The rest of the class is calmer. While Mr. Daniels lectures about the life of Stanislavski, I think about my super-objective. What’s my endgame with acting? Do I want to be so famous I can’t even walk down the street? Or at least be a respected Broadway actor with tons of fans waiting at the side door after performances? If all my motivation comes from my super-objective, I need to figure it out. When the bell rings, Mr. Daniels waves his arms in the air to keep our attention. “Don’t forget, one page on your super-objective due Monday.” He lowers his arms, officially releasing us from the class.

We head into the basement hallway and the energy resumes—all the way back to one hundred.

Anna comes up behind me. “Well, you barely survived that one. But it’s downhill from here. I need a costume change before improv.” She points in the direction of the girls’ dressing room. “This skirt isn’t giving me ‘yes, and’ vibes,” she says, disappearing into the crowd. I look in the direction of the boys’ dressing room. Going in there feels overwhelming. The men’s bathroom is different—there’s privacy in the stalls. I don’t know if I can change clothes in front of guys. Luckily, I wore improv-friendly jeans and a black shirt.

“Is that Mr. Super-Objective?” I hear from behind me. I turn around to find a girl with wavy brown hair, perfect eyebrows, and brown eyes. She’s wearing a pink baggy shirt and camouflage pants. A thin gold chain around her neck. “Hello, I’m talking to you.”

I puff out my chest and straighten up my shoulders. “That’s me.”

She laughs. “What were you thinking?”

“I wasn’t.” I smile and look away. “I’m August. I’m new here.”

“I’m aware,” she says. “I’m Yazmin. You can call me Yaz.”

“Hello, Yaz,” I say.

“Can I give some totally unrequested advice? You have to say yes.”

“Yes,” I say, having no other option.

“This school,” she says, stepping closer to me. “There’s a bunch of fake people here. Be careful who you trust.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Yaz picks something off my sleeve. “You’ll find out soon enough,” she says, then gets lost in the crowd.

Three

Three

Thursday, September 12

11:45 A.M.

Lunch is quieter on day three. Jack left us mid-lunch to sit with their dance friends, and Meena is working on some last-minute essay for history. I’m growing concerned at the amount of homework. Last night, after hours of chemistry work, I passed out with both my jeans and the lights on. I’m looking forward to the weekend—to catch up on homework.

“August, has anyone shown you Theater One?” Juliet asks as I take the final bite of my almond butter and grape jelly sandwich.

“I don’t think so,” I say, covering my mouth as I chew.