“It’s incredible,” Meena says. “But the real view is from the sound box.”

“Can I give you the tour?” Juliet asks, smiling.

I look at Anna, unsure if I should take the invitation. “Go—I need to go change anyways. This dress doesn’t allow for movement.”

I smile at Juliet. “I’d like that,” I say, feeling a little panicked. This sounds silly, but I’m nervous to be around another trans person. I’m too new. Too inexperienced. I don’t know the script between two trans people. I don’t know the language. What if there’s a secret handshake?

We say goodbyes and exit the lunchroom into a quieter hallway. Juliet walks slowly, with purpose, and pulls her roller backpack behind her. I haven’t seen her standing—she’s taller than I am, with her rose-gold hair in a half bun. “What do you think of SPA so far?”

“It’s a lot,” I admit. This school makes me feel behind. Behind on academics—classes move faster here. Behind on acting—everyone already has an IMDb page. And behind on being transgender—new to my new identity and new to even being around other trans people. I don’t know how obvious it is, but to me it’s so clear.

Trying to be a gentleman, I carry Juliet’s oversized backpack down the stairs.

“Anna seems to really like you.”

My cheeks get hot. I can feel her looking at me for a reaction—wanting to know if I feel the same. Instead of responding, I ask, “How does Anna know everyone? Is she the theater mob boss of this school?”

“You don’t know?”

“Know what?” I ask.

She shrugs. “I think you should ask her.”

We make it to the ground floor. I set down her backpack and wipe the sweat off my forehead. “What’s in here? Every single book you own? A dead body?”

“Some art supplies, and maybe body parts,” she kids.

We pass my new favorite place—the gender-neutral bathrooms. I nod toward them. “They didn’t have those at my old school.”

“So progressive, right? I don’t get the big deal with bathroom politics. All the fear and the laws. It’s just a place to do your business and makeup.”

“And vape and text,” I add.

“Exactly.”

As we walk down the hallway, I ask, “How many trans people go here?”

“It’s a big school, hard to know. At least two,” she says, then nudges me. “I think maybe ten? There’s a good number of nonbinary people.”

“Like Jack?”

“Like Jack,” she confirms. “I do love the singular they—not just a rebellion against gender, but also language.”

Juliet stops in front of blue double doors. “Here we are,” she says, “Theater One.” I push the doors open and audibly gasp.