A part of me still wanted to die.

To cease existing.

To stop taking care of my parents.

To stop pretending anything about this college experience mattered.

I just got real good at hiding it.

Even if it cost me everything.

Grace

“Grace, my dear, we need to talk.”

Professor McGraw took a sip of her coffee from her Eat. Sleep. Theater. mug. I crept into her office the day after our first rehearsal, head down, shoulders hunched, ready for my verdict. I dropped my phoenix-themed JanSport under her desk, offering my best innocent, don’t-know-why-I’m-here smile.

I did know why I was there.

“Have a seat.” She pointed at the chair in front of her. I did. Professor McGraw was a willowy, fifty-something redhead with funky, polka-dotted reading glasses and fifties-style dresses. I adored her and wanted to believe she liked me, too. I was definitely among her more dedicated students. My theoretical grades were great, I was always happy to put in extra hours to tidy up after rehearsals, and my love for theater was genuine.

She began sifting through a pile of documents strewn on her desk, licking her thumb as she separated the pages. Her office was filled with posters of Sheridan University productions over the years. The university was known for producing classic plays and attracting people from neighboring towns. The profits went toward city council and improving the college facilities. A twinge of jealousy stung my chest as I scanned the posters while she searched for whatever it was she wanted to show me.

The Phantom of the Opera.

Chicago.

To Kill a Mockingbird.

My mouth watered as I stared at the pictures of the actors and actresses, smiling to the horizon, mid-act. They looked electric. Glowing. Happy.

Professor McGraw’s voice pierced through the green cloud of envy surrounding me. She tapped a piece of paper with her fingernail. “There we are. I’ve been looking at the list of actors in A Streetcar Named Desire. I noticed your name was notably absent. Care to explain?”

“Oh. Yes. Of course.” I shifted in my seat. The actors in the posters stared directly at me. Their judging gazes warmed my skin. “Lauren got Blanche and Tess is Stella. The other smaller parts were cast on the days I took my grandmother to Austin for an EKG. I did sign up for design and assistant stage manager. That’s two roles.” I stuck two fingers up, like she didn’t know how to count.

Professor McGraw removed her reading glasses, closing her eyes and pinching the bridge of her nose. “We’ve discussed it, Grace. I cannot bend the rules for you anymore. Every student needs to get on that stage and show me what they’re made of.”

“Yes, ma’am. But I was hopin’—”

“I understand your circumstances, and I tried to cater to them for a couple years, but a part of earning a BA in Theater and Arts is practical acting. You haven’t gone onstage since you started studying here. Exhibiting your ability as an actor is mandatory, not optional. No one expects you to be Meryl Streep, but you do need to show us something. I don’t want you failing this semester, but I think if you don’t take on an actual role in the play, you just might.”

“But the play has already been cast.”

“Ask Mr. Finlay to include you.”

“Someone else will be losing their role,” I argued.

“Someone else is not in danger of failing the final semester of this year,” she volleyed back.

I knew Professor McGraw was right. All the other sophomores in theater and arts had already shown off their acting chops. Not me. I was going to be a junior next year, and I still hadn’t set foot onstage. My legs wouldn’t carry me past the threshold on auditions day. I tried but always ended up puking my guts out in the restrooms, or having epic meltdowns in my pickup.

This new play was no different. I wanted to take part. I truly did. But physically, I couldn’t.

It wasn’t that I wasn’t good at acting. I was the star of every school play up until the fateful night that changed everything. The stage recharged and electrified me. But getting back up there after what happened seemed like accepting my new face and introducing it to the world, and I wasn’t there yet. I didn’t think I ever would be. Not that it mattered. I didn’t want to become an actress anymore. That dream had been tossed into the trash along with a chunk of my face the night they brought me into the hospital. I wanted to work in theater, doing something that allowed me to hide in the shadows.

Director, producer, stage designer. Hell, I’d be happy working the concession booth if it meant being near the stage every day.

“Professor McGraw, please.” I took in a ragged breath but still couldn’t seem to fill up my lungs. “It’s not just my face. I have other things goin’ on.”

Grams was having a bad couple weeks, but I didn’t want to throw her into the mixed bag of excuses for why I hadn’t signed up for the play. I was too busy trying to make sure Grams was alive and well to focus on school.

“Like what?” Professor McGraw leaned forward, knotting her fingers together.

“It’s … personal.”

“Life is personal.” She smiled. “You want another extension on your practical grade, I’m going to need to know why.”

I couldn’t bring myself to tell her about Grams. About her being paranoid, and forgetful, and needing constant care. Admitting Grams had a problem would force me to hear unsolicited advice, and I didn’t want to put her in a home. Besides, portraying the woman who raised me as an obstacle didn’t sit right with me.

I shook my head, stuffing my fists into my hoodie’s pockets.

“Doesn’t matter. I shouldn’t have said anything. Sorry.” I stood up, the chair scraping behind me with a screeching sound that clawed at my neck. “I understand you might have to fail me this semester, Professor McGraw. Obviously, I will respect your verdict regardless, but I’m hopin’ I’ll get an extension and take part in the next play, junior year. Would you let me know?”

She stared up at me, pity swimming in her eyes. I could tell she was disappointed in me. That she wanted this conversation to shake me into action.

“Will do. Is it really that bad?” Her voice dropped to a whisper.

You have no idea.

I shook my head, closing my eyes. I slung my backpack over my shoulder, turning around to leave.

“And, Grace?”

I stopped, my back still to Professor McGraw.

“Whatever your journey is, be certain you have someone to lean on when things get tough. Because they always do. Someone who is not your grandmother. Someone chosen, not a built-in family member. Someone who’d walk through fire for you.”

I smiled bitterly. I only knew one person who would do something like that.

Me.

West arrived at the food truck five minutes early.

It surprised me that he showed up at all. I still thought it was some kind of trap.

I refused to accept this arrangement was real. That he didn’t have an ulterior motive.

Standing closer to him than I had on Friday, when it was dark, I noticed he wasn’t completely unscathed. He had a cut lip, a shiner on the verge of turning from purple to green, and a nasty nick running down his neck. He looked like he hadn’t slept in years. I almost laughed at how different we were.