The rehearsal was in the music room, a big wooden room shaped like a shell that smelled like sweat and reed. I was there early, because that’s my deal, and the rest of the cast trickled in as the minutes ticked by after last bell, everyone looking nervous. I did notice that Minnie Delain, the girl who was going to play Tinker Bell, arrived at rehearsal with her own wings, which she carried under her arm and then, gently, placed on the seat next to her.

“Wow! Those are really cool,” I cooed, transfixed by their rainbow glow.

“I made them myself,” she said, touching one of the gossamer edges with a finger.

“Coat hangers?”

“Craft wire.” She turned. “You think coat hangers will hold better?”

“I mean—”

“Hello! Hello!” Mr. Davidson strode in with a tray of green sparkly treats, holding them up on his shoulder like a fancy waiter. “I assume everyone is ready to participate in the magical art of live theater?”

Clearly.

By the time we all had a treat and a copy of our scripts, we were still about five cast members short. Mr. Davidson looked at his watch.

“Well,” he said, grabbing his clipboard, “where are our Wendy and Hook? I wonder. Who else are we missing?”

I was going to suggest that maybe Gilly was out because of her ankle, when the door opened. Tanner, Sarah, and John, and another kid I recognized from the auditions stood in the doorway.

“Mr. Davidson?”

Mr. Davidson stood. He made a move to his plate of treats then pulled his hands back. He turned and took in the group standing at the door.

“You’re late,” he said, looking at his watch again.

Sarah stepped forward. She was wearing her Our Town dress. Which to me was a weird choice, but maybe to Sarah in that moment it wasn’t an Our Town dress. “We’re protesting. The play.”

“Shit,” Minnie whispered.

The other kids squirmed in their seats.

“Okay.” Mr. Davidson tapped the toe of his boot on the floor. “I’m not clear as to exactly what that means.”

“We are not participating in rehearsals until the”—Sarah paused and looked up at the ceiling like something was written there—“inequity of this situation is addressed.”

Mr. Davidson sighed. Like the air was coming out of his suit a little. “Are you all quitting the play?”

“No.” Tanner had maybe the first serious look I had ever seen on his face. “We’re just protesting. So. We’re not quitting.”

This made me legit wonder if Tanner really did want to play Hook.

“Well, then.” Mr. Davidson gave a nod. “Thank you for letting us know, Sarah, your group’s intentions.” He moved to see who else was in the hallway. “You may all go.”

Tanner and Sarah exchanged glances. Sarah pressed her lips together.

“Mr. Davidson?”

“Yes, Sarah.”

“We will have our demands to you shortly.”