The studio buzzed with different noises and bright colors. Camera shutters clicked, directors barked orders, and children were giggling as they shuffled into new outfits. Abigail moved among them with her clipboard tucked close to her chest, crouching to fix a little boy’s crooked shirt, smoothing a girl’s ponytail before she stepped under the lights.
It wasn’t glamorous, not in the way people imagined when they heard the word “studio,” but it filled her in a way she hadn’t expected. The chaos, the bright lights, the little bursts of pride on the children’s faces when someone praised them. All of it was messy, loud, and oddly comforting. It reminded her of teaching, though this version was brighter, sharper, and harder to control.
Halfway across the room, her steps slowed. Her hand reach
