Encore on Polished Wood

A stretch of glossy dark floorboards opened right before me, catching a crisp beam from the overhead lamp. My cue. A huge fan out there waiting—that called for something special. I locked into position, paused until the house went still, then snapped into a backward glide. Smooth, silent velvet friction. *Hee-hee!* Right before reaching the skirting board, I spun on the tips of my fabric shoes and froze mid-beat, one arm extended toward my reflection in the mirror. The acoustics here bounce every rustle right back like a quiet cheer. I held the pose until the floor stopped ringing.