“Oh,” Aunt Lil says. “I did, yes, when you went to bed last night. August, I love you so much. I can’t think about losing you. I want to do everything to keep you here.”

Davina puts her hand on Aunt Lil’s. “We actually spent the afternoon looking up therapists for you. Therapy is a great way to talk to someone honestly and heal. We found a transgender man named Sam Golden; he’s been working with trans and nonbinary teens for years.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Aunt Lil says.

“Will you talk to him?” Davina asks.

I feel the love surrounding me, and for the first time in days, I feel safe. I dread talking to a therapist but know it will help. “Yes, I will,” I say.

“That’s great news,” Aunt Lil says.

“Can I read you my character study?” I ask.

“Please,” Aunt Lil says, sipping her tea. I can see her hand shake a bit. This must be hard for her.

I open my notebook and clear my throat. “I am August. A boy born into the wrong body and to the wrong parents, but that didn’t stop him. He once believed that if he was good enough at acting, his parents would accept him for being transgender. He now knows that’s not reality. He can’t change their minds. So, he must change his own mind.”

I look up from my notebook and see their eyes on me. I nod and continue, “Before today, August thought he was an impostor. And he was right. He was trying to put an act on, whether it be the party guy, the class clown, or some heightened version of himself. He was always trying to be someone else. August realized that if you’re always acting like someone else, then you will feel like an impostor.”

I flip the page. “I tried to act cool, but it’s gotten in the way of being me. Of being August. And in the moments when I was genuine and real—I was August.”

I close my notebook. Aunt Lil wipes a tear. “That’s wonderful.”

Then Davina says the four most beautiful words: “Let’s go get pizza.”

Twenty-Four

Twenty-Four

Monday, October 28

12:45 P.M.

“Joshua Downs, please report to dressing room three,” Brady announces over the speakers. I sent him a text this morning and asked him to do that. I wait for Joshua on my broken folding chair in my janitor-closet dressing room with a box of things in my lap. Betty isn’t here yet—she usually makes it to rehearsal right before call time. My body is shaking and sweating, but I’m ready.