Cover

Content Warning: This novel depicts transphobia, homophobia, misgendering, deadnaming, and suicidal ideation. If you feel that any of these subjects may trigger an adverse reaction, we advise that you consider not reading this book. If you do read the book and some part of it is beginning to distress you, please stop reading immediately. If you are experiencing suicidal thoughts, feeling hopeless, and need a safe place to talk, many resources are available to you, including the trained counselors at the TrevorLifeline at 866-488-7386 or www.thetrevorproject.org. If you are in immediate crisis, dial 911. As someone who has been there, I want you to know you’re not alone, you’re important, and the world needs you in it. Never ever give up.

Dedication

To my best friend, Bob McSmith.

Act One: New York

Act One: New York

One

One

Sunday, September 8, 2019

12:00 P.M.

If you saw me now, you’d say my dreams are coming true. I’m about to audition for a spot at the most prestigious art high school in the country. That’d be any actor’s dream. But last night, I dreamed I was naked in a classroom full of people. Will that be coming true? What about the one where I’m onstage and can’t remember my lines? I’ll pass on both. But this dream, I wouldn’t mind if it came true.

I smooth out my shirt, run my hand through my hair, and walk into the classroom. Unlike in my dream, I’m wearing clothes. It’s a regular classroom except for the fact that there’s a stage and a Steinway piano. Back home, we’d push desks out of the way and roll in the slightly out-of-tune piano from the band room. Other than that, it’s a normal classroom that could possibly change my life forever. No big deal.

The man I assume is Mr. Daniels looks up from his tattered paperback. He’s got messy gray hair and a slightly less messy gray beard. Glasses sitting low on his nose—all smart people wear glasses—and slumped posture. Beside him sits a girl—a cute girl—possibly the same age as me. I notice her eyes first, big and brown. She has black hair and high cheekbones, reminding me of a young Idina Menzel. She smiles at me. They both make me nervous for different reasons.

“I’m here for the audition,” I announce in the deepest voice possible.

“Ah, you must be the infamous August Greene.”

“Yes, sir,” I say, wondering what’s so infamous about me.

“I’m Mr. Daniels and this is Anna, my assistant.”

“Very nice to meet you. Thank you for taking the time—”

“Let’s get started, shall we?” he asks, cutting off my hashtag-blessed speech. I drop my backpack on a desk and find center stage. “Did you bring us a headshot and résumé?”