I fast-walk down Amsterdam Avenue to Olympic Flame Diner, about five blocks from the school. I needed a nearby restaurant that nobody from SPA would be at. Elijah told me the Olympic Flame is the hangout for Juilliard. The odds of anyone coming here at this time of night are low.

Before going inside, I check my phone. Forty new followers and texts from Elijah and Juliet wishing me luck. It makes things easier knowing that they are thinking about me. I wish I could be at the after-party celebrating with the cast. I wish I could be anywhere other than here.

I walk inside and spot Mom across the diner. I wave and walk past the hostess, careful to carry myself like a girl. I missed my mom’s smile. Big as ever. Her arms open and I walk directly into them. There’s nothing better than Mom’s hug. So comforting and warm, like home. The smell of her floral perfume makes me miss her more. She rubs my back as she hugs me, and I’m sure we are making a scene.

She lets go of me, but keeps her hands on my shoulders and looks at me. Or my hair, rather. It’s the perfect length for Rizzo. Masculine when styled, feminine when wrapped up with a bow. Or with a dumb pink barrette. Her eyes tear up. “I’m so happy to see you,” she says.

“Me too,” I say, tearing up, too.

“Can I get a hug?” Randy says, putting his arm around me. He’s a bigger guy—football player in high school, fried food eater the rest of his life. “You’re a real star now,” he says.

As my parents take their seats across the table, I sit down next to Aunt Lil and try to gauge her mood. “Having fun?”

She leans over and whispers, “I picked the wrong time to stop drinking.”

I give her a half hug. “We can do this.”

“You look . . .” She searches for the right words. “Like shit.”

I laugh, loud.

“What’s so funny?” Mom asks while putting her napkin in her lap. Her hair is the same—curly locks to her shoulders. She wore one of her fancy dresses—blue with white trim made of felt material they stopped making dresses with decades ago. Mom doesn’t spend money on clothes.

“You know Aunt Lil,” I say. “She’s always got something funny to say.”

Mom nods. “Lil, you should have invited Davina.”

I look at my aunt, stunned. Did she tell them about her partner?

“Oh yeah,” Aunt Lil says, fidgeting with her silverware. “I mentioned Davina earlier, you know, my art dealer who comes over for dinner occasionally.”

I nod, agreeing to the story. I need to settle into the scene. I need to call on my improv skills and stay focused. “It’s so good to see you,” I say to my parents. “I miss you.”