Probably not a great idea to tell her what I was just doing. “I was having breakfast with my aunt,” I lie.

“Sounds nice,” she says. “Here’s the sides. I’ll come get you in a few.”

She leaves me with two pages and a bunch of nerves. I scan the words, trying to figure out the character. The scene is a back-and-forth with a counselor during a group therapy session. My reading is interrupted by footsteps coming down the hall. A man approaches with a scruffy beard and a man bun on top of his head. Bulky sweater and big boots. Like a big, stylish bear. He looks at me as he nears, chewing on a toothpick. He says nothing as he enters the theater. That must be Joshua Downs.

Shortly after that, Rosalyn peeks her head out the door. “You ready, babe?”

I get on my feet. “As I’ll ever be,” I say, following her to the stage. I find center and let the limelight warm me.

“Everyone, this is August Greene,” Rosalyn announces as she takes her seat in the audience among a row of five serious-looking faces.

“Hello, August. I’m Joshua Downs. The director of this show.” A toothpick rests at the edge of his mouth.

“We saw August in Grease last night,” Rosalyn says. “He was a spectacular Rizzo.”

“Rizzo?” Joshua asks. “Why Rizzo?”

“Because she’s a great character,” I say, my voice shaky.

“But you’re a guy? Why play a girl part?”

Is this an audition or an interrogation? I steady myself. “That’s the role I wanted. I can play both genders.”

Joshua looks at the older man to his right. “This guy can play Rizzo, but Caesar can’t play Ajax? This world makes no sense anymore.” He leans back with his arms crossed.

“All right, August,” Rosalyn says, “I’ll be reading the part of Cheryl, the counselor. We know you haven’t read the script and don’t know much about Ajax, but show us what you got.”

I look down at the pages and collect myself. I am Ajax, a trans guy forced into conversion therapy by his parents. I’m too tough to show emotion. My edges are rough and I’m ready to fight. More than anything, I don’t want to be in conversion therapy.

“Ajax,” Rosalyn says, beginning the scene. “You’ve been quiet today. Care to share?”

I look away. Snarl my lip. Let hate and pain well up in my chest. “Not really in the mood to talk, I guess.”

“The point of this group is to share your feelings,” she says.

I look at Rosalyn with untrusting eyes. “The point of the group is to brainwash.”

She sits up in her chair, meeting my energy. “You know that’s not true.”