Razan goes on.

“Feels good to be retired, doesn’t it?” says Rembrandt.

“I feel particularly good today.”

They turn back to Devon and watch with such glee that it makes me a little uncomfortable.

I look out at Colin, and back at Devon. The only way for him to escape is right out onto the stage. And Devon sees me starting to doubt and aims his next plea at me—

“Ian, come on. I’ve always had your back … I’ve always looked out for my friends—you know that.”

It makes me feel guilty, but I look him in the eye and shake my head. “You don’t get to call me your friend anymore.”

I hear a harsh shush from Ms. Fitz. “Everyone settle down! This isn’t time to talk.”

“They’re all ganging up on me,” Devon whines.

“We sure are, Ms. Fitz,” Alva says. “We’re ganging up on him to make him go out there and dance like he’s supposed to.”

Ms. Fitz gives us a warning look. “You all need to be quiet and focus on yourselves—and you’re all going on stage. In sixty seconds.”

My eyes dart back to Devon. He’s starting to shiver a little, like I do when I’m really nervous. I’ve never seen him do that before. Never.

“It’s just sad, isn’t it?” mutters one of the clones.

“You know when you go to an animal shelter and there’s that mean dog you know is never gonna find a forever home?” whispers another.

I get closer to Devon, right up next to him, before anyone notices I’m there.

“Ian, get me out—”

“Shut up.”

“Ian … please.”

I think of all the times he looked out for me. “Okay, Devon. I suppose I do owe you one last thing. If this is what you really want.”

“It is. Please.”

“Okay. Ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“Good.” I straighten his collar, and dust off his shoulder. For a second I can see his expression go from desperate to hopeful to confused—and just as he starts to open his mouth again, I look him right in the eye and give Devon Crawford the last thing I owe him.

I push him off the stage.

He lands after a three-foot drop, right on the side of his ankle. Everyone watches—everyone but Ms. Fitz.

See? I’m learning too Tom.

“Whoa, are you all right?” I ask Devon.

For a second, Devon looks up in shock and attempts to lunge at me—but as he tries to get to his feet, he just falls down again.

This time he cries out and everyone hears him.

“Devon Crawford!” says Ms. Fitz. “What are you doing down there?”

Devon opens his mouth but before he can speak, I interrupt him: “I think he’s hurt, Ms. Fitz. Twisted his ankle, looks like …”

I look right in his eyes again—and this time I can see them go clear in comprehension as our psychic link connects and he realizes what I did for him.

“It’s really bad,” he says. “I can’t dance like this …”

Ms. Fitz is instantly suspicious. “Thirty seconds before the show, you twisted your ankle and can’t go on?” As she climbs down and checks Devon’s leg, she asks the rest of us, “Who saw what happened?”

Miranda takes a step forward and shakes her head. “I’m not sure what I saw,” she says. “But it was freaking hilarious.”

It makes me more than a little bit ashamed of myself, hearing her approval, but I keep it together.

“I’m really hurt, Ms. Fitz,” says Devon.

“They’re already playing the song,” Razan warns.

“Tell them to vamp!” says Remy.

“They can’t vamp, it’s a recording!” says Razan. “Ms. Fitz, where’s the remote?”

“I got it, I got it!” Remy hits the button on the remote and the music changes to an old man speaking in Russian. He hits it again and it gets louder. And louder. He looks around for Jeremy, but then remembers Jeremy’s gone.

“Fixed it!” says Cole, just as the Russian man goes silent. “Oh wait, nope—broke it. But it’s off now!”

At this point, the Rs start to look a little panicked.

“Well, this is very bad,” says Razan.

“Can anyone play Beethoven’s Seventh Symphony, by chance?” says Rembrandt.

Miranda’s head snaps up. “The Allegretto?”

Everyone slowly turns to face her.

“Ms. Fitz, did I hear someone playing a piano before?”

“Uh, yeah. Down in the orchestra pit.” Ms. Fitz points to the small clearing in front of the stage and Miranda rushes down to take her seat at a little old piano.

“Ms. Fitz!” Razan hisses urgently. “Showtime! Now?”

“Just a second … All right, Devon. You’re off the hook. But if I take you to the nurse and there’s nothing wrong with you …”

“Oh, I promise there is plenty wrong with him,” I say.

“Can you make it to the parking lot if I help you?” Ms. Fitz asks Devon. “Or would you prefer Dr. Ginschlaugh carry you?”

Before Devon can answer, a figure comes around the edge of the stage: Dr. Ginschlaugh. And there’s a second person with him.

“Colin!” says Devon. “Ginschlaugh, did you set this up? Now it makes perfect sense.”

Ginschlaugh gives Colin a look and nudges him forward.

“Devon?” he calls out. “You all right?”

“Twisted my ankle!” Devon calls back. “Sorry you came all this way and don’t get to see a show …”

“Forget the show. Just stay put.”

Devon looks up at his brother. “Come on,” he says. “Don’t act like you didn’t come just to see me fail.”

Colin nods. “Yeah, I guess I deserve that.” He leans down and loops his arm under his brother. “I’ll take care of him, Ms. Fitz.”

“We’ve got you, Crawford,” says Ginschlaugh, grabbing him under the other arm.

Mark and I exchange a look of surprise, but it’s nothing compared to the confusion on Devon’s face.

Did Colin come to cheer for Devon? I ask Mark with a glance. Is Dr. Ginschlaugh somehow using his henchmen powers to bring the Crawford brothers back together?

“Deal with your personal problems on your own time, Hart,” says Razan. “It’s showtime!”

Remy and Razan hustle us all back to our places.

“Wait! I still don’t have a partner.”

“Improvise!” says Rembrandt as he passes me in line and steps into the light of the stage.

“What?”

“Just remember what you learned and fake it!” he hisses. Then he and Razan kick off the show. And make it look like dancing is the most natural thing in the world.

Like it’s so easy, just to be yourself.

All that movement. The two of them are out there sparkling, Tom. It’s mesmerizing, watching them. Like watching a fire burn.

Then we’re all on stage, and I throw myself into what we rehearsed, all on my own—I just sort of trust my body to know what it’s supposed to do.

And for the first time in my life, I kind of get why people like this sort of thing. I’m just letting myself be completely free—I’m just dancing, Tom. I’m dancing like a flame does. And I catch Razan’s eye and smile, waiting to see how impressed she is with my sudden improvement.

That’s when I notice her expression. The absolute horror in her face.

Apparently I still can’t dance, Tom.

But I keep going anyway, dancing like a fire does. Like a beautiful, beautiful garbage fire.