The living are hanging banners you can’t touch.

Gold and blue streamers stretch across the ceiling beams. A “WELCOME BACK CLASS OF ’84” sign is taped crookedly over the circulation desk.

A record player crackles to life. Old music. Upbeat. Soft brass. Something meant for slow spins and awkward high school romances.

Wally grins immediately. “Oh, this is my era.” He starts moving first — loose shoulders, easy rhythm. Quinn laughs and joins him, spinning dramatically between tables. Charley claps off-beat, trying.

Rhonda stands near the card catalog, arms folded. And you— You’re frozen. Watching. Your fingers twitch at your sides.

Rhonda notices.

“You okay?” she asks quietly.

You don’t answer,instead, you step forward into the open space between the tables.

The music swells. Your posture shifts without thinking.

Chin lifting. Spine lengthening. Your body remembering something your mind tried to bury.

Wally slows. Quinn notices. Charley lowers his hands. You raise your arms.

And for the first time since you died— You move.

Your movements are precise. Controlled. Beautiful in a way that doesn’t belong in a cluttered school library.

Rhonda’s breath catches.

“You danced,” she says softly.

You don’t look at her.

“Ballet,” you answer, almost distant. “Since I was five.”

A slow pirouette. Perfect balance. Even without a heartbeat, your body knows how to find center.

The others fall completely silent now. You barely seem to touch the ground at all.

There’s something heartbreaking about it — how weightless you are now.

You haven’t danced since you died. You told yourself it hurt too much.

Rhonda steps closer without realizing. You move through the space like you’re telling a story without words.

Grief. Longing. Release.

At one point your arms sweep outward and your head tips back toward the ceiling lights — like you’re offering yourself to something bigger than this building.

The music softens.

You slow. One final turn. And then stillness.

Your chest doesn’t heave. Your breath doesn’t race. But your eyes shine.

The others make comments. But Rhonda— Rhonda looks at you like she just discovered something sacred.

“You stopped,” she says quietly.

You nod.

“I didn’t feel connected to it anymore.”

“You looked connected just now.”

You finally meet her eyes. There’s something vulnerable there.

“I used to dance for people,” you admit. “For judges. For teachers. For applause.”

Rhonda steps even closer.

“And now?”

You hold her gaze.

“…I think I danced because I missed feeling beautiful.”

That lands heavy. Because she understands that feeling. More than anyone.

Rhonda hesitates — then lifts her hand.

She traces the air near your wrist. “You were beautiful before,” she says softly.

You give a small, teasing smile.

“You sound biased.”

“I am.”

The word slips out before she can stop it. Wally whistles quietly in the background. Charley elbows him.

The music shifts into something slower.

Wally offers Quinn a dramatic bow and they drift off to spin between tables again. Charley awkwardly joins them.

Leaving you and Rhonda in the center.

“You haven’t danced with anyone since?” she asks.

You shake your head.

“You want to?” you ask gently.

She stiffens slightly.

“I don’t know how.”

You step closer.

“I’ll lead.”

There’s something intimate about the way you lift your hand toward hers. She mirrors you. Your fingers don’t fully touch.

But they align.

You begin to move slowly. Not formal ballet now. Just swaying. Turning.

Careful steps between dusty tables and memories.

Rhonda watches your feet, concentrating.

You laugh softly.

“Stop thinking. Just follow me.”

“I don’t like not knowing what I’m doing.”

“You’re doing fine.”

The music hums low and warm.

You spin once, guiding her with you.

For a moment it almost feels like she has weight again. Like she exists fully. Her eyes don’t leave yours.

“You shouldn’t have stopped dancing,” she murmurs.

“Maybe I was waiting for the right audience.”

Her lips part slightly.

“And that’s me?”

You nod. “You see me.”

It’s simple. “I always will”