“Did your parents come up from Pennsylvania to see you?”

I straighten my spine. “They’ll be here tonight.”

“Well, they will be proud of you. August, you’ve done an excellent job as Rizzo.”

“Thank you,” I say, feeling immediate relief.

“And you know what will be in this theater after Grease ends?”

“Yes, I’ve heard all about Conversion,” I say.

“Did you hear that Chris Caeser is no longer with the production?

“No,” I say, my pulse quickening.

“No one has—it hasn’t been announced. The producers listened to the demand for a transgender actor to play the role.”

“That’s surprising,” I admit.

“Is it?” he asks. “There are some good producers out there.” Mr. Daniels shifts his body so he’s facing me. “August, the producer and casting agent are coming to the show tonight. They want to see you perform.”

My hands fidget. “They are considering me for the part?”

He picks something off his sweater. “They might be. It would make a good story, hiring a trans actor from the very high school they’ll be workshopping at.”

I think of Mom. She won’t let me be in that show. How would I keep it from her? This won’t work. I can’t do something like this, not now, not with my parents. “I don’t have enough experience,” I say.

“Says who?”

“Says me.”

Mr. Daniels frowns. “I thought this would make you happy.”

“I don’t know how I feel about it.”

“That’s fair. And I do worry about you skipping steps in your actor’s journey. There’s so much for you to learn about your art and the business. Please don’t take this harshly, but I’m not convinced you are ready.”

Skip steps? Not ready? He doesn’t know me, or what I’ve been through. “I think I’m ready,” I say defiantly.

“Very well,” he says. “Pressure is an interesting thing. Some actors can handle it, others cannot. The ability to act is only half the battle of being an actor. A great deal of your time will be spent in auditions, callbacks, rehearsals. And the strong, the ones who not only handle pressure but shine brighter because of it, those are the ones who make it.”

“Mr. Daniels?” I say as he gets to his feet. “Why did you tell me they were coming?”

“You didn’t want to know?” he asks.

“I don’t know,” I admit. Part of me thinks I would’ve been better not knowing. I have enough to deal with knowing my parents are in the audience. “Ignorance is bliss, right?”

“Is it really bliss, Mr. Greene? I wouldn’t know.”

I fast-walk back the dressing room—I’m behind schedule. I haven’t even started my preshow rituals. As soon as I enter the dressing room, Elijah jumps in front of me. “What was that about?”