The second the applause petered out—there hadn’t been that much to begin with—I grabbed my coat and bolted for the exit. I could still get down to the Village. I’d be late, but I could still make it. I could show Stevie that I wanted to be there for her; I could explain about trying to leave and bumping into Mr. Campbell. If we could talk about it, it could become something funny as opposed to what it was now, something stressful that was twisting my stomach into knots.

I was already mentally planning out the email I’d write Mr. Campbell, telling him I had to catch a train but it was a great show—something friendly and kind and inoffensive and totally untrue.

I was halfway to the door when I heard my name. “Kat?” I turned around and there was Mr. Campbell walking toward me. He’d changed out of his last costume and was wearing regular clothes—but the kind we never saw him wear. At school, Mr. Campbell was always in button-downs, occasionally a golf shirt if we were rehearsing on a weekend. But now he was wearing jeans that were skinny, and a little too tight. He had a white T-shirt on with a low V, and a scarf looped around his neck. It was a look that one of the Chrises could have pulled off—maybe—but on Mr. Campbell it was just kind of embarrassing.

“Hi,” I said, giving him a bright smile, wishing I’d moved a little faster. I would have been out the door, walking down Fifty-First Street right now, eyes peeled for a cab. “I hope it’s okay I’m here.”

“Well,” he said, shaking his head with a chuckle, “I had a feeling one of you kids would show up one of these days. What’s done is done. I wish you would have asked me first, though.” He raised an eyebrow at me and I just stared at him for a moment. Was he saying I was in trouble?

“I’m so sorry,” I said, and then a second later, it was like I could hear myself echoed back. Why was I apologizing? “So I should—”

“I really was,” he said, talking over me, “surprised to see you. And attempting to leave early, no less.” He was smiling, but I could tell there was a steeliness underneath his words.

“Oh—no,” I lied. “I was just… going to the bathroom…”

“Listen, I have to debrief with the stage manager and then do notes, but stick around for a moment, would you? I’d love to get your thoughts.”

“I—” I took a big breath and half a step toward the door. “I actually have to—”