“Who, me? I’m harmless!” Ginger says with her hands up. “Your auntie here, she’s a real damp cloth, right?”
“She runs a tight ship,” I joke.
“And how is life at the School of Performing Arts?”
“Stressful. But amazing. You know so much about me,” I say, giving my aunt a playful look. “And I know nothing about you.”
“What!” Ginger yells. “Lil doesn’t talk about us endlessly?”
I shake my head. “Not even once.”
“Oh my god.” Ginger fakes disgust. “What about Davina?”
“She talks about you even less.”
The table laughs. It feels good. Ginger says, “Well, sir, I own a bar in Brooklyn. You should come by.” She looks at Lil. “When you’re of age, of course. And this is my best half, Celeste.”
“Hi, August,” Celeste says. “I’m an artist like your aunt, but not as good.”
“That’s ridiculous,” Aunt Lil says.
“How about,” Celeste tries again, “not as celebrated.”
Aunt Lil considers it. “That’s fair.”
“Yet!” Ginger says, then gives her a kiss on the cheek. Celeste is younger and more feminine than Ginger, and they make a good-looking couple.
“I’m Terry,” says a quiet white woman with gray hair and a welcoming smile. “I work in book publishing.”
An African American woman waves at me. Her shaved head accentuates her sharp cheekbones. She could be a model. “I’m Judy. I work as a nurse at Callen-Lorde, an LGBTQ health-care center. It’s a terrific resource for transgender people. You could start your hormone therapy there.”
Aunt Lil jumps in. “He needs to be eighteen.”
Judy waves her off. “He just needs a parent’s consent.”
“I’m afraid I don’t have that,” I say.
“I’m sorry, sweetie,” she says. “But you could start therapy. It’s good to talk to someone.”
“He could? I didn’t know that,” Aunt Lil says. “August, would you?”
I have enough to do. I need to stay focused on acting. “Maybe during summer break?”
Aunt Lil frowns. “We can talk later,” she says.
A plate of brownies has been tempting me since I sat down. I’m guessing they are void of dairy or even sugar, but I’ll take my chances. I reach for one as the conversations pick up around me. Right before taking a bite, I hear, “Don’t eat that!”
I drop the brownie on the table. All eyes on me. Aunt Lil says, “Your mom would kill me if you had that. It’s a special brownie.”
“Full of pot,” Ginger jokes.
The room giggles, waiting for my response. “Just a bite?” I ask.
They laugh. And Lil takes the brownie from me playfully, then takes a bite herself. “In one year and two months,” she says.
The conversations get going again. These ladies know how to party. Ginger scoots her chair toward me. “So, stud, I’m from Harrisburg, pretty close to your hometown. Fellow Pennsyl-suck-ian. It wasn’t a great place to grow up a baby dyke.”
Celeste cuts in, “That’s why we all come to New York. To bloom.”
“Look at me,” Ginger announces. “I bloomed into this sexy butch dyke.”
“I still have some blooming to do,” I admit.
“I’m guessing both transitions, gender and geography, must be hard to process. Are you adjusting?”
“Honestly,” I say—because why not be honest—“my life is such a blur of acting classes, regular classes, homework. And tomorrow, I have my first audition. I don’t have time to process anything. I’m just surviving.”
“I can imagine,” Celeste says. Her eyes are sweet and understanding.
Ginger gives my knee a shake. “What’s the audition?”
Aunt Lil comes over and leans against the table, wineglass in hand, to listen. “Grease,” I say.
Ginger starts clapping loudly, getting the attention of the room. “No shit. My lesbian theater group in college did a parody of Grease called Lube. It was a hit!”
“I don’t want to know how the hand jive went,” Aunt Lil jokes.
“Who are you auditioning for, August?” Terry asks.
I look around, wondering what they will think. “I’m actually going for Betty Rizzo,” I say, even though I might be going for Kenickie. Jury’s still out. The group is quiet for a second. Taking it in? Are they going to judge me? They are feminists. They might have a problem with me playing a female part. “Why Rizzo?” Ginger asks.
I look at Aunt Lil, who gives me a nod. “’Cause my parents are coming up for the show. And they think I’m still living as a girl, and if they know the truth, I might have to go to conversion therapy.”
I look down at the floor, ashamed. But it does feel good to finally be honest. Janet the nurse nods. “When I was in high school, my family wouldn’t allow me to date girls.”
“What did you do?” I ask.
She laughs to herself. “I had a best friend and she could spend the night. That worked out nicely, actually.”
“I think,” Ginger begins, “I can speak for the table and assure you that keeping a part of yourself private to protect yourself and keep safe is something we have all done.”
“My girlfriend is so wise,” Celeste says.
“Do you have a girlfriend or boyfriend?” Judy asks me.
My cheeks go red. “You’re embarrassing him,” my aunt says.
“There’s a girl,” I say proudly. “But it’s complicated. She’s awesome. When she walks into a room, I feel things.”
“He’s got it bad,” Celeste says.
“Do not,” I elegantly defend myself.
“What’s complicated about it?” Davina asks. This is all news to Aunt Lil and Davina.
“She’s got a boyfriend, but I think she likes me.”
“The drama!” Ginger says.
I continue, “She asked me not to audition for Rizzo. She wants me to be her Kenickie.”
“And not in her way,” Janet adds.
“My turn to give advice,” Celeste says. “August, your life has just begun. There will be more . . .” She trails off, realizing she doesn’t know her name.
“Yazmin.”
“Oh, what a nice name. But there will be more Yazmins. Does that help?”
“It does,” I lie.
Celeste and Ginger high-five, then kiss. “My hero,” Celeste says. They are really enjoying bestowing the younger generation with wisdom.
I spend another hour with the book club. They tell me about the history of gay culture in New York, but the brownies must be working because the story gets derailed by tangents. I politely excuse myself, say goodbye to everyone, and head upstairs.
After everyone leaves, Aunt Lil peeks in my room. “Hey, kid, you asleep?”
“Not really,” I admit. I’m lying in bed mindlessly scrolling on my phone and trying to decide between Rizzo and Kenickie. My parents and Yazmin.
“Come with me,” she says, with a happy tone and slight slur.
I follow her down the hall to her studio. She bumps into the wall. Someone had a fun night. After searching around, she lifts a canvas onto an easel. The painting is a mess of brown and yellow splashed around wildly. Aunt Lil leans against a table. “What do you think?” she asks.
“Not your best work,” I say, making my aunt cackle.
“Years ago, I fell for a girl named Angelina. She was a spicy firecracker from Italy. I thought she was the one. I was heels over head for her,” she slurs.
“And you painted this for her?”
“No, this was my bottom. She drained me of my creative energy. No, I drained myself of my creative energy.” She pauses, reflecting. Or maybe she forgot what she was saying. “Love can be good and beautiful, like me and Davina. But sometimes it can be a fever dream running hot and cold, leaving you with art that looks like someone took a poop on a canvas.”
I nod at both her wisdom and the painting looking like crap. “So, I should aud
ition for Rizzo?”
“If it was love, dear boy, you wouldn’t have to make that choice.”
That hits hard. I love my aunt. “Aunt Lil, if you love Davina, then why won’t you put a ring on it? Or at least live together?”
“I’m set in my ways. New dogs and old tricks, right?”
“Sure,” I say.
Aunt Lil tuns the light off and bumps her way out of the room. Before leaving, she turns back and smiles. “Don’t let a crush distract you from your dreams. And also, don’t mix red wine and tequila. Thank you and good night.”
Ten
Thursday, September 26
12:03 P.M.
Fifteen minutes until the audition. I’m taking a big loop around the block to calm my nerves. My first audition at West Grove was for Jesus Christ Superstar. An ambitious musical for a small theater group, but my old high school would go to great lengths to have Christian content. I wanted to play Jesus, but that wouldn’t have gone over well with my parents. I settled for the only female role in the whole show, Mary Magdalene. When I got the part, Mom was so proud of me. It felt like she loved me more.
Playing Rizzo will make my mom proud. It’s impossible for her to not overflow with love while watching me in front of a thousand people in the fancy theater. For my parents’ love, and so they won’t take me back to Pennsylvania, I’m auditioning for Rizzo. Even if it means Yaz will be done with me.
I have a couple of pre-audition rituals. “A couple” makes it sound cute, but there are five things I need to do, or I won’t get the part. All completely necessary to my success. First, I need to eat two bowls of cereal in the morning. Doesn’t matter what cereal, just needs to be two. Aunt Lil didn’t have any cereal in her house when I first arrived, so I had to buy Froot Loops special for the audition to the school. Second, must wear a black shirt. Easy ’cause that’s my uniform anyways. Third, and this is when things get weird, listen to my playlist of whale sounds. Fourth, give five compliments. This is important—it helped me book Mary Poppins at summer camp. I’ve given four compliments today and need one more. Finally, take a walk before my audition. And that’s what I’m doing now. While listening to my whale sounds.
As I cross the street to school, there’s someone familiar sitting on the front steps, leaning against her guitar case, soaking up the sun. Maggie from the New Music program, who sings songs called “Too Much.”
Turns out the New Music program is a big deal. Elijah said only ten people get into the group and they all end up famous. I watch Maggie from across the street. She’s got on black jeans and a denim jacket. Green shirt underneath. Maggie looks chill. Calm. Opposite of me right now. I will match her energy. For her, I’ll play Cool Guy.
I mess up my hair a little, smooth out my shirt, and cross the street. “Come here often?”
“Almost every day, actually,” she says, her voice scratchy and soothing. “I’m waiting for my bandmates. We’re going to rehearse.”
“Your New Music bandmates?” I say, flexing my memory skills.
“Yes, we have a band called Nerd Cheese.”
“Not really.”
“It’s memorable.”
“So are you,” I say coolly.
She smiles. “Auditions are today?”
“Yeah, mine is soon.”
“Nervous?”
Cool Guy says, “Nah.”
“I would be. I couldn’t imagine the pressure. Especially at this school.”
“I’m not worried.”
“Really?” she asks. “That’s suspicious.”
I wave her off. “I do this all the time.”
“So, you’re not nervous?”
I sit down beside her. “I don’t get nervous,” I say, wondering if she can tell I’m completely lying.
“Oh man, I do. The first time I auditioned for a musical in middle school, I told them my name was Magoo.”
I laugh. “You did theater?”
“Yeah, but acting wasn’t my thing. I love playing music—that’s all I want to do. But I get so nervous onstage. Why do you love acting?”
“Do you think dentists get asked the same question?” I ask.
She laughs. “They have an undeniable passion for teeth.”
I run my hand through my hair. Stare off in the distance. “I like being in front of a crowd. I’m good at it.”
She rolls her eyes. “Be real. For one minute?”
I take a dramatic breath. “There’s nothing better than being onstage. In front of an audience. It’s a feeling I get, like I’m fully present and seen—even if it’s not me they see. I take words and create a person. Then I make the audience believe that person is real.” I stop, frustrated to not have the best way to explain.
“You’re cute.”
“Who, me?” I ask innocently.
“Yes, exactly, you. When you drop the act and get all excited about theater, you’re adorable.”
I smile and maybe even blush a little. “Are you going to write a song about me?”
“I just might.”
I remember my last ritual, one more compliment. “You know, your voice is something else. The only thing better is your smile.”
Her turn to blush. “Thank you, August.”
Even though I don’t want to leave, I say, “I better get going.”
“What’s a less violent version of break legs?” she asks as I get up from the steps.
“Rub legs?” I suggest.
“Go in there and rub some legs.”
“Thanks, Magoo,” I say.
I take the stairs to the basement, my heart beating loud enough to echo in the stairwell. The nervous energy hits me as soon as I enter the hallway. The place is packed—small groups huddled up talking, others sitting alone, and a few preparing for their audition. Yazmin is standing in a group of girls. She spots me and heads over, her oversized bright yellow jacket hanging off her shoulders. “Hey, Auggie,” she says, then hugs me. I see people looking. This feels weird and performative.
“How’d it go?” I ask. Her audition was before mine.
“Ugh, I feel like I could have done the song better.”
“I’m sure you were great,” I say.
She shrugs. “When are you going in?”
“August Greene,” the audition proctor yells across the hallway.
“That’s me.”
“Wait,” she says, grabbing my backpack straps. “Who are you going for?”
I like her. I like whatever we are doing. I want to keep this going for as long as possible. “It’s a surprise,” I say.
She smiles like she knows what that means. “Break legs, Auggie!”
The proctor writes on her clipboard and opens the door for me. I’m feeling all the emotions of my first audition, but this time it’s not just Mr. Daniels and Anna; there are also five other teachers and someone behind the piano. I gulp. I literally gulp.
I set my backpack down on a desk and hear, “You’re sure you signed up for the right audition?”
I find center stage and smile at the line of people behind a long table facing me. “Yes,” I say with a shaky voice. “I’m here for Rizzo.”
They look at each other, silently deciding if this is acceptable. Do they have a rule book? Even if rules do exist, I doubt one is outlawing transgender people from playing both genders. “All right, August,” Mr. Daniels says. “Let’s see what you got.”
The teacher in the middle says, “Anna will be reading with you.”
“Great, thank you,” I say. Anna smiles at me, but it feels fake. This would be the perfect time for her to get back at me. I need to connect with her to do this scene. I return the smile.
I shut my eyes. I’m Rizzo. A tough Italian girl, more mature than her classmates, has seen more and been through more. I talk down to everyone because I feel below them. A big heart protected by the thickest skin at Rydell High.
I open my eyes and nod at Anna. She reads her first line. It’s a scene between Rizzo and the Pink Ladies. I pre
tend to chew gum and assert my dominance in the group. I throw attitude and make jokes. When I can, I let my soft side show.
When I finish, I see a couple of teachers nodding. Good sign.
Mr. Daniels says, “Nicely done, August.” Good sign.
Anna rolls her eyes. Bad sign.
“You ready to sing?” the music teacher, Mr. Gonzales, asks.
I nod and the piano starts playing “There Are Worse Things I Could Do.” I sing the chorus, releasing the raw pain of wanting a life different from your own. I let the feeling swell, and when I hit the last line—But to cry in front of you, That’s the worst thing I could do—a tear runs down my cheek. When I finish, I see a couple of smiles. One person claps. Good sign. I’ve worked so hard to be here. I’m finished with my first audition at SPA.
“Thank you, August,” Mr. Daniels says. “You are excused.”
“Thank you for considering me. And thank you, Anna.”
I head out the door and every eye in the hallway stares at me—trying to judge how my audition went. I feel a tap on my shoulder. I turn around and see Tess.
“Rizzo? Really, August?”
“How did you know?” I ask defensively.
“We all heard you sing, obviously,” Tess says, like I should have known.
“Yes,” I say, no way to lie. “I went for Rizzo.”
“That is so unfair. What gives you the right?”
She stands with her arms crossed and her foot tapping. I should tell her that she has no right confronting me. I should tell her so many things. Instead, I shake my head and walk off.
Eleven
Friday, September 27
2:23 P.M.
The casting sheet for Grease will be posted on the corkboard in the basement “before the end of school today.” That timeline is too vague for my nerves, which are wrecked from anticipation. Everyone is in the same boat—you can feel it in the air, see it on people’s faces, and it’s the only topic of conversation in the halls. There’s no need to wait by the corkboard; someone will post a picture and it will be widely shared instantly.
Last night was torture. I had a pile of homework but couldn’t concentrate on anything but Grease. Instead of writing a paper on World War II, I texted Elijah—who isn’t worried at all—paced around my room replaying the audition in my head, texted more, looked at everyone’s posts, then texted some more. I would hear gossip from Anna via Elijah. And I didn’t hear anything from Yazmin. Bad sign.
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