Holden’s eyes drifted, then crystallized with realization. “Oh.”

“Oh” was right. We had a Viola on our hands who—suddenly and inexplicably—didn’t know her lines. And she was only the STAR OF THE FUCKING SHOW.

My power walk escalated into a frenzied sprint. I barreled around the corner to the hallway leading “backstage”—sliding, scraping for traction—just as shipwrecked Wynonna was blasting through the backstage doors.

Wynonna spotted me and said, “What do we do, what do we do?”

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck,” I replied.

“Maybe… we could get a headset or something?” said Holden. “And Ezra can read you your lines?”

“And where would we get a headset?” said Wynonna. “The show starts in, like, a half hour!”

“Viola can’t wear a headset!” I exclaimed.

“Viola doesn’t know her goddamn lines!” said Wynonna.

“Even if we did get a headset, that only solves half the problem. It’s a performance, not just reading lines. It’s practically choreographed.”

“Ohhhhhh god,” said Wynonna, collapsing to her knees, enveloping herself in the folds of her shipwreck dress. “I’m going to be sick. I think I have a hernia.”

“What’s going on?”

This came from Imogen—just now arriving on the scene, wearing a long-sleeve black dress and a veil pulled back over her hair. Olivia would soon be mourning the deaths of her father and brother. Provided the play didn’t collapse due to the sudden amnesia of Viola.

“The show can’t go on,” said Wynonna. “I have a hernia.”

“Ezra, are you kidding me?” said Imogen. “This thing starts in a half hour.”

“That’s not Ezra,” I said.

Imogen glanced from me, to Wynonna, back to me, and back to her.

“Oh crud,” she said.

Meanwhile, Holden was silently having an existential crisis because he had accidentally made out with his best friend in the janitor’s closet.

“Someone, call nine-one-one,” said Wynonna. She moaned, and rolled onto her side, and curled into the fetal position. “I have a hernia.”

“C’mon, you do not have a hernia.”

“How do you know?”

“Because I was you just two minutes ago!”

“Oh yeah?” said Wynonna—suddenly looking more challenging than ill. “You think just because you were me, you know everything about me? You don’t know me!”

“This is ridiculous,” I said, shaking my head.

“The auditorium is filling up,” said Imogen. “We need to figure this out, fast.”

“Really?” said Holden. “People are actually showing up to this thing?”

“What? Yes! Of course they are! Why wouldn’t people show up?”

Holden shrugged. “This just seems like the Special Olympics of Shakespeare productions.”

Imogen opened her mouth, appalled. “I can’t believe you said that. The Special Olympics is a wonderful organization. That’s the most offensive thing I’ve heard all week!”

“Look, I wasn’t trying to diss the Special Olympics. I’m just saying… It was a figure of speech!”