The taxi to the theater was disappointing. I wanted my first cab ride in New York to play out like in the movies, with the driver speeding recklessly, yelling out the window, and constantly honking. None of that happened. The ride was slow and hot, but the destination—Times Square—is heaven. We passed electronic billboards stacked on top of each other like apartments. Anna played tour guide, and I acted blown away by her knowledge of the city.

While she pays the guy, I step out of the taxi and take in the theater. I can’t believe this is happening. Flashing lightbulbs line the marquee, bright enough to compete with the sun. Posters of actors dancing in front of the Eiffel Tower are plastered to the walls of the theater. Maybe one day, my photo will be up there.

We walk to the end of the will-call line—almost a block away—and wait. “Okay, August, let’s play a game called quick fire. I ask you questions, you answer quick—without thinking. Ready?”

“Sure,” Wide-Eyed Guy says.

“Favorite musical?”

Without hesitation I say, “Rent.”

She looks at me like she doesn’t believe me. “Why?”

I shrug. “‘La Vie Bohème’!”

“Favorite musical movie?”

“Don’t laugh,” I say. “Hairspray.”

She laughs anyway. “Sorry, it’s good, I guess. But I don’t love John Travolta as Edna Turnblad.”

“’Cause of his acting?” I joke.

“Well, yes,” she jokes back. “Why couldn’t they cast a woman to play the mother? There’s plenty of hilarious women.”

I’ve read a couple of articles about the decisions to cast Harvey Fierstein in the Broadway run and then John Travolta in the movie. “I think it’s tradition,” I offer.

“Tradition?” she repeats with disgust. “What does that even mean? It’s the mom, it should be played by a woman.” Anna shakes her head. “Let’s not get into this. It’s a hot topic at school now.”

“John Travolta?” I kid.

“Representation.”

“I don’t follow,” I say.

“I’m talking proper representation in theater. The stage needs more women, people of color, people with disabilities, transgender and nonbinary people,” she says, and gives me a knowing look. “If a role is meant for a marginalized character, they better not cast some white dude who then gets awards and praise for his quote-unquote bravery.”

“Like how Harvey Fierstein won the Tony for Edna?” I ask.

“Exactly.”

“But acting is about being someone else?”

“When it comes to acting now, August, it’s about staying in your lane.”

But I’m transgender. Is that my lane? I’m good at playing girls and boys. Can’t I play both? There are very few trans characters in theater. I want to ask her but don’t want my fear confirmed.