Mr. Alvarez sat us in a circle on the stage floor the next afternoon, scripts open, everyone cross-legged on the cold plywood, half paying attention, phones tucked under thighs where he couldn't see them. I noticed exactly one person in that circle. Nobody else came close to registering.Gray didn't look at me once, not during the read-through, not during the break Alvarez called halfway through act two. He read his lines flat and fast, getting through them like a chore he'd rather skip, and every time our characters' names sat next to each other on the page, something in my chest twisted hard enough that I had to stare down at the script just to breathe evenly.He caught my arm after Alvarez dismissed us for the day, pulling me off to the side near the loading dock, where the stagehands kept old set pieces stacked against the wall, leftover flats from three years of productions nobody had bothered to throw out. A fake balcony railing. A cardboard castle turret with the paint peeling
Last Updated : 2026-07-07 Read more