On Saturday, our break was almost over, and the other dancers had already gone back inside the studio. But I wanted to visualize my routine one more time to smooth out a few tricky parts, so I hung back in the hallway.

I was on the second floor of the Hart Dance Company, the HDC, surrounded by rehearsal studios. Beneath my feet, on the street level, was the large theater where my big sister, Jade, and I would dance The Nutcracker in just a few short weeks. My stomach fluttered at the thought.

Through the hallway window, I caught sight of someone in a giant turkey costume standing on the street corner. On top of the turkey’s head was a Santa hat, and the turkey was waving a large sign advertising a pre-Christmas sale.

Thanksgiving was still a couple of weeks off, but the holiday season had already started for my family. Dad’s band was getting gigs for company parties, and Mom was busy selling her fabric art at holiday craft fairs. Normally I loved the holidays, but this year I was too busy preparing for The Nutcracker to enjoy them.

Stay focused, I told myself, turning away from the window. I began my visualization again, picturing in my mind a big chest full of toys. Each toy was part of my dance routine, and as I picked up the first one, a jack-in-the-box, I moved my arms and legs slightly and imagined popping into the air like a jester coming out of a box.

Then, in my mind, I set aside the jack-in-the-box and pulled a toy top out of the chest.

As I readied my feet, I said to myself, Spin.

I visualized myself spinning like a top, faster and faster.

Suddenly I heard a little girl crying from down the hall. “I’m stuck!” she screeched.

I jogged down the hall and found three kids in mouse costumes standing in front of the restroom. One of them was hopping up and down and waving her paws in the air. “I’m stuck! I’m stuck!” she wailed from inside the big mouse head. Judging by her height, I guessed she was only about five years old.

“We’ll fix it, Addison,” the second mouse promised. “Just hold still.”

“Can I help?” I asked.

“The zipper is jammed,” grunted the third mouse. Her big, clumsy paw was having trouble holding on to the tab of Addison’s zipper.

“Don’t worry,” I said, trying to calm Addison. “I’m an expert at zippers.” At least I’d watched my mother sew enough of them onto clothes.

Addison dropped her paws to her sides, and the third mouse stepped back so that I could inspect the zipper. Just as I had thought, some material had gotten caught in the zipper. I worked the zipper upward until the teeth let go of the fabric. Then I slowly eased the zipper down, revealing the back of Addison’s T-shirt.

“There you go,” I said, lifting up the mouse head. Addison’s red hair was matted down with sweat. It must have been hot inside the head.

Addison’s freckles wriggled when she said, “Hurry.”

As soon as her two friends helped her out of her mouse suit, she raced into the restroom.

“Are you on a break, too?” I asked the remaining mice.

When they took off their mouse heads, I saw two more little girls: a tall, thin Asian girl and a brunette with rosy round cheeks, who answered me eagerly. “We just came along to help Addison out of her costume,” she explained.

“I was glad to get away,” the taller girl added. “I hate imp—, imp—”

The rosy-cheeked girl tried her hand at saying the strange word, too. “Im-per-fizzing,” she sounded out. “We’re supposed to play like mice, but we don’t do it good enough for Mr. Kosloff.”

I made a guess at what Mr. Kosloff was asking them to do. “My modern dance teacher makes us improvise, or make up new dance moves, a lot,” I told them. “One time I even had to dance like a needle.”

Whether I was improvising or just practicing a dance move, it helped to picture images in my head—like the toys in a toy chest. Maybe something like that could help these little mice, too.

But how would I visualize a mouse having fun? I wondered. Then my favorite picture book popped into my head. It was about the three blind mice. Those were mice who knew how to have a good time.

“You could try dancing like the three blind mice,” I suggested, just as Addison came out of the restroom.

“Would you show us?” asked the tallest mouse.

“Please!” begged the girl with brown hair.

I should have gone back to rehearsal, but I couldn’t resist showing off a little. “Okay,” I said. “But first let’s get you back to your studio.” After helping Addison zip up into her suit, we hurried down the hallway.

The tallest mouse led us toward Studio B, and I glanced through the open doorway. I saw a dozen more mice of all sizes running around. At the back of the studio, I saw a young blonde woman with a ponytail and glasses talking to the director, Mr. Kosloff.

He was a chubby man who kept his beard neatly trimmed and his head shaved. At auditions for The Nutcracker, he had seemed strict and unfriendly—especially when he was dismissing dancers who didn’t make the cut. So even though he had chosen me for his cast, I still felt a little uneasy around him.

“Okay, I think I’d do something like this,” I murmured to Addison and her friends, pausing just outside the studio door. I opened the Three Blind Mice picture book in my memory and imagined I was entering the farmer’s house.

I’m not scared of the farmer or his wife, I told myself. But how do I show that without using words? I began to sway my head from side to side as if I owned the world. Then, planting my fists on my hips, I began to dance strutting steps around Addison and her friends.

Stopping after a minute, I said encouragingly, “Now you three try it.”

The little mice stumbled at first, but as they got into their roles, they really began to strut.

“That’s great!” I said. I caught Addison’s shoulder and aimed her toward Studio B. “Now show those other mice what real fun looks like.”

“Yes, this is it! Mice with attitude,” I heard a man say. When I glanced back at the doorway, I saw Mr. Kosloff and the blonde-haired woman standing there watching the three little mice. “In fact, let’s have all the mice swagger like that.”

The blonde woman mouthed a “thank you” to me and then turned to Mr. Kosloff. “I knew the old mouse costumes would get them into character,” she said, winking at me. She stepped aside to let Addison and her friends back into the studio.

“I’m counting on you, Bettina,” Mr. Kosloff said to her as he stepped out into the hallway and closed the door.

I wasn’t sure if he had seen me talking with Addison and her friends. Just in case, I scooted back toward my rehearsal room, Studio C, before he thought I was goofing off when I should have been practicing.

Too late. “Wait a moment,” he said.

I turned around nervously, expecting him to scold me.

“You’re my little Gingerbread Girl,” he said, his fingers tapping his lower lip. “Let’s see…Isabelle…Isabelle?”

“Isabelle Palmer, sir,” I said.

“Yes, Jade’s sister, Isabelle,” he said with a smile.

It was amazing that Mr. Kosloff remembered my first name. Jade was such a great dancer that usually I was known just as “Jade’s little sister.”

Mr. Kosloff’s forehead wrinkled as he asked, “Shouldn’t you be rehearsing right now?”

I gulped. “Ms. Ferri let us take a break,” I quickly explained.

“Well, you’re very good with children,” Mr. Kosloff said. “Do you have younger sisters and brothers?”

“No, sir,” I said. “But my dad works at a hospital. He likes to visit the children’s ward, and sometimes I’ve gone with him to play with the kids. We bring old costumes and props for the kids to use.”

“Costumes, eh?” he asked. “I liked your costume in the Autumn Festival. Did your mother design it?”

I couldn’t believe Mr. Kosloff had noticed my “waltzing flower” costume, let alone remembered it. “No, sir,” I said, with a hint of pride. “I designed the costume, but my mom sewed it for me.”

“Well, you both did a very good job,” said Mr. Kosloff kindly.

Now that I was talking face to face with Mr. Kosloff, he actually seemed sort of nice.

He thought for a moment and then asked, “Would you do me a favor?”

I couldn’t think of what Mr. Kosloff might possibly need my help with, but I said, “Sure.”

“The party in Act One is set in modern times, but I’m not up on the latest styles for young people, so I’m a little worried about the designs for the children’s costumes,” he said. “Would you be willing to give me your opinion?”

I hesitated, feeling another rush of nervousness. “Um, sure,” I said finally, “but I’m not an expert, Mr. Kosloff.”

“You’re more of an expert than I am at being a kid,” he said. “The wardrobe department on the third floor has the designs. Ask for Margie.”

I was feeling a little dazed. “Third floor,” I repeated.

“I’ll tell Margie to make copies of the designs for you, and you can pick them up after rehearsal. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get back to your sister’s group,” he said, motioning toward Studio A. “And you have to get back to Ms. Ferri.” He winked. “I know you’ll knock ’em dead.”

As soon as Mr. Kosloff walked away, I had to fight the urge to rush up to the third floor to see the costumes. I was itching to see what Jade was going to wear in her role as Clara. If I hadn’t had castmates waiting for me in Studio C, I would have dashed up those stairs in a heartbeat.

But instead, I was good and went back into my studio. So Santa can keep me off his naughty list this year, I thought with a sigh—and a smile.