“Holy shit,” I say, making Juliet laugh. I was expecting big, but not Broadway big. There must be a thousand seats. This place is the opposite of that old Broadway theater I was in last weekend—the seats are new, the carpet is fresh, and the stage is the size of a football field. To think that I might be on that stage someday with an audience full of people.

“This is incredible,” I say, my voice echoing.

Juliet leans against a guardrail and watches me. “I was on that stage once.”

“You did art on that stage?” I ask, confused.

“No,” she says with a laugh. “I started in drama but changed to art at the end of my freshman year.”

“Why?” I ask, hoping it’s not too personal.

Juliet sighs. “I got shy. After my transition, I didn’t want people staring at me, and that’s kind of the whole point of standing onstage. So, I transferred to painting and sculpture. I like making art, not being the art. And the odds depressed me. How many transgender actors have been on Broadway?”

“Only a handful,” I say.

“Only a handful,” she repeats. “In the history of Broadway.”

“But things are getting better,” I say—to convince her, and also myself.

“Sorry, August, I imagine you have big dreams, and I don’t want to rain on them, but I couldn’t compete with those odds. I wasn’t that good at acting.”

“I get it,” I say, looking at the empty stage. “I’m going to be up there. And on bigger stages. In front of sold-out audiences. I know it.”

“I believe it,” Juliet says.

“You’re the first trans person I’ve met,” I blurt out.

Juliet puts her hands on her mouth. Her eyes soften. “Oh, August, that’s adorable.”

“I feel so behind. I’m new to everything,” I admit.

She puts her hands on my shoulders. “You’ve been transgender all your life. Just like me. Transition is a transformation, and those take patience and time. And every gender journey is different. Don’t measure your transition against anyone else’s.”

There’s something I want to ask but don’t know how to. “I have this friend with a problem,” I start.

Juliet crosses her arms, amused. “Ah yes, a friend.”

I continue my obvious ruse. “My friend thinks that everyone knows he’s trans when he walks into a room. It makes him self-conscious. He doesn’t know what people think about it.”

Juliet contemplates what to tell me. I’m sure she doesn’t want to give “my friend” the wrong advice. “Well, August, tell your friend that they can’t control what’s happening in other people’s heads. They don’t have access to other people’s thoughts, and so they will never know for sure. Unless your friend has magical powers?”

“They don’t.”