Now I’m mad at Anna for lying about her dad. And Yazmin for having a boyfriend. Mad at Tess for not leaving me alone. And my parents and their stupid church. “You lied to me, Anna. Who is your dad, Anna? Who is he? Could he be, I don’t know, our teacher?”

She recoils. “You knew?”

“Tess told me,” I admit. “But I was waiting for you to tell me.”

Anna checks her phone again. “I didn’t tell you on the day of your audition because I didn’t want you to like me for that.”

“And I don’t,” I say.

“Right, you just don’t like me.”

“I do like you. As a friend. You’re my best friend here.”

“That’s not what I wanted.” She shakes her head. “I regret what I told my dad.”

I knew it. “What did you tell your dad?”

“It doesn’t matter. My car is here. Bye, August. Good luck without me.”

I get home an hour later. Aunt Lil is waiting for me on the couch. She’s in a pajama dress and cross-stitching with NPR on low.

“You’re late,” she whispers to not wake Davina.

“I’m sorry, Auntie,” I say, my body slumped. I avoid getting near her in case I smell like vodka.

“You’re really giving me a taste of this parenting thing, aren’t you, son?”

“I had a bad night.”

“This is your warning,” she says. “But don’t do that again.”

I barely get my pants off before crashing into bed. I roll myself up in the bedspread. I’m utterly defeated by the truth of how I got into the school. It was Aunt Lil. It was Anna. It was never me. I didn’t earn my spot.

Eight

Eight

Monday, September 23

11:58 A.M.

I’m the only one in the basement—everyone in class or lunch. I left the cafeteria five minutes early to slay the dragon of entering the boys’ dressing room. I’m standing beside the double doors trying to will myself to go inside. The basement is empty, which means the dressing room will be empty. Sweat covers the back of my neck. If I get cast in Grease—even in the ensemble—I’ll be in the dressing room. I need to do this now. Break the seal. Rip the Band-Aid. Now is the time. Go. Move your feet, August.