“This is a tangerine,” he says, then Anna laughs. “Now that I think about it, August, I wonder if your aunt sent the student to London herself.”

He appears to be half-kidding, half-serious. “Honestly, I wouldn’t put it past her,” I joke, earning a smile from Mr. Daniels. That’s a good sign—one small step closer to becoming a student here.

“I’m late for a chess game in Central Park. What’s your next monologue?”

I unzip my backpack and dig around. “Another one from Cat on a Hot Tin Roof.”

He shakes his head, disappointed. “Brick again?”

“No,” I say. That would be a mistake. I did some research about the audition process at SPA after my aunt called two days ago. Everything I could find online said two diverse monologues that show range. I’ve got the range but had no time to prepare, so I went with two monologues from the play we did for sophomore showcase at West Grove High.

“Big Daddy?” Anna guesses.

I pull out a blonde wig from my backpack and put it on my head. “Maggie.”

They laugh—not at me, at the surprise. (I hope.) For the second time, I turn my back to my adoring audience. I am Maggie. Born poor, married rich. A fighter. I love my husband, but he’s not interested. I loosen up my body and slowly turn back around. Here goes nothing. “Oh, Brick. I get so lonely. . . .”

After the final words leave my mouth, I crumple to the ground and hold there, the blonde hairs falling over my face. Maggie leaves me feeling frustrated. I stand up, remove the wig, and dust my shirt off.

Mr. Daniels takes his glasses off and rubs his eyes. “Tell me, why did you leave Pennsylvania?”

“I had to,” I say without hesitation.

He nods, hopefully understanding everything I don’t say. “One more question. Why do you deserve this spot at SPA?”

“I don’t,” I say, pausing to watch his expression—he cracks a little. I guess this is my third monologue. I am August, desperate to go to this school. “Like you, Mr. Daniels, I’m not a fan of getting something because I know somebody. But my situation back home isn’t great. And there’s no way to study at this level in West Grove, Pennsylvania. Just give me a chance, sir.”

He smiles. “August, you’ll hear from someone soon. If accepted, you will be starting classes on Tuesday. Will that work for you?”

I’ll take that as a good sign. “Absolutely,” I say.

“But if you’re not accepted, I wish you the very best of luck.”

Dammit. Bad sign.

“Oh,” he continues, “please say hello to your aunt for me?”

“Will do,” I say, while stuffing the wig into my backpack. I say my thank-yous and goodbyes and walk out with no clear sign on how that went.

12:25 P.M.