It wasn’t like she’d planned to never see her father again. But she’d grown more comfortable withnotseeing him over the past six months. She thought she probably could have happily gone a little longer. But there was always going to be a first time she saw him again, and with just her mom, in Boston, on her own court—or at least off his—was probably the best scenario she could have hoped for.
Making decisions as rapidly as she always did, Caroline wrote back:
Caroline:Sure
Caroline:I’ll get you tickets and a hotel room near the university
She put her phone away without waiting for the reply. She didn’t know whether her mother had planned to get their tickets, but if Caroline did it, she could schedule her parents’ trip over just one night and limit the potential impact if her father decided to yell at her again. He’d have to see that Caroline was managing just fine, that she hadher own apartment and a better education and (hopefully) a lot more sophistication and life experience than the last time he’d seen her, but if he yelled anyway, she’d be able to throw him out.
Personal business concluded, Caroline squinted up at the facade of the building she’d been leaning against. The performing arts building was on the other end of campus from the B-school, surrounded by a cluster of student dormitories she had no reason to visit.
She didn’t recognize any of the students going in and out in the early evening. She supposed there was not a ton of overlap between the people she knew from Data Analytics and the grad students involved in the student production ofThe Iceman Cometh.
Her hand tightened on the strap of her backpack. She wasn’t sure about the script for this. She’d never gone to a university theater production or even met a theater student. It had seemed very simple when Adrian described it—just go in and ask if they needed help—but what if they asked what kind of help she meant? She wouldn’t know what to say.I thought I could carry things for youdidn’t sound very convincing in her head. Perhaps she ought to just go to the student center and take a flyer for the first political organization she saw; she already knew from her time in college that the people in the political clubs wouldn’t care how weird she was as long as she’d listen to them talk.
But if Adrian was going to figure out business accounting this week, she supposed she could at least keep up her end of the deal by actually entering the theater building. She waited for a group of several students to approach the front door and ducked in behind them, following them through the lobby and into a side corridor that ran alongthe length of the building. Nobody gave her a second glance when the corridor ended in a warren of activity backstage, where people were talking animatedly, carrying bits of scenery back and forth, running lines together, or shouting at other people.
Caroline halted, not knowing a soul among the dozens of people there, and uncertain of her angle of approach or who she ought to talk to. A beefy, red-faced blond guy carrying a roll of sound cable over one arm nearly crashed into her because she was in the middle of things. As he scuttled back in alarm, his eyes narrowed as he tried to place her and failed.
“Are you looking for someone?” he asked, not unkindly.
“Um,” said Caroline. Her mind had blanked on the title of the person she needed. Not the director. Not the controller. Not an officer or president. “The person who’s in charge of the backstage people.”
The big guy’s sandy brows drew together in a point as he tried to understand her request.
“You want... the stage manager, maybe?”
Yes, that was the one!
Caroline nodded gratefully, and the guy turned and pointed across the room to a tall student with lavender-streaked brown hair to her shoulders.
“Sophia,” he said. “She’s just about to go to rehearsals, so be quick.”
Caroline thanked him and tried to approach Sophia. The stage manager wore a black jersey jumpsuit; flat, pointy-toed black leather boots; and a black nylon messenger bag bulging with binders.
Caroline tapped the stage manager on the shoulder, feeling a little grubby; she was wearing a school sweatshirt over pink running tights.
Sophia must not have felt Caroline’s tap, because she gave an order to the student she’d been speaking with and stepped right past her, gaze fixed on the door to the rehearsal rooms.
“Oh, um—” Caroline tried to get her attention, but Sophia was already walking away.
Caroline jogged a couple of steps to catch her at the door.
“Hi, you’re the stage manager, right?” she asked, holding the door open.
“Yes, I’m on the way to rehearsal,” Sophia said smoothly, not slowing her movement. She shot Caroline an assessing glance out of the corner of her eye.
The other woman was nearly as tall as she was, so Caroline had to scurry to keep up.
“I’m sorry, this will be super quick—I just wanted to ask if you needed any help with the running crew—”
“Run crew.”
“The run crew, yeah, or actually, anything else—”
Sophia reached the end of the hall, and Caroline had to turn herself into Sophia’s path to gain her attention again.
Sophia gave Caroline a smile that didn’t show teeth or use many muscles in her face. “Are you one of the new theater majors?”
