“Just sit anywhere,” the guy said, gesturing toward the theater. He gave a short, humorless laugh. “There’s plenty of seats.”

“Oh,” I said. I wasn’t sure what I’d expected, but it wasn’t any of this. I told myself that maybe this was like edgy independent theater or something. Like how Rent started off-off-Broadway and just grew a huge following, and Hamilton started scrappy and small at the Public. “Okay.” I walked through the door and blinked.

It was a very small theater—maybe even smaller than our blackbox theater back home. There were sections of seats, a narrow aisle between them, and a small stage without a curtain. Maybe it was the fact that we were in a basement, but I couldn’t help feeling a little bit claustrophobic, like the walls were pressing in on me as I took a seat on the aisle, in the middle.

The guy had been telling the truth—this was not a very full house. There were only a handful of people in the audience, and what made it worse was that everyone was spread out. If everyone could have grouped together, maybe it would have seemed fuller?

I chose a seat on the aisle, took off my coat, and flipped through the program. My eyes widened as I saw that the play was written by, directed by, and starring Brett Campbell. I hadn’t realized I was going to see Mr. Campbell act. He directed all our productions, of course, and we all knew that he was writing a novel, and he’d told us how a play of his had won some big award a few years ago. But acting? Aside from the old commercials I’d found online, I’d never seen Mr. Campbell perform.

I had just started to read the description—it took place in South Florida, in 1995—when the lights dimmed. I closed my program and smiled. I was going to get to see, finally, one of Mr. Campbell’s productions. I’d have to take mental notes so I could tell Stevie all about it—the better to speculate wildly about what might happen in the second act.

The lights came up, and I settled back in my seat to watch the first half of the play.

CHAPTER 19

Stevie