AUGUST: I don’t know any trans actors playing cisgender characters on Broadway. That’s what we should be protesting.

ANNA: August, focus!

AUGUST: It’s cool that people care so much

ANNA: I’m going to bed

Sixteen

Sixteen

Wednesday, October 16

8:55 P.M.

“Come on, man, your fans await,” Elijah says, at the boys’ dressing room door. Everyone is headed outside to go talk to parents and friends and admirers. The front of the school is the equivalent to the stage door on Broadway.

I wave him off. “I don’t have fans.”

“Oh, now we’re acting humble?”

“I’ll be there in two minutes, I swear,” I say.

“Making them wait, total diva move,” he jokes, and leaves.

I look at my face in the mirror, red from the makeup remover wipes, and smile. I did it. My first show at SPA is done. I performed in front of one thousand people. It scares me how right this moment feels. This is what I want forever. The stage. The audience. Acting. Being out there tonight felt like a dream come true and also just the beginning. But that’s scary because if something goes wrong on Friday night, my parents could end this dream.

But right now, for this moment, I will live in this feeling. The show went by so fast—like a blur—almost like it didn’t happen. My performance was solid minus a slight wobble when my foot slipped through the set piece during “Look at Me, I’m Sandra Dee.” And I messed up a couple of dance moves in “Born to Hand Jive.” But my solo brought the house down. The energy from the audience was electric. At the end of the show, they were on their feet as soon as we hit our last pose. And during the curtain call, when I took center stage for my bow, the crowd went nuts. The feeling was explosive, like a firecracker going off in my body.

Backstage after the show was an orgy of emotion. Everyone hugging. Crying. Lots of compliments. Even Tess hugged me. I thought it was an accident, but she said good job. If you ever want to catch actors at their nicest, try after a show.

“What are you doing?” Meena appears in the doorway, careful to never enter the boys’ room. “Go outside and receive the praise you deserve.”

“Soon,” I say.

“You made magic happen on that stage, August. I wouldn’t bullshit—the audience was on your side. Ugh, you were freaking great.”

“Thanks,” I say, blushing. “We’re headed to Old John’s. Want to join?”

She smiles. “Sounds good. I need waffles, or I’ll die.”

“Meet you outside?” I ask.

“Give me five,” she says, disappearing to her duties.

Anna got a bunch of flowers, and we called Meena onstage during the curtain call. She took the flowers, and a bow.