“Harper, I think I’ve got it!” our Barfee, one of the leading roles in Putnam, yells as I walk into the Shawnee Mission Northwest auditorium.
He’s already on the stage in his tap shoes before the bell has rung. 

Falap heel ball change falap heel ball change toe toe heel heel OUT!

He executes the tap steps perfectly. 

“Great job!” I say giving him a high five. 

Making the iconic dance number “Magic Foot” into a tap number was definitely a choice on my part, and a choice that I fully believed in until I remembered I had exactly three people who knew how to tap and eleven more who didn’t. 

But after the actors’ excitement at the idea, I knew I couldn’t let them down. 

Letting them down, that was the worst that could happen, on top of the show crashing and burning, and me never getting a choreography job ever again. 

But I wasn’t going to think about that. 

***

Every Thanksgiving, I would run down to the TV, plop myself down on our white and grey couch, and patiently wait for the Radio City Rockettes to make their way onto my screen. 

Watching the Rockettes, their perfectly synchronized formations, the shiny green and red dresses, of course, I imagined myself as one of them, but never as the choreographer, the one who makes formations and dance moves.

My eight-year-old brain couldn’t fathom that a person’s brain could create like that. 

During the summer before my freshman year, I decided I wasn’t going to do a musical in the fall. 

With dance team and starting high school, I didn’t want to be too busy, but I still wanted to do something with First Act Theatre Arts, a youth theatre program.  

So, I spoke with the choreographer of “Beauty and the Beast” (who also happened to be one of my dance teachers), and we decided to create the choreography apprentice program. 

Beauty and the Beast made me fall in love with choreographing, seeing a move finally click for someone, or watching your creation come to life on stage. 

On closing night, I sat in the back of the theatre and really took in the show in front of me. Watching the swirls of people on stage, I realized that this is something I really wanted to keep doing. 

So, when Putnam was announced as our fall rep musical and we didn’t have a choreographer, I decided it was the perfect opportunity. 

***

The back of the Northwest Theatre has a slanted floor, not ideal for dancing on. 

While the stage was filled with blocking and singing rehearsals, I found solace in the red brick corners of the theatre, my white AirPods and The 25th Annual Putnam County Spelling Bee soundtrack. 

Whether I was tapping on my room’s carpeted floors or staying an extra hour after dance class to try a routine in the studio. I made time. 

As I kickball changed and recounted the same step for the twenty-fifth time, the show’s dance numbers slowly started to take shape.

It was the Saturday before tech week started, and the show wasn’t finished. Sitting in the front row, watching the madness unfold on stage, I couldn’t help but think I was way over my head trying to do this show. 

I’m a sophomore who has never choreographed a full-length musical by myself. 

And I’m the first student to choreograph a musical at Northwest in recent memory. 

There wasn’t a system set in place; I was making it up as I went. 

The dances weren’t clean.

The lines were crooked. 

I still had to fix, and add, and cut, and we opened in three days.  

On top of that, I had developed a dry cough, and my sniffling had been progressing more each day.

Opening night came quicker and stealthier than I could have imagined. 

Before I knew it, we were opening the doors, and I was sitting at the back of the auditorium by myself, my foot nervously tapping on the slanted floor below me, my stage makeup slowly being sweated off my face. 

As the lights dimmed and the crowd quieted, I leaned forward, preparing myself for what could likely be a masterpiece or a trainwreck. 

The dances hit, the taps sounded as great as they had ever been; it was good. 

Yet I didn’t find myself having that magical moment every choreographer dreams of. When you see all of your hard work come together in one perfect instance. 

But I was content, and that’s all I could really ask for. 

After the show, one of the choreographers from Northwest’s previous show, Chicago, came up to me. 

She hugged me and said, “Harper, that was really great!” “You’re such a good choreographer.” 

The next couple of days, I fought through hacking coughs, dizzy spells, and migraines. Finally, after dance practice in the morning, my body finally gave up. 

I felt like I was going to faint and throw up at the same time, but I couldn’t go home. 

It was closing night.

After a couple of hours sitting in the nurse’s office, I decided I needed to see a doctor. 

“When did you say you started feeling sick?” she asked. 

“Three weeks ago.” 

“Well,” she said, “You have had a sinus infection for around two weeks then.”

They gave me antibiotics and steroids and sent me on my way. 

Closing night is still a blur to me. I left the second the show was over. 

I missed strike, the cast party and saying goodbye to my friends. 

I just went home and slept. 

I’m not winning Tonys, and haven’t choreographed the Macy’s Thanksgiving parade, but I’m one step closer.