And then it was here.

The morning of our first performance, Jade and I rode the bus silently to the theater. I knew she was running through her dance images again just as I was—and Jade had a lot more to remember. But my stomach was so full of butterflies that I could barely remember what I’d had for breakfast an hour ago.

When we got off the bus and walked to the theater, I saw that the streets were jammed with holiday shoppers. People were lined up by the theater, waiting to pick up tickets to our show. They were expecting to see a holiday treat, not a holiday dud. I swallowed down the anxiety rising in my throat.

The clouds hung low overhead, and the bright bulbs of the marquee made sizzling noises as the damp air touched the hot glass. Sizzling. That was just how I was feeling inside.

When we entered the backstage area and passed by the dressing rooms of the company members, I saw jars, bottles, and makeup brushes lining the countertops beneath a row of lit mirrors. The mirrors illuminated the dark dressing rooms like little galaxies of stars.

A few minutes later, Jade was putting on my makeup—that last magical step that would help to transform me into the Gingerbread Girl.

Luisa sat in front of the mirror next to us. “Is Danny here?” I asked her.

“He got in last night,” she answered. “He brought a couple of army buddies home with him. He’s been bragging about me.” Her right hand started to shake as she tried to brush on her eye shadow. “They’re all out there with my parents.”

Jade quickly took the brush away from Luisa. “Here, let me do that,” she said. As Jade began to put on our friend’s makeup, Luisa looked at me in the mirror.

She must have seen the nervousness in my face, too, because she asked, “Are you okay, Isabelle?”

I nodded. I couldn’t tell Luisa what I was thinking inside. Don’t mess up today, Isabelle.

Time went by too fast. The next thing I knew, I heard Bettina’s voice over the loudspeaker. “Five minutes to curtain,” she announced. “Partygoers to the stage.”

“That’s me,” said Jade. She gave herself one last touch-up in the mirror.

“I’ll come with you,” I said. “Want to watch Jade with me, Luisa?”

“No, I’m going to stay here and go over my routine,” Luisa said nervously. “To the stars, Jade,” she said, using our school’s motto.

“To the stars, Luisa,” Jade repeated with a smile.

As I followed my sister to the wings, I listened to the sounds from the theater. Because our performance was an afternoon matinee, there were a lot of children in the audience, so the noise was high-pitched and loud. I couldn’t resist peeking from behind the curtain to look for my parents.

In front of me, the men in the orchestra wore dark suits, and the women wore white blouses with long black skirts or dress pants. Beyond them, from the front row of the theater all the way up into the balconies, I saw families filling the seats.

I couldn’t see my parents in that mob, and now I wished I hadn’t tried. When I’d danced at the Autumn Festival, that had been on the stage of our school auditorium. Now I was going to perform in a real theater. Make a mistake here, and I’d mess up big-time.

I tried to stay calm for my sister, who was about to go onstage, but as I turned toward her, I saw that she was already in her own little world. She took a deep breath, and as she let it out, her posture and expression changed. She was no longer Jade, but Clara. As her musical cue began, she danced onto the stage, where her stage family was already whirling about. Watching Jade dance, I knew one thing for certain: she belonged under those lights.

Suddenly I heard a little girl say, “I don’t want to!” And then there was a thump from the backstage area behind me.

Turning around, I saw a little mouse had thrown the head of her costume onto the floor, where it was rolling around. I couldn’t miss Addison’s red hair and freckles. She was crying.

A larger mouse tried to calm her down. “But you have to,” the older girl said, her voice muffled by the mouse head she was still wearing.

Addison crossed her arms and hung her head. “I’m going to mess up,” she said through tears. “And everybody’s going to laugh.”

Bettina rushed over wearing a headset and a mike. “What’s wrong, honey?” she asked, bending over beside her youngest mouse.

“I don’t want to go onstage,” Addison said.

“But everyone’s counting on you,” Bettina coaxed.

“I don’t want to,” Addison said. A fat tear rolled down her cheek.

Bettina tried to convince Addison that everything would be okay, but that only seemed to make Addison cry harder.

I felt sorry for her. I knew just how she felt, so I went over and crouched beside her. “Hey, Addison. Remember me?” I asked. I wasn’t sure she’d recognize me in my costume.

Addison studied my face for a moment. When she nodded, a few more tears broke free and trickled down her cheeks.

“Are you scared?” I asked gently. When Addison hesitated, I motioned to the other dancers. “Well, you know what? So are all the rest of us.”

“Really?” Addison asked doubtfully.

“Dancer’s honor,” I swore. “Anyway, you couldn’t mess up worse than I did in rehearsal a couple of weeks ago. I danced right into another girl and knocked her down. And do you know what she called me?”

Addison gave a little giggle. “What?” she asked.

I cupped my hand, as if I were whispering a great secret. “A bowling ball,” I whispered in Addison’s ear.

Addison laughed out loud.

“Shh!” said Bettina, holding a finger up to her lips. But she smiled at me.

I put my arm around Addison, and the padding in her mouse costume made a squishy noise. “It’s okay to be scared,” I said, remembering the advice that Jackie Sanchez had given me. “And it’s okay to make a mistake. The important thing is to have fun, like you were doing the day we met. You danced the part of a blind mouse so well that Mr. Kosloff used you as an example for the other mice.”

Addison smiled at the memory. “That was fun,” she agreed, her big eyes shining.

I motioned to Jade and the other partygoers whirling around the stage. “Those dancers are having a lot of fun out there right now. Don’t you want to go out and have fun with them?” I asked.

Addison bit her lip as she thought about it. Finally, she wiped her face with a big gray paw and nodded. She squatted down to pick up her mouse head.

I helped her put it on. “Let’s both go out there today and have the most fun ever,” I said to her. “Deal?” I reached out my hand and gave her paw a firm shake.

As Addison joined the other mice again, Bettina breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Isabelle,” she said in a low voice. “You were great with her.”

When I stood up, I saw Jackie Sanchez watching us, too, from the wings. She grinned as she gave me a thumbs-up.

That meant more to me than a standing ovation. I was still feeling giddy as the partygoers came offstage.

Jade was glistening with sweat, her shoulders rising and falling as she tried to catch her breath. The audience would probably never realize how hard she worked to make her dancing appear so effortless. She looked as if she had just run a marathon in her party dress. I handed her a towel.

“Thank you,” she said as she wiped her face and neck. Then she gave me a quick hug. “This costume feels magical,” she said, motioning toward the red dress. “Isabelle, I’ll never second-guess your designs again.”

I grinned and gave her another hug. I hadn’t even danced yet, and I was already flying high—first because of a thumbs-up from Jackie Sanchez, and now because my sister’s performance had gone well, in part because of me.

Suddenly the floor beneath us began to vibrate, as if a train were thundering by. I heard the rumbling and creaking of machinery as a giant tree began to rise from the stage. I knew the audience would hear none of this, though, as the music of the orchestra swelled to cover up the rumbling of the gears.

As the tree finished growing, the oohs and aahs from the audience sounded like one giant sigh. “Mice, you’re on,” Bettina whispered.

Jade and I stepped to the side as the mice hurried onstage. Addison waved to me as she padded by. I tried to keep my eyes on her as she began to explore the house and the tree with the other mice. I had passed on Jackie Sanchez’s advice to Addison, and she really seemed to be taking it to heart. She skipped and swaggered as if she were having the time of her life.

I only hoped that when it was my turn to go onstage, I could do the same.