The possibility sends Natasha on a wave of elation, the first one in way too long. All the crap she did mattered. Every comedy documentary she watched, every open mic night she tried to get into, all the hours she read and compiled notes on her role models. Someone sees in her what she’s believed all along. And maybe someday not too far away, Natasha can do this for another woman who wants to be a comedian. She pictures herself as the perfect mentor. Someone who is as talented as Mindy Kaling, honest as Aparna Nancherla, sarcastic as Chelsea Handler.

Natasha can barely contain her excitement as Alexis guides her to the back of the auditorium. The chairs are now folded and pushed against the wall. Alexis grips the top of one. Her round eyes are framed with thick black eyeliner and a chocolate-brown eye shadow. “So, as you know, I do this a lot. I see so many people who want to make it in comedy. And I can pick up on things pretty early on.”

“I bet,” Natasha tries not to sound as giddy as she feels.

“This may sound weird, but is it possible you don’t enjoy improv? Or even performing in front of people at all?” Alexis pauses as if allowing the questions to fill the space between them.

This isn’t the way Natasha thought the conversation would start. Maybe it’s some sort of test.

Natasha keeps her head held high. “Well, I mean, I don’t know if anyone really enj—”

“No, there are plenty of people who actually do,” Alexis says. She barely reaches Natasha’s shoulder, but her proud posture and strong voice make her seem like she’s more than six feet tall. “They thrive when they’re in front of an audience. And I could be wrong, but I get the sense that this didn’t make you happy.”

Alexis squints as if she’s looking right through Natasha, past any bullshit that can be thrown her way.

“I do get nervous in front of people,” Natasha admits. “And maybe it does drain me sometimes. But I love comedy. I always have. This is what I’m meant to do.”