“Was someone hurt?” I ask.

“No. But the play couldn’t finish.”

Actors and actresses are scurrying about. There is a lot of calling of each other’s names. And the smell of flowers. A lot of actresses have flowers. I look up at the bright lights shining down until a shadow falls upon me. It’s Madam Schofield scurrying in, holding hydrangeas in her hand.

“Magnificent! You were magnificent! I always love it when a good actor makes me look good.” Madam Schofield hands Aimee the flowers and exclaims, “These are for you! In the tradition of our beloved Gertrude Lawrence.” She turns to Michael. “And you, sir. I had my doubts in the beginning. But you, Mr. Poole, gave a deep performance. Spectacular work.”

Clearly, Aimee and Michael are as shocked as I am.

She spins and runs off.

Then, while Tressa acts like she’s Aimee’s new best friend, Ronan leans over and whispers in my ear, “I feel bad for Brandy. She reminds me of a pilot fish.”

I give him a why kind of look.

“Because they live inside a shark’s mouth and eat off of the back of the shark’s teeth. They’re too small to get bitten. Except . . . Brandy clearly gets bitten.”

He’s right—and for a minute I feel sorry for her.

I walk over and stand next to Brandy. “Hey.”

She tries to answer, but it gets stuck. She clears her throat and tries again. “Hey.”

“You going back home soon?”

“Yeah. Tomorrow.” She shifts her weight back and forth a bit before saying, “It was a weird summer.”

“It was,” I agree.

“Yeah,” she says. “And I can’t believe you hung around that kid all summer. Ronan.”

I look over at Ronan, who is searching the cracks in the floor, trying to retrieve something. “Well,” I say, “I like him. Turns out he’s a good friend. Someone I can count on, you know?”

She nods slightly but looks past me at Tressa, who sounds overly happy all of a sudden. “Aimee,” Tressa gushes, “you should come to my house sometime this fall. I can take you to the theater district in Boston.”

“Oh,” Michael jumps in. “The wolf wants Little Red Riding Hood to visit.”

Tressa glares at him while Aimee catches my eye and smiles. She comes over and links her arm with mine as we get ready to leave the playhouse. “That girl could use some good acting lessons,” she says.

“For sure,” I say, happy that Aimee can see through Tressa so easily.

“Madam Schofield told us that it isn’t about just saying your lines,” Aimee continues. “The most important thing is to pay attention to the others on the stage. To have a clue about what they are thinking. And respond to what they do and say.”

That’s good advice. And it’s pretty clear Tressa doesn’t bother about what anyone else is thinking. But Brandy used to. I wonder if she can ever go back to who she was.