I study the puppet on my lap. She has an extremely characterful face. I decide to call her Lydia after myself. Then I look out from the stage, lowering my head a bit so I can see things from the perspective of a puppet. “Huh,” I say. I move my head to stage left and then stage right, imagining a hand in my head dictating what I do.

“Hello?” comes a stressed-sounding voice from the direction of the red curtain. I sit up quickly. “Is there someone still in the booth?” It’s the woman with blond hair. She marches over. The kittens shake in their seats as she stamps on the floorboards that their case is standing on. “What on earth are you doing here?”

“Um,” I begin. “Manning the—”

“Why haven’t you been helping? There’s so much to do before the opening!”

“I . . .” I say. “I’m sorry?”

“DEN!!” she calls and a tall man with a beard and broad shoulders sheepishly peeps out from between the red curtain and the wall. For a moment, he makes eye contact with me. I feel like it’s the first time all day that someone has actually seen me. My mouth waters. His thin, papery neck pokes up from a mandarin shirt collar. I look away and back to the woman, who has her eyes closed as though she is so fed up that she can’t handle looking at anything. “Den!! What did I say? Can you please just properly check all the balconies and rooms for lost fucking sheep! NOW!”

“I can help now, if you want?” I say in a very quiet voice; I realize that I am putting my hand up, with the tickets still in them, like I’m at school.

“There’s no time now, is there?” she says, shaking her head with her eyebrows raised. I lower my arm. “You’ll have to just go home for today, won’t you?”

“Well,” I say. “I don’t know. I guess. But I thought you said to man the tickets. So, I . . . I . . . I mean, that’s what I’ve been doing?”

The woman hasn’t stopped shaking her head. “Honestly, I just don’t know what to say.” Her voice is very high-pitched. She leaves back through the red curtain.