We exit the theater and walk away from Times Square. The sun sets, turning the sky pink. “Are you with someone?” she asks.

“No,” I say with a laugh. “How about you?” I ask.

“Not really. I haven’t met anyone interesting enough to be my person.”

“Person?” I ask.

“Yeah, I don’t care about the gender.”

“Cool,” I say. “I’m into girls, but they aren’t into me.”

She gives me a little push. “Don’t worry, you’ll do fine at SPA.”

We stop at the corner of Forty-Sixth Street and Eighth Avenue and face each other. If this were a scene in a play, we’d kiss right now. She smiles at me and I look away, nervous. Instead of leaning in for a kiss, I ask for help calling my Lyft. When the car is one minute away, I start my goodbye. The big ending on the role of Wide-Eyed New Guy.

“Anna, this day was perfect. Thank you for being an exceptional tour guide.”

“Say it,” she demands.

“Thank you for taking my New York virginity.”

“You are so welcome, Augustus,” she says, grabbing my hand.

“Augustus?” I repeat.

“Mighty Augustus, that’s what you are to me. Breaking free from Whatever Grove Pennsylvania and moving to New York. You’re literally following your dreams.”

“I still have to get accepted,” I say, not wanting to jinx it.

“You will,” she says.

My car pulls up. Anna hugs me tight—her face close to my neck. The driver honks, scaring us into letting go. I’m about to get in the front seat when Anna directs me to the back. (Lyft virgin as well.)

After we get out of the Times Square traffic, the driver passes the aux cord back. “Want to listen to music?” Big mistake, buddy. I grab the cord and plug in my phone. This guy is too trusting with his ears. I find the Hamilton soundtrack and “My Shot” fills the car. I look out the window and try to process the day. After the song ends, I hit the back button, starting a new round of Not throwing away my shot. The driver sighs loudly, but I don’t care.

Three months ago, I tried to come out to my parents again. The first time I asked my parents to let me transition, I bombed. A true no-star performance. But after two years in Theater Club, I knew how to put on a show. I gave an impassioned plea to start my transition. They sat there quietly, listening. Then said no on the spot. The first time I asked, my parents could ignore it. The second time, they had to do something about it.