“Just taking in the scenery,” I admit, then snap a picture of my station to post later. It’s all about capturing the moments of tech and putting together a multiple-picture post with a sappy—yet humble—caption. My seven hundred followers will be inspired. I’m already writing the post in my head.

“Come on, mister,” she says, pulling on my shirtsleeve. “You think you like this view, wait until you stand on the stage.”

We walk fast, nearly running, down the hallway. Meena has been at every rehearsal and serves as the glue holding this ship together. I can’t wait to see her flex her management skills all over this week. It’s already obvious she takes pride in her walkie-talkie headset. “Found the missing greaser, be there now,” she says into the mic. We arrive at the double doors leading to the stage and Meena stops. She looks at me and smiles. “You ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” I say. I’ve seen Theater One, but not from the stage. She pushes the doors open and I step into the light. The stage is washed with bright spotlights, making it hard to see. A thousand empty seats face me—the fluorescent orange upholstery almost offensive to the eye. In one week, they’ll be full. We have three shows. Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday. All sold out. My parents are coming on Friday night.

“Thanks for joining, August. Now we can begin,” Mr. Daniels says. I walk over to the huddle of actors around our teacher and director.

Meena covers her walkie-talkie mic and whispers, “Eagle starting the speech.”

“Actors, we have made it to the final stretch. Thank you for your hard work over the weeks,” Mr. Daniels says. Everyone claps politely. He continues, “But this, as you know, will be a demanding week. I want you to get plenty of sleep, eat good meals, and take care of yourself. We don’t want anyone getting sick. Well, maybe the understudies do,” he jokes. People laugh nervously.

Mr. Daniels finds Meena. “Please regale everyone with the schedule.”

She weaves through the people and takes her place beside Mr. Daniels. “Tech starts tomorrow. This week will be backbreaking, soul-crushing. Someone won’t make it out—”

“Meena,” Mr. Daniels cuts in. “The schedule will be fine for now.”

“Right.” She looks at her clipboard. “Actors have tomorrow off as the set and lights are put into place. Your call time on Sunday is ten. In the morning. Don’t be late. We’ll be doing a cue-to-cue for the lighting, sitzprobe, then a stumble-through.”