Of all the changes in the last few months, that had been the hardest to get used to. I kept expecting her to be there—at the read-through, at rehearsals, at the tech. All of us were aware that we were missing one of our regular people. But between her and Dara Chapman both absent—and the fact that they were both doing great, even without being in the production—it was almost like it was giving other people permission to think about the possibility of not doing every single play. Of stepping away occasionally. Nothing had happened yet, but there were rumbles. I’d heard Erik talk about training to do a half-marathon instead of the musical, and Jayson hadn’t told Mr. Campbell yet, but I knew he was thinking about going on his history class’s trip to Greece, which would mean he couldn’t be in the improv show.

It wasn’t huge, but there were little cracks, and I knew my best friend had been the one to make them.

I paced around the greenroom, running my first line in my head, even though I knew this script backward and forward. I’d even used my monologue for my two conservatory auditions. In the end, I’d decided to cast a wide net. Northwestern, yes, but also USC and College of the West and Bates, Vanderbilt and Colgate, Scripps and Tulane, Columbia and NYU. Now that I wasn’t following my dad’s exact plan, I’d decided I might as well have as many possibilities as I could.

Though I hadn’t started to narrow them down, more and more I was liking the idea of staying closer to home. I was just getting to know my siblings, after all, and even though it had only been a few months, things were undeniably better with my dad. And even though I knew this wouldn’t stop if I was at school in Los Angeles or Evanston or Nashville, I didn’t have a huge need to get out of town. I decided that I’d just see how I was feeling when the acceptances—or rejections—started to roll in.

I needed to take a minute, just to get centered, so I stepped out of the greenroom and into the hallway. I walked slowly up and down, rolling my shoulders back and taking deep breaths. I was always fine once the show had started and all this anticipatory energy burned off. It was just in this moment before that it helped to get out of my own head.

I stopped in front of a poster that had been hung up. The Scriveners, it read. An Original Works Festival. Short plays written, directed, and starring Stanwich High School students.