The stage at the Herrin Civic Center Auditorium may be framed by light and velvet, but what happens there reaches far beyond the footlights. Each winter, when the curtain rises on the school’s annual musical, it’s not just a performance — it’s a portrait of what occurs when young people are trusted to feel deeply, lead boldly, and tell stories that matter.

This year’s Cinderella looks familiar only at first glance. Beneath its sparkle lies a story of revolution, courage, and compassion — the kind of message Herrin’s students seem born to tell. Sarah Johnson, who plays Cinderella, explains: “It’s about people not getting what they need from those in power — and learning how to change that. It’s more about justice than fairy dust.”

Johnson has been acting since age five and has appeared in more than thirty productions, from The Addams Family to Little Shop of Horrors. A musician as well as an actor, she composed Flight of the Kākāpō, a band piece inspired by the world’s only flightless parrot. “It’s about believing you can do what others say you can’t,” she says.

Opposite her is fellow senior Holdyn Westberry, whose calm presence on stage belies the busy rhythms of his schedule. He serves as a drum major in the marching band and plays several instruments when he isn’t portraying the prince in Cinderella. “People always think the prince is the problem,” he says with a smile. “But in this version, he’s learning to see through deception — and how to listen.”

Listening, Lewis says, is what unites Herrin’s performing arts culture. In his twenty-five years with the district, he’s seen how music and theater can turn a group of students into a family. “We want a place where kids feel safe and accepted,” he says. “Then they can use their creative minds to do things they can’t always do in other classes.”

For Westberry, that sense of family is real. His younger brother plays the royal advisor in the show. “It’s fun to fight with your brother on stage,” he says. “It also reminds me that theater connects people who might never talk in class — athletes, coders, everyone — and they all find a home here.”

Johnson nods. “Herrin’s big enough to give you opportunity, but small enough that everybody knows your name,” she says. “You can be yourself here — and someone’s always cheering for you.”

Lewis smiles when he mentions former students who’ve become teachers and colleagues, including band director Allison Grace. “That’s the full circle,” he says. “You see them grow into amazing people, and they come back to help the next group do the same.”

Both Johnson and Westberry plan to study music education — she at Southern Illinois University, he at Webster University. When they take their final bows, the moment will be bittersweet, but the lesson endures: when students are given space to express themselves honestly, art does what it’s always done best — it teaches humanity.

At Herrin, a show is never just a show. It’s a mirror held up to life — a reminder that stories have the power to make the world a little kinder.