Being here now, walking across the stage, I remember why I wanted to be an actor. I love being onstage. Not doing forty takes with a fussy director in a cavernous studio with my face carved into something new, depending mostly on editors to make the performance into what people will eventually see. I like the lights, the people, the hallowed feel of a theater. The specialness of existing in a moment that only happens for those who witness it.

Living in the moment. There’s something to that old cliché.

I hear a door open and then a moment later, see Aimee walk in off the left wing.

Ghosts in theaters. Such a thing.

“Hey,” I say.

“Did you have time to review the lines?”

I shy a little at her professional tone. I had hoped that she would have warmed back up, a hope that seems delusional now.

“Yeah, I—I learned them.”

“Great. Any questions or issues?”

“No. It’s a great script, Aimee.”

She hesitates, and then says, “Great, let’s run a few lines and see how it goes. Tech should be here soon.”

“Aimee, can we talk? I’m so sorry about—”

“Meg?” she says, using that new, very adult voice of hers. “We have a lot of work to do. I can’t deal with your little hissy fit bullshit. I indulged your whole interdimensional whatever for as long as I could, but I don’t have time for that right now, okay?”

This sends a searing pain through my heart and I feel like a fool. “You said you believed me.”

She gives a humorless laugh. “Believed you that you’re from a parallel universe? One where I’m dead and you’re famous? Come on. Either you’re consciously trying to get some kind of rise out of me, or your psyche is begging for help. Okay? So, until you get into some much-needed therapy, let’s do the task at hand, shall we?”

I’m in therapy, I want to whine.

“You’re trying to hurt me because I told you … about the…” I can’t say it. “Because of what I told you.”

“No, you were trying to hurt me by saying that. And yeah, now I’m mad.”

“Fine,” I say, resorting to being bitchy back, since I don’t know what else to do.

She pulls out a chair and then says, “Okay, flip to page seventeen, let’s run those. We did the beginning enough the other day. I want to see how this flows into the new ending, then we can go back.”

“Sounds good,” I say. Turning to the correct page, I clear my throat and begin. “Hailey, this is stupid. Let’s go to the party.”

“It’s not stupid; it matters to me. Here, help me up. I can’t believe they still have the same lattice.”

I let out an irritated exhale.

“What?” asks Aimee, deviating from the script.

“What, what?”