I can’t get properly in my feelings about the show ending because I’m worried sick about my parents’ visit. Everything must go perfectly, or this won’t just be my last show—it’ll be my last day as a student here. I’ve played the role of their daughter for sixteen years. What’s another night? Being a professional actor is my dream, and this is my path to achieve it. There can be no mistakes tonight, both onstage and especially off.

Two minutes before call time, I walk through the dressing room doors feeling nostalgic. The show isn’t over, and I already miss it. The feeling is mutual—everyone hugging and exchanging handwritten cards with pieces of candy taped to the envelopes. A few cards wait for me on my workstation. I eat the candy while arranging my makeup but get distracted by my phone. That happens a lot now. I’m up to two thousand followers. There are more each time I check. Social media feels like a game, and for now, I’m scoring points.

There’s also a text from Mom. My parents arrived in the city a couple of hours ago and checked into their hotel. She sent pictures of their small room in Times Square with a view of a brick wall. Aunt Lil is about to escort them to the theater. I wouldn’t be able to pull this off without Aunt Lil. We spent an hour last night going over the details. This isn’t easy for her, but she knows I need her.

I’ve thought about everything that could go wrong with my parents. Mom could talk to someone at the show. My exit plan could fail. Something could happen at dinner. To avoid the concession stand—which could be a hotbed for parent small talk—I had Aunt Lil pack snacks and water bottles. They don’t do social media or the internet—so I’m not worried about that. I hope I didn’t miss anything.

“August Greene,” Meena says over the intercom. “Mr. Daniels would like to see you onstage.”

My heart stops. What could this be? He’s mad. He hates me. He hates my performance. He hates me and my performance. He’s going to make me sit out the show. I walk down the hallway thinking up every worst-case scenario for this impromptu meeting. I enter from the wings and find Mr. Daniels sitting on the lip of the stage typing on his phone. “Hello, August,” he says without looking up.

“Hello, Mr. Daniels,” I say, trying to keep my voice steady and low.

“Come have a seat.”

I walk across the stage and lower myself near him, our legs hanging over the stage. “How’s it going?” I say, feeling the need say something.

“Fine, fine,” he says, then drops his phone into his coat pocket. “Last show.”

I nod. “I’m sad it’s ending.”