Trolls: Finding You Again

Callbacks

"—the tendency to overthink everything?" Poppy teased.

Viva laughed. "Okay, yes, that too. But seriously, you've got this. When's the callback?"

"A week and a half. Which feels like forever and not enough time at the same time."

"Well, that's good. Gives you time to prepare. You should run lines every day. Sing until you can't sing anymore. Live in that character."

Poppy sighed happily. "That's the plan. I just... I wish I knew what Branch thought. He didn't really say much today."

"He's probably just... Branch," Viva said gently. "You know him. He notices more than he says."

"Yeah... maybe."

______________________________________________________

Branch sat on the edge of his bed, guitar propped beside him, working a screwdriver into the headstock like it was a puzzle. Floyd walked in and sat on his bed.
"Busy day?" Floyd asked casually.

"Kind of," Branch said without looking up.

Floyd raised an eyebrow. "Want to elaborate, or should I guess?"

Branch set the screwdriver down, finally meeting his brother's gaze. "They posted the callback list today. Poppy's on it—for the lead role."

Floyd smiled. "Nice. She must be over the moon."

Branch hesitated. "Yeah. She... hugged me."

That got a wider smile out of Floyd. "You? Hugged? And survived?"

Branch rolled his eyes. "She just got excited, that's all. And I... didn't pull away."

Floyd tilted his head, a little surprised. "So... you let it happen?"

"I didn't hate it," Branch admitted quietly, picking at a guitar string. "But I'm not making a big deal out of it. Oh, and I'm on the set design team. Got exactly what I wanted."

Floyd stepped farther into the room, leaning on the dresser. "You know, most people would take that as a sign they're allowed to let good things in every once in a while. You didn't want to sing, you got design crew. You didn't want to deal with sympathy, and she gave you something else instead—support. That's not charity, Branch. That's someone being proud of you."

Branch gave him a skeptical look. "Don't read into it. I'm fine."

"Fine," Floyd said slowly, "is usually what people say when they're not fine, but I'll let it go. For now."

Branch smirked faintly. "Appreciate it."

__________________________________________________________

The thick snow had blanketed the streets overnight, turning the world outside Poppy's window into a quiet white landscape. No school today—just the kind of day that begged for a warm sweater, a hot drink, and uninterrupted practice.

Poppy sat cross-legged on her bedroom floor, script pages spread around her like petals, letting the soft winter light spill over them. The memory of yesterday's hug with Branch came back to her in an almost physical way—the tight squeeze, his pause, the faint shift that told her he hadn't pulled away. Half a second, maybe, but it had lingered in her chest. That fleeting moment of warmth gave her just enough energy to start.

She cleared her throat and read the first line of her scene, putting every ounce of feeling she could muster into it.

"No, you don't understand! It wasn't just a dream—"

She stopped mid-line, frowning. "Too dramatic." She tried again, softer this time.

"No, you don't understand... it wasn't just a dream."

Better.

On her desk, her laptop was open to a playlist of the musical's songs. The melody for her big number drifted out, gentle at first before swelling into the soaring chorus. She took a deep breath and sang along, careful to hit the high notes just right. Halfway through, she cracked a note and groaned.

"Okay, no panicking," she muttered, flipping to her vocal warm-up app. She began humming scales, tapping her fingers nervously on her knee.

She still had a week and a half before callbacks—plenty of time to get better, but also plenty of time to overthink.

Poppy stood and moved to her mirror, script in hand, rehearsing lines while watching her own expressions. Smiling when her character smiled, softening when she was vulnerable.

And all the while, she thought of Branch. He wasn't on the callback list, by choice—but he was on the set design crew. Exactly where he wanted to be. She pictured him in the wings, sleeves rolled up, sketching backgrounds, checking lights, making sure everything ran smoothly. A warm comfort spread through her.

She practiced for another hour, voice scratchier now, mind bouncing between excitement for the role and the odd reassurance of knowing Branch would be nearby.