Brody was not uncomfortable on stage. He’d made his debut as Oliver when he was eight and never looked back. He enjoyed the lights, the music, the applause. And never once had he balked because of stage fright.
But on the first night of rehearsals for White Christmas, his stomach flopped around like a beached tuna. Stupid, he told himself. Foolish. Yet none of the tension eased as he slipped in through the familiar lobby doors and made his way into the auditorium. The rest of the cast was congregating at the front, beside the orchestra pit. They were laughing, joking. A few folks were singing. And there was Tyler up on stage, already running through some choreography with Tucker.
Unlike the night of auditions, the auditorium was well lit, so when she came out of her spin facing
