It’s pretty hard not to cry. Part of it is because of how beautiful the sets look—like this could actually be a Broadway stage. Maybe I’m biased, but so what? Laila completely knocks her solo out of the park and Rocco dazzles the audience, as predicted. But my favorite part is when everyone is out onstage at the end for bows. I stand backstage, screaming until my throat is sore as members of the crew, pit orchestra, and ensemble run onstage. Members of the cast go out one by one, but Eric surprises me with a crooked smile before his turn. Maybe the thrill of opening night has unlocked a secret pool of empathy in his heart or something.

“And last,” Palumbo’s voice calls out, “but certainly not least, is our wonderful student director, Simone Garcia-Hampton!”

I freeze. Directors don’t go onstage for bows. I never went onstage when we rehearsed. I glance behind me, but there’s no one left backstage to urge me on. Slowly, I shuffle onstage. The lights are blinding. I can barely see anyone in the crowd, but I do make out Claudia’s new haircut, which means Lydia must be here, too. Everyone’s smiling and clapping, probably because they’re onstage, but it definitely doesn’t make me feel bad. Palumbo waves me forward, Ms. Klein standing on the other side of him.

And up there, standing center stage with everyone clapping and cheering all around me? That’s the best part of the entire night.

CHAPTER 35

The High School Theater Awards don’t quite live up to opening night.

“Do you think taking too many pictures is just a dad thing?”

“Probably,” Lydia says. “My dad does the same thing, but I thought it was just because he’s always unbearable.”

“Come on, girls,” Dad says, looking up from behind his camera. “Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Is it really that bad that I want pictures of your special night? Just a few more.”

I don’t even hide my groan. I’ve been wearing heels for about thirty minutes, and my feet already hurt. Tía Camila’s gonna get an earful later since it was her idea for me to wear them.

“I’m sort of glad my father ignores me,” Claudia mumbles, shuffling toward me. “Because I never have to deal with any of this.”

“Smile!”

I blink on purpose.

“If you keep taking pictures, you’ll run out of memory,” Lydia says, ever the supportive friend. She looks better than I do, as always, with a red dress and her hair in a bun that makes her look like a princess. “You won’t be able to take pictures at the actual ceremony if you waste them all here, Dr. Garcia.”