Another usher (in a beret) leads us to our seats. The theater feels old and unchanged, and there’s a musty smell of moldy carpet and popcorn. We find our seats, and Anna calls aisle. The seat beside me is empty, and I hope it stays that way. The well-worn chairs are too close together and too small. There’s an outline of Paris projected on the curtain. “I’m suddenly in the mood for French fries,” I joke.

“Oui oui,” Anna says, then checks her phone. “Five minutes until curtain. Back to the quick-fire questions?”

“Bring it on,” I say.

“Why acting?”

I shake my head. “You want a short answer for why acting?”

“Just try,” she suggests, flipping a page of her Playbill.

Things got dark after coming out to my parents. I was lost. And uncomfortable in a body that continued to defy me with the beginning of boobs and hips. My freshman year started, and I walked around in a thick cloud of blah.

My friend Hugo knew something was up—we’ve been friends since fourth grade—but I couldn’t tell him. Too scared he’d push me away. Being the best best friend, he came to me with the solution to my sads (that’s what he called it: “my sads”). Hugo’s big idea was to sign up for Theater Club. Cassie was joining, and he was looking to land the role of her boyfriend. He said it would be fun to act like somebody else, and that didn’t sound bad. That’s all I wanted—to be someone else.

We showed up to the first meeting, and I tried to remain invisible (my typical MO at West Grove High). The teacher asked us to break into small groups and perform for the club. I don’t remember much of the performance, but it felt good. It felt right. When it was done, Hugo ran over and said, “Wow, you can really act.” I didn’t believe him. What did he know? But then the teacher came up and said the same thing.

After I joined Theater Club, things got better at home. Turns out, I was an actor all my life—playing the role of a girl. My anxiety calmed down when I figured out that I didn’t need to be a girl; I only needed to act like one. For my parents, I played the part of their daughter. The world, I heard, is a stage. And it was working.

“August?” Anna asks. “Why acting?”

I find her eyes and smile. “It saved my life,” I say simply.

The lights lower and the crowd goes quiet. My heart speeds up. I can’t believe I’m here. When I go to turn off my phone, I notice there are no new calls. That’s weird. Did my parents give up?