The voice was low and firm. Familiar. Her head shot up, looking around for the source. There, sitting in a purple velvet seat against the back brick wall, was a Black woman with long box braids, one ankle propped on her knee.
She grinned at Stevie.
“Dr. Calloway,” Stevie said. “Oh my god, what are you doing here?”
Dr. Thayer Calloway was Stevie’s favorite theater professor at Reed. She was queer, brilliant, and had been the first person to make Stevie truly believe shecould. Dr. Calloway was tough and demanding and made Stevie cry more than once, but she also made Stevie into the actor she was today.
Whatever kind of actor that might be.
“I’m in town for my sister’s birthday,” Dr. Calloway said. “Horrific affair at a karaoke bar downtown. I can’t seem to get ‘My Heart Will Go On’ out of my head.”
Stevie laughed. “It’s so good to see you.”
Dr. Calloway stood up, dapper in her butch style of dark jeansand a white T-shirt under a navy blazer, flat brown loafers on her feet.
“I’m actually on my way to the airport,” she said, motioning toward her rolling suitcase, “but I couldn’t resist stopping by to check on my favorite students and the Empress.”
Stevie smiled. “We’re still here.”
“So I see.” Dr. Calloway smiled. “And thriving.”
“It’s all Adri. She’s very determined.”
“It’s not only Adri.” Dr. Calloway’s eyes narrowed on Stevie, a familiar gaze that always made Stevie simultaneously squirm and straighten her shoulders. Dr. Calloway had once stared at her for a full fifteen minutes in front of their entire class, asking her the same question about the character she was playing at the time over and over again—What does Angelicawant, Stevie?—until Stevie gave an acceptable answer.
“That was quite impressive,” Dr. Calloway said, motioning toward the stage. “A Benedick unlike one I’ve ever seen.”
Stevie waved a hand. “It’s noth—”
“It’s not nothing, Stevie.” She lifted a brow, and Stevie nodded.
“Right. Sorry. I mean, thank you, Dr. Calloway.”
“Call me Thayer, please. We’re not in school anymore.”
“Thayer,” Stevie said, then immediately blushed. Half the theater department had been in love with Thayer Calloway, lesbians and bi and pan girls flocking to her queer energy like hens to their feed, along with a few women who had always assumed they were straight. And Stevie had been no different.
“Anyway, I do want to say hello to Adri and Ren, but I’m glad I caught you alone first,” Thayer said.
“Oh?”
Thayer smiled. “I’m in New York now, as you probably know.”
“I do. How’s it going?”
“Very well, actually. I’ve just been asked to directAs You Like Itfor Shakespeare in the Park this summer. At the Delacorte.”
Stevie’s eyes widened. Half of Stevie’s dramatic education at Reed had been studying actors on the famous Central Park Delacorte stage, everyone from Anne Hathaway to Meryl Streep to Rosario Dawson.
“Oh my god,” she said. “That’s wonderful. Congratulations, Dr.—Thayer. That’s a dream come true.”
Thayer smiled, showing all of her teeth, dimples pressing into her cheeks. “It is. And I want to offer you a role.”
Stevie froze, her mouth dropping open without her permission. It was as though the letters were particles in the air, slowly coming together to form words, sentences.
“Wait, what?” Stevie finally asked.
“You heard me, Stevie.”
