The theater buzzed with excitement. Backstage, the air was thick with hairspray, nerves, and whispered encouragement. {{user}} stood in front of the mirror, smoothing down the front of her costume with shaky hands.

Tonight was opening night. Her opening night.

She blinked at her reflection, trying to see the leading lady everyone else said they saw. Instead, she saw the girl who used to sit cross-legged on the living room rug, watching Funny Girl on repeat.

“Knock knock,” came a familiar voice.

{{user}} turned—and there he was. Jesse St. James, Broadway star, smug older brother, and tonight… just her biggest fan.

“You look like a star,” he said, stepping inside and closing the door behind him. His usual bravado softened as he took her in. “Are you ready to bring the house down?”

Her lip trembled. “What if I mess up? What if I freeze? What if—”

He stepped forward, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Hey. You’re a St. James. That stage is yours. You’ve worked too hard to let fear stop you now.”

She gave a small, watery laugh. “Says the guy who came out of the womb belting Sondheim.”

“And you came out stealing the spotlight at every family gathering. I’ve seen you do this a hundred times growing up. Tonight is no different—except now, the world gets to watch.”

{{user}} looked up at him. Her big brother, who had stood in the wings at her high school performances, who had made her audition monologues harder on purpose to push her, who had never stopped believing in her—even when she didn’t believe in herself.

“Thanks, Jesse.”

“Go out there and shine,” he said, then winked. “Just not too bright. I still need to be the most talented St. James.”