“And what should I do in Illyria?” My tone was deliberately sick with dread. “My brother he is in Elysium. Perchance he is not drown’d: what think you, sailors?”

“It is perchance…” said Captain, finding his groove, pausing to choose his scripted words carefully, “… that you yourself were sav’d.”

“O my poor brother!” I clutched my hands to my heart. “And so perchance may he be.”

Captain and I finished the scene. We exited, and Sir Toby Belch (Jayden) and Maria (Daisy, braless) entered. Sir Toby was distraught by Olivia’s behavior—mourning the death of her brother and all. Didn’t she know that grieving was bad for your health?

The moment I stepped offstage, Ziggy—still in black—materialized from the shadows like a Ringwraith.

“I’m not even going to ask what’s going on,” said Ziggy, hands in the air. “It’s working. Just do me a solid and make sure it keeps working, ’kay?”

And that was that.

I quickly changed out of the dress and into my Cesario costume. Imogen helped. She insisted I keep the bra on. I needed to “emphasize the femininity of Viola” because I would spend the rest of the play dressed as a man. She lightened up the makeup but only slightly. Imogen informed me that my facial bone structure was “way too masculine, like Hugh Grant” to take off too much.

I’d never really associated “Hugh Grant” with “masculine,” but still. That made me blush.

Imogen smiled, pretending not to notice.

“What”—said a voice that was unmistakably Willow—“the fuck?”

Imogen and I turned and looked at her—in full Malvolio costume, which made her look kind of like an impish goblin who had abandoned her post at Gringotts.

“They swapped,” said Imogen.

“Oh,” said Willow. And then her eyes widened. “Oh!”

She suddenly looked very apologetic for coming off so abrasive.

“Well… you look so pretty, Ez! And you’re doing great.”

I blushed again. And I was WEARING BLUSH. My face probably looked like the red planet, Mars.

“Thanks, sis,” I mumbled.

Willow smiled maniacally, giving me an overenthusiastic thumbs-up.

From then on, it was like nothing had changed. Everyone was shockingly on board with the new Viola. We performed just as good as—if not better than—dress rehearsals.

Nearly two hours later, Sebastian and Imogen were in each other’s arms, as were Holden and I, and Willow was storming off furiously, declaring vengeance upon House Olivia.

We exited the scene.

Tucker sang his song.

The moment Tucker stepped offstage, the audience exploded sharply in a bullwhip crack of applause. That was our cue. We flooded the stage in an arranged order. I was at the center. On my right was Holden, and on my left, Imogen. We held hands and bowed in a synchronized wave, and as we came up, threw our interlocked hands in the air.