My heart starts beating. Cue-to-cues are boring; it’s just standing in place so they can move the lights and program the sound, then moving on to the next scene. But the sitzprobe—when we finally sing with the band—is the most exciting moment. Then the stumble through is a mess but helps us get our bearings. I’m now living for Sunday.

Mr. Daniels clears his throat. “The seats are empty now, but soon they will be full of people looking to get away from their problems, to be entertained, to escape from life for a couple of hours. Grease is pure entertainment. Can we give the audience some summer loving? Some beauty school dropout? Some fun? Can we give them that?”

Everyone yells in the affirmative.

“You’ve all worked hard, and I thank you for that. This week you must work harder, and that may sound impossible, but you can do it. Your discipline and focus will get you ahead in this business. Now, go home and get some rest. See you on Sunday.”

Mr. Daniels walks offstage and Meena fast-walks behind him, whispering into her walkie-talkie.

Jamaal turns around and smiles. “Nobleman August,” he says. “To Old John’s or not to Old John’s? That is the question.”

Jamaal believes he was Shakespeare in a past life. This belief influences his speech, movements, and sense of importance. He’s attractive and straight, a deadly combo in theater. I’m still deciding if the Shakespeare thing gets the attention of girls, or if they ignore it because he’s so good-looking.

“When it comes to Old John’s, the answer is always yes,” I say, then we fist bump. When Jamaal isn’t busy channeling his past life, he’s a great Kenickie and probably the nicest guy I’ve ever met.

Before heading out, I take a picture of the empty seats—both for my montage post and to send to my mom. I text her the picture and say: SEE YOU IN SEVEN DAYS!

I’m acting like my parents’ upcoming visit is exciting, but I’m more nervous about playing the role of their daughter than Rizzo. They are driving up on Friday for the last show and spending the night at a hotel in Times Square. For one night, I will play the role of their daughter. It’s only a show and dinner after. As much as it hurts that they don’t accept me, I do miss my mom. I can’t wait to hug her after the show.

She writes back immediately: Can’t wait to see you shine but not ready to see your short hair. ☹

An emoji? That’s new. I didn’t teach her that.