We meet in the dimly lit hall, Nevaeh, Katherine, and I, and they’re as breathless as I am, wide-eyed, full of barely suppressed glee. We catch one another’s hands, squeeze, creep down the emergency stairs. I crack the cellar door open, and a boom of wind grabs it out of my hand, swings it wide into the dark, and we all gasp at the door being snatched wide, the way the wind feels bladed with ice, and then it’s hard to stop giggling. Katherine and Nevaeh hustle into the shadows beneath the trees, their hands clapped over their mouths, and I ease the door shut and rush after them, hunched into my coat, shaking a little from the chill, from the nerves, how quiet it is, how loud our boots sound, how heavy I feel like I’m breathing, how long it seems to take to make our way, stumbling over roots and rocks because it’s so much darker without the buildings we pass being all lit up.

Such a relief to make it to the theater, scramble down the driveway and down the hall, into a room that we’re surprised to find is already lit and blazing with electric candles and lanterns, pillows scattered across the floor, curtain up. And Jack, standing there smiling.

“I was too excited to wait,” Jack says.

And then we’re off.

It’s the fastest hour of my life: hair, makeup, costumes, props, setting up our little spotlights, slow, steady breathing. Jack is off to greet the audience members at the outer door. The music is low and sexy. I pop out to take a look at what we’ve done, this little jewel box of a guerrilla punk rock theater spreading out in front of us, this huge private room that feels intimate and warm and textured and glowing yellow.

Katherine in full punk rock makeup, skirt floofed, chain necklaces glinting in the light, and Nevaeh tilting her hat over one eye, hair pulled back tight, slick and gorgeous in her suit. I smooth down my tutu. We’re all in half masks, delicate things just covering our eyes, tied in bows behind our heads, giving us plausible deniability. The two of them look lusciously mysterious, beautiful almost-strangers. We huddle together as the hour ticks closer to midnight. We miss Taylor so much. Katherine checks the time on her phone, and we jump behind the curtain. Soon the sound of voices. Gasps. Excited murmurs and talking and laughing and shuffling as everyone finds a place to sit, scoots around, and points out things to one another.

Jack slides behind the curtain.

“Are you ready?” he says. That sweet, excited smile.

“Are you?” I ask, touching his hand.

“Of course,” he says. He turns his hand over, squeezes mine, surprising me. “You’re going to be amazing.” He means all of us, I know.