I spotted Margot, my life raft, near the stage of the school auditorium, sipping an iced coffee the size of her head. I wound my way through the packed aisles until I finally reached her side.

“Who are these people?” I hissed. She looked at me with an expression I’d never seen on her before. Apologetic? Sheepish? But because it was Margot, it was gone in a second and replaced with a smirk.

“There’s no people like show people,” she said. Then, sensing what can only be described as my highly disgruntled vibe, she added: “I know it seems weird, but it actually doesn’t suck.”

I raised my eyebrow at her, still completely surprised she was into this. Margot was so fuck-it-all, and these people were the total opposite. I was pretty sure they fucked nothing. Then again, what did I really know about the essence of Margot? Yeah, we bonded last year in first-period chem. And yeah, she was hilarious, but besides the one time she came over to help me pick out an audition song, I’d never hung out with her outside of school. Lately, I’d been too busy napping and sitting alone in my room eating entire bags of Cool Ranch Doritos to hang out with anyone. But Margot was my lifesaver at Eagle View. We had homeroom and ninth-period study hall together, so I began and ended my day with her. Thank God.

On the first day of school this year, I’d told Margot I would be going for the full day now because part-time online schooling only worked for kids who were “pursuing professional careers in the arts,” and I… wasn’t anymore. I warned her not to say “Everything happens for a reason” or “Maybe it’s for the best” or “When life shatters your leg, it opens a window” or any other crap like that. I’d heard enough of it already and didn’t believe a word.

But Margot had just looked at me and said: “Nah, I’m glad you broke your leg and have to go to school with us normals. Afternoons without you were kind of boring.”

That solidified our friendship, at least on my end. A lifetime of desperately trying to squeeze a word of praise from demanding ballet teachers made me a sucker for people who knew how to throw out a perfectly constructed compliment scrap. If anyone was ever too effusive about me, it turned me right off.

“I mean, you could back out now,” Margot said, brushing a dribble of coffee from the jean shorts she wore over black tights. The emerald-green stud above her lip caught the light and glistened. With that piercing and her turquoise-dyed bob, she always reminded me of a punky mermaid. “But then you won’t get to hear ten thousand overly dramatic renditions of ‘On My Own’ from Les Misérables.”

“If you’re going to do musical theater references, I’m leaving.”