Jack shakes their head. “My parents would not let me move without them.”

I’m relieved they understand. Maybe I’m not the only one with controlling parents. “’Cause they wouldn’t be able to watch over you?”

“Oh, no,” Jack says, then cackles. “My mom wouldn’t miss out on being an active participant in my life.”

“Your dance things?”

“My dance, my school, my love life. I’m sure she’s tracking my bowel movements.”

Meena jumps in. “When I came out to my parents as a lesbian, they were so mad at me.”

“I’m sorry,” I say, knowing exactly what it’s like.

Meena laughs. “Oh, no, they were mad because I waited so long to tell them.”

“Sounds nice,” I say.

“Sounds nice until your mom throws you a coming-out party. It’s so embarrassing.” Meena hides her face.

Juliet jumps into the conversation. “When I came out to my mom, around ten, she wanted to throw a party for me.”

“Not a bad idea,” I offer. “Have the gender reveal party in middle school!”

She laughs, then continues, “I was lucky; my parents have been supportive from day one. They got me a therapist. A doctor. Books. And we go to the Philadelphia Trans Wellness Conference every year.”

I shouldn’t be surprised to hear stories of such accepting families—this is New York City, after all—but it’s almost shocking. Our lives are so different. They are practically competing for most supportive family.

“August,” Jack sings. “What’s the deal with your parents?”

I wish I had a family like theirs. But I don’t. If I told them the truth, they would feel sorry for me, and I’m not playing that part. I sit with four potential friends. I don’t want to jeopardize that by being different.

“They weren’t baking rainbow cakes for me, but they let me be me. They’re cool,” I say, making Anna’s head tilt. “And they knew I should be here and not Podunk, Pennsylvania.” I lie, lie, lie. Or better: act. Anna looks confused. I give her an I’ll explain this later look, but I don’t think she gets the message.

The energy in the cafeteria shifts—people on their feet, packing up their stuff. The bell must be about to ring. “We need to get to class, Augustus,” Anna announces.

Nerves kick in. My morning is academic classes, very standard issue: teacher, textbook, assignments, and test schedules. No one noticed me this morning—there was no reason to notice me—but that won’t be the same for my drama classes. I have Acting 3, Improv, Musical Theater, and Audition Technique. A schedule of my dreams—if I could shake these first-day jitters.