Friday comes before I’m ready. I’ve spent three months imagining how I would react on opening night. I know this isn’t Broadway, but it’s the first time I’ve been trusted to direct an entire show. I owe it to everyone to show up. That’s what I told myself on the ride over, anyway.

I take a deep breath, pulling my bag over my shoulder. All students involved with the play are supposed to enter through the side door to the auditorium. But as I walk over, my pace slows. There’s a gigantic crowd clustered near the main door. I’m far enough that I can’t see every face, but there are too many people there to just be parents.

“I can’t believe they’re continuing with the play,” a woman says. She’s practically yelling, so loud the strained pitch of her voice can be heard above the crowd’s murmuring. “It was an inappropriate choice in the first place, but now, with that student director? Are they trying to make some sort of statement?”

My stomach flips. Forget it. I can’t do this. Nothing like this should be happening. Not today, not at this school.

I dart in through the side door, keeping my head down as I walk to the end of the hallway. My best option for a hiding spot is the prop closet. Everything we need is already backstage, so no one will bother me there. I make a beeline for it, cracking the door open and slipping inside.

As legs shuffle past, I pull myself deeper into the closet. The door doesn’t lock, but there’s enough room for me to curl up out of sight.

“Some of them are complaining about Simone,” a nearby voice says. It might be the new crew chief, a girl named Katie. “I’m not sure if anyone should sit outside and take tickets. They’re being so rude.”

“They’re not being violent, are they?” That’s Mr. Palumbo. His deep, gentle voice always reminds me of Mr. Feeny from Boy Meets World, but I can hear stress underneath it. I can’t imagine how he’s dealing right now, especially since he and Ms. Klein aren’t on speaking terms.

“No, I don’t think so,” Katie says. “That would be a little extreme.”

“I’ve never seen something like this happen,” Mr. Palumbo admits. Then he catches himself. “Listen, go get Ms. Klein and tell her to ask some of the teacher volunteers to stand outside to hand out the pamphlets. I’ll try to handle some of their concerns.”

“All right,” Katie says. “Are we still starting on time?”

“We should be,” he says. “Have you seen Simone?”

I grip the door handle. I can’t bear to talk to Mr. Palumbo right now. Last time was painful enough, and it was barely a conversation.