Elliot's POV:

  I'm late.

  The campus map on my phone doesn't match the actual layout of Deer Lake. Or maybe I've forgotten how to navigate anything that isn't the straight shot from my old apartment to my former office building. Either way, I've been wandering between brick buildings for fifteen minutes, and I'm getting increasingly sweaty and annoyed.

  Finally, I spot a student hurrying toward a building I haven't inspected. I follow at a distance that hopefully doesn't read as stalking.

  When I reach the auditorium, there's a wall of noise. There are dozens of conversations that all have the manic energy of people trying to make good first impressions. Most of them look straight out of undergrad. I feel every one of my twenty-eight years.

  My phone buzzes in my pocket. I don't need to check it to know it's my mother. She's been checking in daily since the breakup with Jess. Her texts oscillate between supportive, "You're making the right choice for yourself" and concerned, "But what's the long-term plan here, Elliot?"

  I just silence my phone and look around the room. My gaze lands on a guy sitting alone. He's about my age, maybe a bit older. He isn't trying to network his way into everyone's contact, which makes him perfect.

  I make my way over and drop into the seat next to him.

  "This taken?" I ask, even though I'm already committed.

  He looks up from his book and gives me a once-over. "Apparently, not anymore."

  His dry tone makes me grin. "I figured you won't rattle on about acting. We're already going to be studying it all the time."

  "Good instinct." He shifts toward me. "At least you look like you know how to file your own taxes."

  I rub my jaw. I've been letting the stubble grow ever since I quit my job. I never could at my corporate job.

  "I'm Danny," he adds, as he offers me a hand.

  "Elliot."

  We shake, a brief, firm grip that feels reassuringly adult after watching everyone else give each other tearful hugs.

  We talk for a while. I tell him about how much I hated my marketing job. And he laments and commiserates telling me about working for a Republican congressman. There's something refreshing about his bluntness. He doesn't have a romanticized story about his "call to art."

  Before too long, someone else approaches us. He's younger than us, but still older than most of the people in the room.

  "You forming a support group?" He asks as he grins and gestures to the open seat on Danny's other side.

  "Something like that," Danny responds.

  "I'm Michael," he says as he extends a hand to each of us.

  We shake and introduce ourselves. He's funny. Danny's funny. And I don't have to pretend I like them. For the first time today, my shoulders relax. There's an ease to our conversation that requires no performance or self-editing. It reminds me why I came here: not just to act, but to find something authentic after years of corporate artifice.

  Across the room, someone catches my eye. It's a woman with dark curls. She talks animatedly with a group near the front. Something about her draws my attention. I notice the way she leans in and listens when other people speak, the quick gestures of her hands, her smile. I can't hear what her group is saying, but her laugh carries.

  "Who is that?" Michael asks as he follows my gaze.

  "I don't know." I say as I look away quickly.

  Michael smirks but doesn't push it. He changed the topic. "I heard the dean is a piece of work. Apparently, he was an up-and-comer on Broadway, but he flamed out."

  As if on cue, the doors at the back of the auditorium swing open, and a hush falls over the room.

  A man strides in with what seems like unearned confidence. He's in a leather jacket with stubble that's unkempt, and his expression suggests he's already bored of us.

  "That's him," Michael whispers.

  Danny sighs. "This should be interesting."

  The man, Dean Garrett, wastes no time delivering what I can only describe as an anti-pep talk. He starts by telling us we all suck (supposedly joking), then he transitions into a brutally honest assessment of our financial decisions and career prospects.

  Michael elbows me when Garrett drops "cappin" in his speech. "Did he just...?"

  "He's trying too hard," I whisper back.

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  What follows is a masterclass in lowering expectations. Garrett paces the stage and dismantles every fantasy about what these two years will look like. We'll work hard. We'll question our choices. We'll cry into our scripts. And we'll do it all while being broke.

  But I prefer it more than corporate doublespeak where "areas for growth" meant "things you're terrible at."

  But something happens. The dean makes a quip about our future earnings, and from somewhere near the back, a voice rings out: "Or sucking dick!"

  I turn just in time to spot the culprit. It's a broad-shouldered guy a few rows back that's fighting to keep a straight face. He catches my eye and winks.

  Garrett looks like he's contemplating early retirement as the room erupts. Michael is wheezing beside me, and even Danny cracks a smile.

  After the chaos settles, Garrett hands things over to Assistant Dean Wallace. He outlines the program, going over tracks, schedules and expectations.

  When he announces our semester assignments, the room's energy shifts. Partner scenes will be randomly assigned. I scan the room and take in all my potential partners.

  My gaze briefly lands on the curly-haired woman from earlier. She's doing the same thing as me: looking around and taking stock. For a moment, I wonder what she'd be like as a scene partner. I wonder if she's as focused and present in her acting as she seems to be in conversation. I shake the thought away.

  The highlight of Wallace's speech comes when some guy near the front asks if we'll really be doing crew assignments. His unwillingness to entertain the pushback earns silent applause from our corner of the room.

  "I like this guy," Michael whispers.

  "Anyone who takes down an entitled theater kids is good in my book," Danny adds.

  After the speech wraps up, the room fills with chatter as we all process what we heard.

  "It could be worse," I shrug in the middle of our conversation. "At least they're not pretending the program will be easy."

  "The partner scene will be interesting," Danny says. "Trying to pair together thirty people with varying degrees of experience and ego."

  "Maybe they'll be merciful and pair by personality," Michael suggests.

  "Don't count on it," Danny replies as he gathers his things. "I bet they love to throw people wo would never interact in real life into scenes together."

  The guy who made the dick joke during Garrett's speech walks to us and grins. "Jeez, you guys look like the old men squad. I'm Ethan.

  "Aren't you the one who made the joke?" I ask as I shake his hand.

  "Someone had to break the tension," he says.

  He's younger than us, but maybe we need someone like that. Youthful optimism to keep our nihilism in check.

  As the crowd begins to disperse, I catch sight of the curly-haired woman again. She's laughing at something her friend said, and her whole face lights up. I try to meet her eyes, but she turns away and follows her group toward the exit.

  "Earth to Elliot," Michael says, and it brings me back to, "We've got the paperwork thing upstairs. You coming?"

  I nod and push the moment aside. "Yeah, let's go."

  As we file out with the crowd, I feel the spark of anticipation, excited for what comes next.

  We're directed to a classroom upstairs where a table is set up with neat stacks of forms. A harried-looking woman in a blazer stands at the front.

  "Health forms are blue, tax information ones are yellow, emergency contact is green, payment authorization is pink. Complete all forms. Make sure to sign and date each one. Any questions?"

  No one raises a hand. We file to the table and take our forms.

  "Didn't realize we'd need a notary for orientation," Michael mutters, taking his forms.

  "Bureaucracy is everywhere," Danny says. "Even in the arts."

  The room is much smaller than the auditorium, and we are all in closer proximity. The curly-haired woman sits near the front with her friends. She's focused on her forms. I spot Ethan at the table in front of us, chatting up a girl. He's at ease in a way I envy.

  The forms are standard, and I breeze through them until I reach the pink form: payment authorization.

  That's when it hits me. I forgot my checkbook.

  I stare at the form and hope a solution will materialize if I just look hard enough. The instructions required a void check.

  "Problem?" Danny asks as he notices I haven't written something in a few minutes.

  "I didn't realize I'd need my checkbook today." I admit.

  "I'm sure it happens all the time," he says. "Ask the dragon lady up front if you can bring it tomorrow."

  I approach the lady at the front desk and try to gather any ounce of courage. "Excuse me, I, umm, forgot my checkbook. Can I bring the voided check tomorrow?"

  She looks up at me over her glasses in a way that makes it feel like I've revealed a major character flaw. "You didn't bring a check? It was clearly in the orientation materials."

  "I know. I'm sorry. I must have missed it."

  I hear a whisper and muffled laughter from the curly-haired woman's group. Are they laughing at me? Probably. First impression: guy who can't get his act together enough to bring a checkbook to orientation.

  She sighs. "Bring it first thing tomorrow. Fill this out instead."

  She hands me another form, and I return to my seat. I'm rattled. It's such a small thing. But it suddenly makes me feel unprepared, and more out of place.

  "Bad news?" Danny asks.

  "It's just nonsense," I say, trying to sound casual. "I'll sort it out later."

  As I fill out the new form, I'm aware of voices a few seats over. The girl and her friends laugh and talk as they work through their paperwork. There's a blonde, and she says something I can't hear, but I smile when I hear the curly-haired girl's laugh.

  "Figured out who she is yet?" Michael asks.

  I startle. "What?"

  "The girl you keep looking at. You're not exactly subtle."

  "I'm not looking."

  "Sure," Michael says unconvinced. "Better act quick. I've seen Ethan get three girls' numbers so far."

  I glance over at Ethan. He's in a new seat next to a new girl. "He works fast."

  "Youth." Danny says. "So much energy."

  I laugh, "We're not that old."

  "Speak for yourself," Danny retorts. "I pulled a muscle getting out of bed this morning."

  We continue to fill out the forms and make small talk about the program. And it makes me forget about the check issue.

  The administrative woman claps to get our attention. "Alright, everyone! When you've completed the forms, please bring them to the front. Then, you're free for lunch. You'll be assigned to your orientation groups for the afternoon session."

  I'm still working through my last form when Michael nudges me. "Your curly–haired friend is about to be done."

  Before I can correct him, she' walking to the front. After she hands in her forms, she looks back. Our eyes meet briefly, and for a split second, I think she might smile or nod at me. But she glances away, and heads out of the room.

  I shouldn't feel disappointed. And yet...

  I finish my forms and join the line at the front desk. When my time comes, the woman takes my stack and flips through it.

  "Mr. Vian, bring the check first thing tomorrow. Or else we won't be able to pay you."

  "Of course. Thank you."

  Michael and Danny join me in the hallway soon after. We talk about where we want to go for lunch. And I try to push the girl out of my head.

  I'm here to act. Not be distracted. And I've already come this far.