I sigh, glancing around my hiding place. There are different hats all over the closet. A sparkly pink cowboy hat and a wedding veil are the closest two things I can see. Piles of half-opened boxes take up the rest of the space.

“I’m going to look for her,” I hear Mr. Palumbo say. “Worst-case scenario, we can start the show without her. But I just don’t think that would be fair. Are you sure you saw her come in?”

“Definitely,” Katie says. “She walked right past me and didn’t say anything.”

Shit. I guess I wasn’t as sneaky as I thought.

“All right,” Mr. Palumbo says. “I’ll look for her.”

I know I’m letting him down. Palumbo picked me because he believed in me. Kids have spent hours memorizing lines and learning songs, painting sets, and learning where props get placed during the few seconds of darkness onstage. This show is the result of a bunch of hard work from all sorts of different people—including Palumbo. I can’t just leave him hanging.

And I can’t let myself down, the girl who wanted to direct The Lion King or Phantom of the Opera one day, whose ultimate dream was to direct a production of Hamilton. But I’ll never do any of that if I hide. I can’t even hide the thought I’ve been trying to control for the longest time—that my biological mother would be disappointed in me. She never got to know me, but I think she would be disappointed if I sat this one out.

I would be disappointed in me.

Someone knocks on the door of the prop closet. I freeze. No one would knock if they didn’t think someone was in here. It’s a fucking closet.

“Simone?” Miles says, voice a question. “Are you there?”

I bite my lip. There’s silence on the other side of the door. He might leave if I just stay quiet long enough.

“I can see your shoes,” he says after a few moments. “So I know you’re there.”

“Maybe I don’t want to talk.”

He doesn’t answer. Instead, he nudges the door open. He’s wearing all black underneath a lacrosse jersey. It’s weird to see him looking so awkward. I’ve seen him nervous before, but never like this.

“Are you crying?” His voice drops several octaves.

“No,” I say, scrubbing at my face just to prove it. Maybe my eyes were watering before, but I swear there weren’t any tears. “I’m just trying to avoid everyone. That’s all.”

He gives a slow nod, shoving his hands into his pockets.