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By Wednesday Holden was able to sit through the entire rehearsal without doing a single push-up, and twice during one of the big musical numbers Ella glanced at him and caught his lips moving silently. Like he was trying to sing the words to the song. That day after class Ella went to Mr. Hawkins’ desk. “Do you see it? The change in Holden?”

“Change?” Mr. Hawkins looked up. He was studying the
Beauty
script, making notations in the margins.

Ella hid her disappointment. Maybe she only saw the changes because she was looking so closely. Or maybe she was only imagining them. “You didn’t notice?”

“Hmmm … He hasn’t stopped rehearsal this week, if that’s what you mean?”

“He’s following along. Today I looked back when we were singing and both times he was moving his lips! That’s got to mean something.”

Mr. Hawkins stopped short of rolling his eyes, but his body language managed the same effect. “I wouldn’t expect you to be an expert on autism, Miss Reynolds. But you must know that quirky, repetitive behaviors come with the territory. Please … do not try to read too much into the eccentricities Mr. Harris provides during rehearsal time.” He looked back at the script. “It’s enough to say that the young man enjoys his time with us. Beyond that, I wouldn’t try looking so hard.”

Ella wanted to tell him that she’d paid Holden’s theater fees, but this no longer seemed like the time. She backed up from his desk. “Yes, sir. Thank you for letting him stay with us.”

Her teacher put his right forearm on his desk and turned so he could face her. “Can I be frank with you, Miss Reynolds?”

“Yes, sir.” Maybe this was when Mr. Hawkins was going to admit to having seen the same changes in Holden. She waited, eyes wide.

“Our brief and fleeting rehearsal time must be about more than Holden Harris’ advancements or lack thereof. This is, without question, the most important spring musical Fulton High has ever put on.”

“Yes, sir.” She hid her frustration. She already knew how much was riding on the play. But far more important was what they might do as a group for Holden Harris.

“Miss Reynolds.” The slimmest degree of kindness warmed his tone. “I appreciate your philanthropic efforts on behalf of Mr. Harris, but I need your focus.” He swept his arm dramatically to one side. “You are Belle, the ingénue of all ingénues. The quintessential Disney role with the potential to capture your student body and fill every seat in our theater.” He paused, his eyes unblinking. “Try to remember that, will you?”

“But maybe if we —”

“Please.”

She bit the inside of her lip to keep from arguing. She would need Mr. Hawkins on her side if she was ever to get Holden a spot on the stage. “Yes, sir.” She nodded with as much respect as she could muster. “I’ll remember. Thank you, sir.”

Ella’s Friday-afternoon conversation with Holden’s mother had become a regular experience, and this time—after Holden’s mom signed the paperwork allowing Holden to perform—she shared her frustration. “No one thinks he can perform. Not ever.”

“We can’t blame them.” Again there was a peace about the woman that made it easy to be with her. She explained how autism varies in degrees across a spectrum of affected behaviors. “Some kids have what’s called Asperger’s Syndrome, or more of a highfunctioning autism.” Her eyes couldn’t hide her sorrow. “Holden is not one of those kids. The teachers—even Mr. Hawkins—are aware of that. So they’re only going with what research and evidence typically show. A student like Holden would never have the ability to perform.”

Ella learned a lot about Holden during their conversations. Mrs. Harris explained that Holden didn’t want to be touched. “It’s common for kids at his place on the autistic spectrum.” As far as anyone could tell, touch provided too much stimulus for people with significant autism, so that even a brush against his skin could send him into a panic, make him fall to the floor for a quick series of push-ups.

“I try now and then, but I haven’t held his hand or hugged him since he was three,” Mrs. Harris told Ella last Friday. She blinked back the tears filling her eyes.

“Never?” Ella couldn’t imagine such a thing. Even her family still hugged each other once in a while.

“Well… never in the daytime. He’s a light sleeper, but sometimes, if I’m quiet, I can slip into his room and sit in a chair by his bed just to be near him. Once in a while I’ll touch his face or his hair. But not very often.”

For Ella, this was the saddest fact of all—that Holden never let anyone touch him. She’d learned in sociology that touch was incredibly beneficial. She’d read about studies where babies in orphanages thrived or failed in direct relation to the amount of physical attention they received. After that conversation with Mrs. Harris, Ella was convinced that part of the key to reaching Holden would eventually come in the form of touch.

As the days passed, Ella felt herself more drawn to Holden. The whispered words became occasional moments of humming —right on key. Rather than staring out the window, once in a while he’d make eye contact with Mr. Hawkins. He didn’t rock as much or fiddle with his PECS cards as often. Changes were happening for Holden, no matter how small, and Ella was committed to helping him. He had been well once; he could be well again. Nothing could convince her otherwise. Still, she decided to wait until Holden improved a little more before asking Mr. Hawkins if Holden could be in the play.

Over the next week Ella was careful to sing a little clearer and deliver her lines with more emphasis. If she wanted to help Holden, she had to start by delivering her best performance for Mr. Hawkins. The approach was better than fighting with him. As he grew happier with her rehearsals, he was bound to see for himself the changes in Holden.

Ella didn’t have to wait long. The biggest breakthrough for
Holden came that Thursday—the third Thursday in October—almost two weeks after her meeting with the drama instructor.

The class was singing the final song in the show, the reprise of
Beauty and the Beast’s
theme, when Ella heard a new voice behind her. It wasn’t as clear as the others, and it was a little too loud. But somehow the voice was familiar. She turned, expecting to see some new kid in one of the rows behind her. Instead she saw what a few other kids were noticing at the same time.

Holden Harris was singing.

He wasn’t looking at any of them, not even her. His eyes were cast somewhere near the top of the room where the walls and ceiling connected. But there was no denying the obvious. Holden was singing right along with them. Ella wanted to stop the rehearsal and celebrate, but she didn’t want Holden to stop. Ella kept singing, but she made a little waving motion at Mr. Hawkins.

When she finally caught his attention, she pointed discretely toward Holden. Mr. Hawkins must’ve heard him singing, too, because their teacher immediately turned his attention to the back of the room and kept it there. His eyes registered his shock, and the rhythm of the song fell off slightly. But he didn’t look away even as he continued playing.

Ella wanted to laugh out loud in celebration or run around the room shouting the victory. But she didn’t want anything to shut the window that was opening in Holden’s mind. So she kept singing and waited until class was over. Then, while she was putting her script in her backpack, she secretly watched while half a dozen kids approached him.

“Hey, man.” This from the guy playing Gaston. “Nice to hear you singing.” He tried to give Holden a fist pound, but Holden only stared at the floor and nodded. The difference this time was that Holden didn’t rock or flap his arms.

Ella narrowed her eyes, studying him. Was she imagining his
response? She watched closer, but each time one of the cast members walked up and told him “Good job” or “You sounded nice” or some other compliment, Holden did the same thing. A slight head nod at the appropriate time.

When the rest of the cast was gone, Ella walked up to him. They had a routine by now. Every day she walked him to his bus —except Fridays, when his mother met them here. Today Holden needed to catch the bus, so Ella didn’t have long. She walked up and stood a foot from where he was still sitting. “That was nice, Holden. Hearing you sing.”

He nodded, but this time he didn’t keep his eyes on the ground. He lifted his face to hers and he smiled. Then he did something that took Ella’s breath away. He opened his mouth and began to sing, “Tale as old as time, song as old as rhyme, Beauty and the Beast.”

The sound that came from Ella was more laugh than cry, and her hand flew to her mouth.
Don’t overreact,
she told herself.
Don’t scare him away.
She stifled her excitement. “That’s perfect. Just like that.” She took a step toward the door. “Come on. You have to get to your bus.”

Holden stood and the two of them walked out of the class. Before they left, something caught her eye and she turned back to see something that made her smile almost as much as Holden

singing.

From his spot as his desk, Mr. Hawkins had seen the whole thing.

T
HERE WAS NOTHING UNUSUAL ABOUT WATCHING
H
OLDEN CLIMB
off the bus that afternoon, no signs that this would be a day Tracy would remember all her life. She agreed with Ella, of course. Holden was changing. Slowly, gradually, he seemed more connected. The hard part for Tracy was that all Holden’s connecting
was with Ella. So far there wasn’t a single difference in the way the two of them spent their afternoons and evenings.

Kate had gone to a friend’s house to play, so it was just the two of them today. Drizzle spat at them as they walked home to their apartment that afternoon, but the weather didn’t change Holden’s pace. He walked a few steps and then turned in a circle, walked a few more and another circle. This was something new, something that had come about since Holden had reconnected with Ella. Tracy tried to analyze why the circles, but all she could figure was that maybe he was looking for Ella. As if every few steps it occurred to him that she should be here, and she wasn’t.

Whatever caused the circles, Holden seemed happy. His expression had always been pleasant, but lately he walked around with what looked like a permanent smile. Wide innocent blue eyes and a constant happy face. He seemed a lot less handicapped than some of the angry customers at Walmart.

They reached the apartment, and like every afternoon they sat at the kitchen table in silence while Holden ate his snack. Most days Tracy didn’t ask questions. His lack of response was too hard on her. Instead she issued statements she assumed were true. “Math was good today, Holden. You’re very good at math.”

He didn’t look at her, didn’t respond.

“Ella says you’re doing well in theater. She wants you to be in the play. I think you know that, Holden.”

What Holden did next was so out of the norm, Tracy had to remind herself she wasn’t dreaming. In response to her statement about theater, Holden nodded his head. He didn’t make eye contact or change his expression. His eyes were still intent on the line of raisins he’d made in a circle around the edge of his plate. But that didn’t change the fact. She had talked to him, and he’d nodded in response.

Ella had told her all the ways Holden had improved lately. How often he looked at her, and how he was moving his mouth
like he was singing along. Since Tracy still hadn’t seen that for herself, sometimes it was a little hard to believe. But now … now Holden was doing exactly what Ella said he could do. He was demonstrating an appropriate response. He was interacting!

Dear God … it’s a miracle. Whatever You’re doing, please … please let it continue.
Tears fell onto Tracy’s cheeks like the streams in the desert she’d prayed about so many times. She wanted to rush to her son and take him in her arms, but instead she pressed her feet against the floor and refused to move. The one rule Holden’s therapists had emphasized over the years was this: if he starts showing progress, don’t smother him. Finding a way out of autism even in small degrees had to happen slowly.

She wiped her tears, careful not to make any sound that would tip Holden off to her emotions. Holden had a sensitive auditory system, so a moment like this required no strange or new noises. She waited until her throat wasn’t so tight. “I think you’d make a very good cast member. You love music so much.”

She watched, desperate for the same response and then … before she had time to pray, Holden did it again. He nodded. Then he turned his head in the general direction of the living room.

“Time for your movie, is that right?”

Another nod, his eyes wide and full of light. That new sweet smile lifting his lips. He stood and walked to the living room and she followed close behind. The movie was already cued up, like always, so Tracy sat down on the sofa, took hold of the remote, and hit the Start button.

This was usually when Holden sat on the floor a few feet from the screen and got lost in the movie. But instead he did something completely out of character —… something that made her heart skip a beat.

He sat on the couch beside her.

Not right beside her, but close enough that Tracy couldn’t move or draw a breath or do anything but realize the obvious. The move was absolutely intentional. On his own, Holden had broken his routine of so many years, and he’d chosen to sit beside her. As if this time he wanted to watch the movie with her. Fresh tears flooded Tracy’s eyes and again she needed all her strength to keep from shouting out loud. She’d spent the last fifteen years an arm’s distance from Holden’s physical body, and a million miles from his heart. Fifteen years of praying for Holden and asking God to give her some sign that her sweet Holden was still somewhere inside. Fifteen years without a hint of an answer.

Until today.

She couldn’t stop the tears sliding down her cheeks, but she somehow managed to stay silent. She wouldn’t have done anything to ruin this moment and she had to remind herself it was really happening. Holden was sitting beside her. He hadn’t done this for fifteen years. Tracy folded her arms tight across her waist so she wouldn’t reach out and hug him.

Then—when she couldn’t breathe without trying—she made the only move she dared make. She put her hand on the sofa beside her, in the space between them. A minute passed, and the tears continued streaming down her cheeks. And then, at the point in the movie where Ella and Holden stood side by side and sang “Jesus Loves Me,” it happened.