Prologue

"Wait!" he called, chasing after her as she flew down the hallway, past starring onlookers. She didn't stop, but kept running, the wind burning against the tears on her cheeks. She was in fairly good shape, but from all the dancing he did, his endurance was better, and he soon caught up to her. He grabbed her shoulder, pulling her to an abrupt stop. "Please, let me explain," he begged.

Her eyes flashed at him. Even with her blue contacts, whenever she was mad the natural brown of her eyes would shine through. "No. You’ve been ‘explaining’ for the past 6 months, and I’m sick of it," she hissed. "I’ve put up with it, and tried to make it work, but I can’t anymore. I’m out."

"Do you really want this?" he asked in a low voice. "To throw away the career, your fans, the money – everything?"

"I can’t believe you’re so dense," she said bitterly. He didn’t answer, just gazed at her, so she continued. "It was never about the career. That was all fake – I know it and you know it. It was about . . . " Her voice, burdened with emotion, trailed off.

"What was it about?" he asked hoarsely.

"You," she said simply. The tears ran unchecked down her cheeks. "From the very start. And you didn’t notice or care – at all."

"Yes I did! You know I did! Don’t you remember?" he pleaded. He began singing to her. "You will fly and you will crawl. God knows, even angels fall. No such thing as you’ve lost it all. God knows, even angels fall . . ." He reached out and brushed away one of her tears. "You’re my angel," he said in a voice barely above a whisper, keeping his hand on her cheek.

"No," she said, shaking her head roughly as she stepped backwards, away from him. "No. I’m not." She turned around and ran away again.

Nick was suddenly too tired, emotionally and physically, to chase her anymore. He dejectedly began walking back to the dressing room.

What had just happened?

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