Me, You, & The Party Rock Crew

“Don’t smile because it happened, baby, cry because it’s over.” – Sabrina Carpenter, Don’t Smile, 2024. 

“Okay,” Izzie exhaled as she eased into her chair, gesturing for both Maya and Jennie to take the seats in front of her desk. 

Jennie immediately reached for one of the fidgets on the table. Maya’s hand twitched–like she wanted to knock it right out of her hand–but the subtle arch of Izzie’s brow stopped her cold. 

She knew Jennie only fidgeted when she was nervous or distressed. That’s exactly why Izzie kept a basket of them on her desk. Little things like that made a big difference, a lesson she’d learned many moons ago. The goal wasn’t to intimidate. It was to help students feel safe enough to speak. 

“What happened?” Izzie asked, her voice calm but clear. “Start from the top. Just tell me your side of the story so I can better understand.” 

Maya fought every instinct not to roll her eyes. Jennie’s bottom lip trembled for a second, but she took a steadying breath. 

“Well…Maya offered to hang out, and my dad gave me the okay. I genuinely forgot that unless my mom’s around, I’m supposed to be off school grounds once I’m signed out from SaMO REC.” 

“Hey, we’re human. Sometimes we forget,” Izzie offered with a soft nod, then turned to Maya. 

“Can I ask why you didn’t remind her?” 

“I mean…” Maya glanced off. “My mom said it was fine. She’s in the cafeteria and says she’ll be here in a few moments, anyway.” 

Pleading the fifth. Typical. 

“Alright, so here’s the deal,” Izzie began. “Mr. Velasquez found a perfectly cut wire today. If we can’t figure out what happened, we might have to cancel the dance and hold an investigation instead. From there, there’ll be no Winter–” 

“It was Maya!” Jennie blurted. 

Maya’s jaw dropped. The betrayal of it all. Izzie hadn’t even finished her sentence yet. 

“I–she’s lying!” Maya shot back, stunned. 

The two of them started talking over each other, voices rising, words clashing, like a messy ping-pong match of guilt and denial. Izzie watched the chaos unfold, half amused. Kids always folded at the threat of losing a dance. It was their love language–throw each other under the bus before the music stops playing. Messy, but effective. Honestly? Better than how Mr. Diaz handled things back in her day. 

“Okay, girls, slow down,” Izzie said, raising a hand. “Take a breath. Tell me what actually happened.” 

Jennie beat Maya to the punch. Again. 

“Well–Maya said she wanted to change the lights because her mom thought they were tacky. So we went into Mrs. Kim’s room and grabbed the scissors from her desk. Alexis and Mila were lookouts, and I was the lookout in the gym.” 

Maya was speechless. She couldn’t even plead the Fifth. The shock was written all over her face–her cheeks burned red beneath her perfectly orange tan. She was fuming. 

“Maya?” Izzie asked gently. “Anything you want to say?” 

“Okay, yeah. My mom did say the lights were tacky, and she wouldn’t shut up about it,” Maya snapped, frustration cracking through her polished exterior. “I liked the lights! We’ve used them the last two years. They make it feel like an actual dance club. But she wanted to switch them to those stupid LED strips–like from that ancient movie Tron or something.” 

She sighed and continued, her voice lower now, more raw. 

“I swear, Ms. Wallace, I didn’t want to do it. But my mom’s always bitching about the PTA and how nothing ever goes her way. I thought maybe–just maybe–if I changed the lights, she’d finally drop it. Maybe we could have, like, a normal conversation for once. About the kind of dress I want for Spring Formal or something.” 

Something in her cracked open then. A softness Izzie hadn’t seen before. A realness underneath all the sass, fake tan, and attitude. Even Jennie looked a little shaken by the confession. 

But that moment? That vulnerability? It wouldn’t last. Jennie knew it. Maya knew it. The second they left this office, Jennie would be branded the snitch. And Maya? She’d go right back to pretending none of this ever happened. 

“I appreciate the honesty you both brought to me today,” Izzie said, her tone steady, but kind. “But of course, with that honesty, comes consequences. We know that, right?” 

Both girls nodded. Jennie swallowed hard, the lump in her throat growing by the second. She was sure they’d all be banned from the dance. Dead. Done. Social life, over. 

“I’ll be emailing your parents first about the incident and your confessions. The next step is this: the four of you will now be part of the kitchen crew for the dance. That means showing up no later than an hour before it starts, and you’ll be on rotating shifts serving pizza during the event.” 

Jennie’s eyes widened slightly. Maya blinked.  

“You’ll still get to be there. Still get to have some fun,” Izzie continued. “But you won’t be off the hook. Think of it as a middle ground. Does that make sense?” 

Maya let out a long, resigned sigh. “Yeah,” she muttered, nodding. 

Jennie practically sagged in relief. Honestly, she’d take dish duty if it meant she didn’t miss the dance entirely. 

“Maya, I’ll talk to your mom in person,” Izzie added, gentler now. “And I’ll send a follow-up email afterward, sound good?”

Maya nodded again, biting her lip. “Yeah. Thanks.” 

Izzie knew this wasn’t over–not by a long shot. But that was tomorrow’s problem. For now, she stood and walked both girls out of her office, the weight of their choices trailing behind them like shadows. 

That night, after walking the girls out of her office and finishing the last of her emails–including one very carefully worded one to Maya’s mom–Izzie finally collapsed into bed. 

But sleep didn’t come easy. 

Her mind kept circling back to the dance–the one coming up, and the ones that came before. The chaos, the drama, the high stakes of adolescence. It all blended into something dreamlike, something that lingered long after the lights were out. 

And suddenly, she was there. 

Sixteen again, standing in the middle of the dance floor, bathed in moody blue light. 

Sabrina Carpenter’s “Don’t Smile” drifted through the air, soft and aching. Couples swayed all around her, slow dancing to a song that somehow captured everything she’d ever felt and ever said. 

She wandered through the crowd, faces younger, familiar, suspended in time. And then–she saw him. 

Quinn Perez. 

But not the Quinn she knew now. This was the Quinn from old photos–curly-haired, round glasses, sun-kissed, beaming like sunlight. The Quinn she had only known from stories of nostalgic nights. 

He ran up to her, joy lighting up his whole face, and without hesitation, reached for her hand. 

She didn’t question it. 

They danced in silence, two sets of brown eyes locked, hearts syncing with the rhythm. When he pulled her closer, she let her head rest against his chest, listening to the calm beat like it could anchor her. 

But then, across the room, she saw him. 

Simon. 

Dancing with Elaine, no less. Elaine looked up at him like he held the stars in his hands. But Simon wasn’t looking back at her. 

He was looking at Izzie. At her and Quinn. That stare–burning, unreadable–was a kind of jealousy Izzie had known all too well. 

She then turned back to Quinn–but he wasn’t sixteen anymore. 

He was present-day Quinn now, at least ten years older than the version of herself standing there. His head of curls was now neatly tapered and groomed, his jaw more defined, dusted with light stubble. Still, that sunshine smile remained, only now it held weight–quiet confidence, patience, lived-in warmth. 

Izzie stepped back, uneasy. Not in fear–but in realization. This was her dream. A memory remixing itself with things she hadn’t even said out loud yet. 

Quinn looked confused, his brow furrowed just slightly in a way that made her heart clench. Hurt, but not angry. Just…unsure why she’d backed away. 

And just then–Simon appeared. 

He stepped toward her through the crowd, his green eyes locked on hers. He reached for her hand with familiarity, like it still belonged to him. 

She recoiled. Pulled her hand back like she’d touched a flame. Elaine stood at his side, tugging at his sleeve like she belonged there, like she had a claim. Her glare sliced through Izzie, sharp and possessive. 

Behind them, the dance floor shifted. Flickered. Glimpses of memories and could-have-beens. Hazy edges of every dance she and Simon had ever shown up to together–homecoming, prom, Turnabout. They were both Chicago kids. Dances were sacred. You showed up, dressed up, turned up, and made a scene. 

But Quinn? Quinn had hardly gone to a dance. Sure, he had an occasional homecoming, he went to prom, but he spent most of his time outdoors hiking for miles or playing video games at home. California had dances too, of course, but he just didn’t go as often. Not until his upperclassman years. 

Maybe that’s why, even now, this felt so different. Quinn didn’t carry history with her the way Simon did. He didn’t bring back the guilt, the ache, the jealousy. Just presence. 

He gently tapped her shoulder, and she turned back. 

He held out his hand–not demanding, not desperate. Just there. An open invitation. His eyes didn’t say pick me. They said, you’re safe. 

Sixteen-year-old Izzie might’ve panicked. This was a grown man. Her grad student buddy. One of her fellow camp counselor teammates from her old summer job. But this dream wasn’t about age, it was about feeling. About how their long nature hikes underneath the stars had always made her feel…still. 

So she took his hand. 

And just before he pulled her in, she glanced back. 

Simon was still watching her. This time, he didn’t reach for her again. He let Elaine tug him back, but his eyes never left Izzie. Regret flickered across his face like a blown-out candle. 

She turned to Quinn, who was sixteen again. Young, awkward, and impossibly sweet. And as he folded her into his arms, she rested her cheek against his chest. A sigh of relief escaped her. He said nothing. Just rubbed her back gently as they swayed. 

The music softened. 

———————————————-

“GOOD MORNING, SANTA MONICA!” 

The radio host’s obnoxiously cheerful voice tore her from sleep like a splash of cold water. 

Izzie shot up, heart racing, eyes blinking rapidly against the daylight. Her alarm buzzed on the nightstand, far too loud. 

It was Friday. 

And yet, she couldn’t shake the dream. Couldn’t shake how real Quinn’s hand had felt. Or how Simon had let go. 

It didn’t matter how real the dream had felt–today was dance day, and Izzie Wallace had more important things to focus on. Like orchestrating one of the biggest, most elaborate professional pranks of her career. At least since high school. 

While revoking someone’s access card to the school building technically wasn’t funny, everything else? Fair game. After a lengthy call with Hana and Jose while she got ready for that morning, half-planning, half-cackling, the plan was set in motion. 

Because if someone was going to mess with Izzie Wallace, she was going to turn it into a joke. Petty? Sure. Immature? Maybe. But underneath the principal title, she was still a 10-year-old kid at heart. And that kid had a wicked sense of humor. 

She gave Stelly a kiss on the head, double-checked her auto-feeder, and practically skipped out of her apartment, already feeling the chaotic joy buzzing beneath her skin. 

On the drive to work, the same too-loud voice that had ripped her from her slumber greeted her once again–Santa Monica’s local station hosting their weekly Flashback Friday Dance Party, or FFDP. She cranked the volume as One Direction played, practically yelling the lyrics like she was back in a college dorm room with Hala and Melanie–her college roommate turned best friend–and an honorary Party Rock Crew member. 

From there, the throwback playlist only got better: Lady Gaga (her forever queen), Justin Bieber (in his swoopy-hair purple era), Taylor Swift (pre-pop), Pitbull, Taio Cruz, Hot Chelle Rae, Flo Rida–the sound of 2018-2014, aka the golden age of the Party Rock Crew. 

As she pulled into the school lot, Honestly by Hot Chelle Rae began to fade, the bass replaced by the loud unfiltered voices of Apollo Sunshine and El Gorilla–two radio hosts that reminded Izzie of the chaos that was B96’s Morning Mess and their predecessors: Eddie & JoBo, and KissFM’s Fred Show back in Chicago. 

“Dang, I haven’t heard that song since HIGH school, man! Where my class of 2012 at?!” Apollo shouted. 

“Man, that is so real. Class of 13, we out here though!” 

Izzie smirked, shaking her head as they started bickering over whose graduating class reigned supreme. It brought back memories of her own hallway debates in Aspen Brook High–Team 2012 forever, obviously. 

“This next song we’re throwing into our hashtag FFDP mix comes all the way from Chicagooo–” 

“Chi-citayyyyy!” El Gorilla echoed in the background like an airhorn. 

“This Chi-city native named Simon M. requested Champagne Showers for his favorite Party Rock Girl who lives right here in Santa Monica!” 

“Damn, that’s real love right there, bro.” 

“I think that’s sweet. Well, Party Rock Girl, whoever you are, give us a call at 310–” 

Click. 

Izzie turned off the car. 

Took a breath. 

Eyes wide, lips parted, brain buffering. 

Then: 

“THAT ASSHOLE!” she yelled. 

Of course, Simon had to turn her Flashback Friday into a rom-com stunt. Of course, he found the one station she actually liked. Champagne Showers? A Party Rock Crew anthem? She hadn’t even heard that song since their senior prom when Alice nearly tripped in heels and Hattie and Stacie started a conga line. 

The nerve. The audacity. The Chicago of it all. 

But damn it…her heart was beating a little faster now and she hated that it wasn’t out of rage. 

Shake it off, Izzie! She told herself as she stepped into the building. It didn’t matter what had happened on the radio or in her dreams–today was about the students. Dance day. Lock in. 

The day blurred by in a series of phone calls, announcements, and last-minute errands. It was like the universe had pressed fast-forward. By noon, the front office was swamped with requests to release students early for hair, nail, and makeup appointments. Parents filled the front drive as early as 1:30, and Izzie found herself darting between the front desk, walkie-talkie calls, and pick-up lists like she was back in high school theatre on tech week. 

Dismissal at 2:45 came and went in a flash. The school emptied so quickly that it almost felt eerie. The buzz of hundreds of excited middle schoolers vanished, replaced by an odd, peaceful silence. 

The calm before the glitter storm. 

The PTA wouldn’t arrive until 4 p.m., which gave Izzie and Maisie a rare golden hour to breathe. Jose was already in the gym setting up the lights with the DJ, the hum of the sound system testing through the walls like a heartbeat. 

“Finally,” Izzie sighed, leaning back in her chair. 

“Not so fast!” Maisie grinned, spinning around in her desk chair. “Party Rock Girl?” 

Izzie groaned. “Not you too.” 

“I mean all of Santa Monica heard it,” she teased with a smirk. 

“He really sucks ass for pulling that off, I mean…” she flailed a hand. 

“Has he texted you?” 

“Unfortunately.” 

“And?” 

“I told him it was dance day but that I’d get back to him in the evening or tomorrow morning,” Izzie said with an exaggerated eye roll. “Besides, doesn’t he have anything better to do, like bug his fiancée?” 

“You’d think, right?” Maisie chuckled. “Something must’ve happened if he’s reaching out with this kind of fervor.”

“It’s Simon. Instead of, you know, breaking up with someone like a normal person, he spirals. He loops in a third party, gets confused, and when he’s torn, he loses his damn mind before inevitably choosing the person he was already with.” 

“Damn,” Maisie said, eyes wide. “He’s messy with a capital M, girl.” 

“I know. And I intend to not be roped into that mess again.” 

Before Maisie could respond, the front doorbell to the school buzzed in a loud, panicked chime. They exchanged a glance, then peered into the security monitor. 

There she was. Heather. Hair in rollers, sunglasses on, chewing gum like it owed her money. 

Maisie reached for the intercom mic. “Yes?” she crooned sweetly. 

“I’m locked out! That stupid keycard system is faulty again!” Heather snapped, her voice pure venom. 

“Oh, that’s so weird,” Maisie replied, deadpan. “Everyone else’s keycards seem to be working. Did you try again?”

“Yes! I did it ten times and it’s not working! I need to be let in to prep the gym!” 

“Oh…well, it says here that Hana reassigned you to ticketing duty,” Maisie added, checking an imaginary clipboard. 

“WHAT!?” Heather shrieked. “Maisie, please, let me in, I need to speak with Isabella.” 

Maisie looked at Izzie, who was nearly in tears, holding back laughter. 

“Um, Ms. Wallace stepped away for a very important phone call,” Maisie said with perfect calm. “But give her about fifteen minutes?” 

“Fine. I’ll be waiting in the truck,” Heather growled before storming off. 

The intercom clicked off. 

And then they lost it. Cackling, tears, desk-slapping laughter. 

“Ahhh, I needed that,” Izzie said between breaths, dabbing at her eyes.

“Same,” Maisie agreed, wiping her mascara. “This just made my day.” 

Moments later, Izzie stepped into the gymnasium–completely transformed into a Yule Ball wonderland. Handstitched Hogwarts house banners cascaded from the rafters, replacing the usual school insignias. The bleachers were tucked away, the floor swept to perfection, there was the glow of fairy lights strung from corner to corner, casting a warm, enchanted haze across the space. 

A DIY “Enchanted Entrance” photo arch stood proudly by the gym’s doors, wrapped in snow-dusted garland and sparkling fairy lights–courtesy of Hana, her mom, and her army of crafty aunties, of course. 

Izzie stood for a second, caught in the surreal magic of it all. She turned just in time to see Maisie levitating a giant cardboard chandelier into place–or more accurately, guiding it upward with the help of a broom handle, the custodian team, and three light crew kids holding a ladder steady

“Wingardium LED-iosa!” Maisie called out, grinning mischievously. 

Izzie burst into laughter, loud, and sudden enough that a few people turned around in alarm. 

“Sorry, sorry,” she said, clearing her throat, grinning like an idiot. Perks of being a loudmouth. 

The fairy lights that Jose had bought were used for ambient lighting, and the restored house lights–thanks to Simon–were the main stars of the show. She pulled out her phone and snapped a quick picture then opened her last conversation with him. Instead of responding to his earlier How’s it going?, she simply typed: 

Izzie: Thank you.

A second later: 

Simon: WOW! That looks spectacular. Don’t mention it. 

She didn’t answer. She didn’t need to, but a small tug hit her chest anyway, as inconvenient as ever. 

By 5:15, parents began arriving at their designated posts. The QR scanners were ready, the chaperone assignments were posted. Heather, grumpy and decked out in a dramatic black cloak, had been assigned to ticket duty. Her hair, which was earlier in rollers, cascaded into stiff, frizzy curls, and her lips smacked with gum as she muttered under her breath about “how I should’ve been running the whole show instead of babysitting a QR scanner.” 

Fittingly, she’d chosen to dress as a blonde Bellatrix Lestrange. 

“Just smile and scan, darling,” Mrs. Murietta said sweetly, handing Heather a clipboard before prancing away in sparkly heels. She was one of the moms who’d been patiently waiting for Heather’s long-overdue humbling. 

Heather didn’t even bother hiding the venom in her eye roll, but when the doors opened at 5:30 sharp, and the flood of students began to trickle in–dressed in sparkly dresses, oversized robes, and awkward clip-on ties–Heather’s whole demeanor shifted. She smiled widely, professionally, and warmly. And then, she saw Maya. 

Her little girl was a perfect mini-me, her hair curled just like Heather’s, and her dress a pale lavender, twinkling at the hem. Heather’s gaze softened. Just for a moment. 

Maya, however, didn’t walk into the gym. She passed it by, making her way toward the cafeteria instead. 

Izzie caught that moment. The flash of regret in Heather’s eyes. That momentary hesitation. And that was all she needed to confirm who the true culprit of yesterday’s chaos was. 

The magic of the night continued to unfold. 

Three boys, dressed as Harry, Ron, and Draco, darted around the gym photobombing every group picture they could. Izzie couldn’t help but laugh–they reminded her of Simon, Carter, and Sunwoo. Mischievous, loud, and unapologetically themselves. 

Eventually, she had to step in and shoo them away from the photo backdrop, especially as the eighth graders lined up in full glam for what would be their last winter formal. One girl in a maroon and gold dress burst into tears the second she saw the enchanted archway. 

“It looks just like Hogwarts!” she cried, voice trembling with pure emotion. 

Her friends rubbed her back as she sobbed dramatically in front of the camera. 

Izzie and Hana just exchanged a knowing look and smiled. 

They understood the drama. 

The dance was in full swing now. 

There was a conga lina snaking across the gym floor, led, of course, by Julian, who had a neon green tie around his forehead like it was 2010. Camille trailed behind him in sparkly blue heels, her curls bouncing, laughing as their friends tagged along in a chaotic train of teenage joy. 

Izzie smiled to herself, her hand wrapped around her camera. The sheer sight of it–of laughing, shouting, messy joy–pulled something deep in her chest. It reminded her of all the conga lines she’d danced in, the ones Ryan Bauer used to start at prom, and even the many dances before. The way they’d snake through from the foyer all the way to the cafeteria, to the punch line. 

She sighed wistfully this time, and took pictures, capturing each glittering moment to upload to the school’s website come Monday. She already knew which ones were going on the picture marquee by the front office. The little LED board was her pride and joy. Her excuse to frame joy and call it “community engagement”. 

Her phone buzzed again. 

Simon: Feeling nostalgic being around a bunch of dancing middle schoolers? 

Izzie: Shut up…yes. 

Simon: HAHAHA I knew it. I hope you’re having fun. 

Izzie: Thanks, I am, Well, as one adult should, of course. 

“Izzie!” 

She glanced up and saw Bradley stumbling toward her, cheeks flushed and–was that a tie on his head?

“Brad–hey,” she replied awkwardly. If he asked her to dance right now, she would genuinely consider evaporating into thin air. It was the last thing she needed—a weird moment turned into an HR violation.

“Hey, I was wondering if I could steal you for a–” 

“Ooh, Brad, I’m so sorry,” she cut in, holding up her phone like a shield. “I’ve got a really important email I need to send out. You know how it is.” 

Bradley squinted. “Now? On a Friday night?” 

“Absolutely. Very urgent,” she nodded solemnly, then glanced across the gym and pointed. 

“But hey–Michelle’s over there! I hear she’s a phenomenal dancer.” 

“Michelle?” he asked, bewildered. 

“Yeah! Total dancing queen. Don’t let her tough demeanor fool you.” 

Brad gave her a hesitant look before disappearing back into the crowd, likely to be gently turned down by a mortified P.E. teacher. Izzie exhaled, grateful for her quick-thinking reflexes and the universal code of teacher deflection. 

She turned back toward the floor just as the DJ transitioned into a 2020s classic–Dua Lipa’s “Levitating”. The beat dropped, and the entire gym exploded in excitement, a wave of movement pulsing from wall to wall. Fairy lights twinkled as the chandelier swayed slightly above them, casting flickering shadows that felt like magic. 

And in that moment–it hit her. 

The kids, the music, the handmade decorations, the sheer wonder of it all. This wasn’t just a dance. This was a time capsule. A memory in motion, and she was part of the team that helped build it. 

A slow grin stretched across her face. 

She didn’t need to dance to feel it. The music, the nostalgia, the ache of remembering, and the thrill of now–it was already pulsing through her. 

The next track dropped, and she could hear a scream erupt from a group of boys in the corner. 

“PARTY ROCK!” 

It was over. The gym was losing it. 

LMFAO’s “Party Rock Anthem” blasted through the speakers–loud, proud, and exactly as ridiculous as it needed to be. The song was as old as the eighth-grade class now, which Izzie tried very hard not to think about. 

Maisie darted behind the DJ table to cue the lights. Glitter fell from a confetti cannon someone definitely wasn’t supposed to touch. Parents recorded videos with proud little grins. Kids waved their glow-stick wands like lightsabers. Heather muttered something about “basic taste” and rolled her eyes dramatically from the ticketing table. Still cloaked in her Bellatrix cosplay. 

And somewhere, in the middle of it all, Izzie just laughed–deep, full, cathartic. 

Then came the kid in the Slytherin cape. 

He stepped into the middle of the floor and opened up a breakdance circle like he was auditioning for Step Up: Hogwarts Edition. He slipped once, but got up and finished strong, earning a crowd of cheers. A few others jumped in to show off their moves, giggling and fearless. 

Then Maisie did the absolute unthinkable. 

“I’m pretty sure Ms. Wallace knows the actual dance moves to this song!” she shouted into the microphone. 

Heads turned. The entire gym swiveled to face Izzie. 

“Oh no,” Izzie muttered under her breath. 

The DJ turned the spotlight toward her. A cheer erupted. 

Maisie grinned with all her teeth. Izzie shot her the look–the look she’d give her if she could flip her off without being written up by HR. Which, of course, she couldn’t, because the entire student body was watching.

“Come on, Ms. Wallace!” The DJ called. 

Izzie took a steady breath, peeling off her cardigan like a gladiator taking off her armor and handed it off to Maisie. 

Every day, I’m shufflin’

The moment the beat dropped, it was like muscle memory kicked in. Izzie was seventeen again–backyard speakers blaring, Converse scraping against the patio, Simon laughing so hard he nearly dropped his Slurpee. 

And here she was, grown and grumbling, and still shufflin’. 

The gym exploded into cheers. 

Phones were out. Screams filled the air. Izzie didn’t have a care in the world. She leaned into it, channeling every ounce of her Party Rock glory, even pulling in a few brave eighth graders who’d been trying to mimic the moves from the sidelines. She passed them the spotlight as the next verse hit. 

When she finally stumbled off the floor, sweaty and breathless, Hana clapped her proudly on the back. 

“Wow! You still remember those moves?” 

“You can take the girl out of the Party Rock world,” Izzie panted, “but you can’t take the girl out of the Party Rock.” 

Hana blinked. “What?” 

“It’s a Party Rock thing,” Izzie said with a grin, still laughing breathlessly. 

“Uh-huh…”Hana slowly nodded, clearly still processing Izzie’s Party Rock proclamation. 

“I’m gonna go grab some water,” Izzie said, already wiping sweat off her brow. “But we’ve got three songs left, so I’m gonna check outside real quick before we wrap.” 

“Aye-yi, boss lady,” Hana grinned, giving her a lazy salute. 

Izzie made her way toward the back hallway, sneakers squeaking against the linoleum, the music still thumping behind her. The quiet outside the gym felt like an exhale. 

Her phone buzzed again. She glanced down. 

Simon: I miss you, Iz. All of it. Me, you, and the Party Rock crew. 

Izzie blinked at the message. Just stood there for a moment in the hallway lit by buzzing fluorescent lights. The words sat on the screen like a stone in her hand: small, heavy, familiar. A memory wrapped in a text. 

Outside the gym, the glow from the fairy lights flickered softly. Inside, kids danced like the world was ending, a feeling that Izzie knew all too well. Now, in the stillness between both spaces, Izzie just…breathed.