"That's amazing," Oakley calls from the bedroom, where he's reviewing a script. He's six weeks into a run at an experimentaltheater in Brooklyn and loving every exhausting moment. He's waiting tables during the day, auditioning constantly, slowly building a resume. It's a brutal schedule but he's thriving.
We're all thriving, actually. Against every odd, every prediction, every warning from Eleanor Ashworth about poverty and failure.
Well. Former warnings. She and Harrison showed up yesterday. The dinner next week should be interesting.
My phone rings—Vivian Strasberg.
"Vespera," she says when I answer. "Quick question. Are you free June first?"
"Probably? Why?"
"Because the Drama Desk Awards are that night. And 'The Omega's Gambit' is nominated for Outstanding Production. You're nominated for Outstanding Actress in a Play."
The world stops.
"I'm what?"
"Nominated. For a Drama Desk Award. One of the most prestigious honors in Off-Broadway theater." She sounds delighted. "I told you you were good. Now everyone else agrees."
"I—" Words fail me. "That's—"
"Terrifying? Exciting? Life-changing?" Vivian laughs. "All of the above. You probably won't win—you're up against actresses with decades more experience. But being nominated at twenty? That's unheard of. That's career-defining."
"Oh my god," I manage.
"Get a dress," Vivian says. "Something dramatic. Something that says 'I claimed three Alphas on stage and I'd do it again.' I'll send details."
She hangs up.
I stand there, phone in hand, processing what just happened.
"Drama Desk nomination," I say to the room. "For my first Off-Broadway show. At twenty years old."
The pack explodes. Dorian picks me up and spins me. Oakley whoops loud enough to concern the neighbors. Corvus actually smiles, which is approximately the same as someone else throwing a parade.
"This calls for celebration," Dorian says.
"We can't afford fancy celebration," I point out.
"We can afford pizza and cheap champagne," Corvus counters. "That's fancy enough."
We order too much food and buy a fifteen-dollar bottle of champagne that tastes like regret and victory. We crowd onto our second-hand couch and watch YouTube videos of past Drama Desk ceremonies while eating pizza straight from the box.
"You're going to Broadway," Oakley says, stating it like a fact. "This is just the beginning."
"Maybe," I say. "Probably not. But maybe."
"Definitely," Dorian corrects. "You marked three Alphas on stage and then proved you weren't just making a statement. You proved you have the talent to back it up. That's the combination that changes the industry."
"He's right," Corvus adds. "You're becoming exactly what you said you'd be. Difficult. Loud. Transcendent."
"And yours," I say, pulling all three of them closer. "Don't forget that part."
"Never," Oakley promises.
We fall asleep on the couch eventually, empty pizza boxes and champagne bottle evidence of our modest celebration. Tomorrow I'll email Vivian about the dress code. Tomorrow Dorian will tell his theater about my nomination. Tomorrow we'll figure out how to afford whatever this next chapter costs.
But tonight, we're just four people who chose each other over safety. Who walked away from family money and eliteinstitutions. Who decided being difficult was better than being manageable.
