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We looked ourselves over in the mirror one last time, finding value in the sweat, marks of sun, lines, and age, before patting the other on the shoulders and saying, "We got this;" wearing the black for the first time since Nigel's now idiosyncratic, "Uh, I'm sorry, boys . . . but it's a no for me," crushed our dreams of making it to Vegas and becoming the first liturgical ribbon dancing tandem to make it through auditions for So You Think You Can Dance. One last exhale. A moment of studied silence to go within and find the rhythm.

Silent steps through the door, down the row, and to our marks.

Two, Three, Snap!

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