It was big. I’d give it that. The auditorium seating was steep—a waterfall of plush red chairs, crashing down into the basin of an empty orchestra pit. A pair of treacherous staircases ran along either side. The stage was vast and scratched and worn to a husk. Like it had been clogged to death—pulverized by malicious Riverdancers. In front of the stage were two push racks filled with tacky costumes; a large mobile whiteboard with the words Welcome to Theater! scrawled in purple dry-erase marker; and a folding table with a coffeemaker and biodegradable cups. The whole thing had a very Alcoholics Anonymous vibe.

There was a small handful of kids already seated, but I was putting forth great effort not to make eye contact.

“Welcome, welcome, young thespians!” said the last person in the world we expected to see. Although we didn’t see him until he spoke. He was standing just inside the entrance, back flat against the wall, like an actual serial killer.

It was Ziggy—the Piles Fork High School groundskeeper.

Ziggy was a tall, lanky dude with a goatee, sleeve tattoos, Jesus-y hair, and a look on his face that was part stoner, part sagely and all-knowing. He walked a very precarious line.

“Ziggy?” I said.

“What?” said Imogen.

“No way,” said Holden.

“Ziggy fucking Donovan?” said Wynonna fucking Jones.

Okay, so Ziggy was kind of a legend at Piles Fork. Not only was he cool, but he was disgustingly talented. He could outskate the skater kids. He could outplay the rocker kids on every instrument they threw at him. HE COULD OUT-SPIN THE FIDGET SPINNER… ERS. Really, he could outdo anyone at anything. If you thought you were good at something, chances were, Ziggy could do it better.

The weirdest thing about Ziggy Donovan, however, was how nice he was. And how he tried to be friends with everyone. Like, he had a genuine interest in each of our shitty lives. Hence how the four of us each knew who he was.

“What are you doing here?” said Imogen.

“What am I not doing here?” said Ziggy. “Am I right?”

The four of us exchanged confused glances.

Ziggy gave a clarifying cough. “I’m what modern society likes to call ‘the Boss,’” he said, air-quoting. “But I prefer to think of myself as a ‘Spiritual Guide’ to the ‘Sphere of the Bard.’” Again, air quotes and more air quotes.

“You’re in charge?” said Holden.

“You like Shakespeare?” said Wynonna incredulously.

“What’s not to like?” said Ziggy. “I’ll have you know, Shakespeare changed my life.”

“Shut up. No, he didn’t.”

“Cross my heart, hope to die,” he said—tracing an actual X over his heart with his finger. “I could tell you quite the story, right here and now. But let’s save that for introductions, yeah?”