The crowd claps loudly; there are even a few yells. Maggie appears nervous and uncomfortable to be in the spotlight. “Cool. This one’s called ‘Too Much,’” she says, then starts strumming and creating a melodic, catchy tune. As the song picks up, she becomes more assured and open. It’s a simple song about how things start good but become too much. Her words all make sense, beautiful in their simplicity, and they have heart. When she gets to the bridge, people are clapping along. The song ends, and the crowd goes wild.

I clap until I can no longer ignore my bladder and head down to the bathrooms in the basement. After using a dirty toilet in a small, smelly stall and washing my hands, I emerge from the men’s room wiping my wet hands on my jeans. “Excuse me,” I hear from behind me. The voice sounds familiar. I turn and see the girl who was just onstage.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

She laughs. “Do you even know what you did?”

“No, but I could tell I should apologize.”

Her shirt reads NIRVANA. I couldn’t see it before because her guitar was in the way. “You pushed that door open with no regard for the shy girl hiding in the basement.”

She’s playing with me. I can be the Flirt. “Can I hide with you?”

“I guess,” she says. “I like to get away after performing. Since there’s no backstage, I come here. I can’t deal with people talking to me about my music. Especially my own songs.”

“So, this probably isn’t the best time to tell you that your song was amazing?”

She smiles. Shrugs. “Amazing is a big word.”

I lean against the wall. It’s sticky. We’re standing in a small basement filled with empty kegs, surrounded by the smell of pee, but I don’t care. “I love when music makes me feel things. Your music did that, Maggie.” I smile, proud I remembered her name. I like playing the role of the Flirt.

She blushes. “I came down here to avoid that, but thank you.”

“I’m August,” I say.

We shake hands and there’s a charge of static between our palms. “Did you feel that?” I ask.

“I did.”

“What if we’re soul mates?” I ask with a smile.

“And this is our meet-cute, right here, in the basement?”

“You going to write a song about it?”

“What rhymes with urine?”

I laugh. She laughs. Soul mates.

“You go to SPA?” I ask.

“Yes, I’m in the New Music program.”

“Cool,” I say, having no idea what that means. “I’m drama.”

“Are you drama or do you do drama?”

“Both,” I flirt.

“Tell me, August, is it dangerous for girls to have crushes on actors? Aren’t they always acting?”