Elliot's POV:

  I'm not actually listening to a word Ethan is saying.

  He's telling some elaborate story about a tech rehearsal gone wrong, but my focus keeps drifting. The afternoon sun slants across the quad and warms the back of my neck as our orientation group sprawls in the grass. Our second year leaders– James with the unfortunate soul patch and Zoe who hasn't looked up from her phone in twenty minutes– are supposedly guiding us through skit preparation.

  "...and then the backdrop just collapsed," Ethan finishes and gestures dramatically.

  "That's rough," I respond, hoping it's an appropriate answer.

  Michael glances at me. "You didn't hear a word, did you?

  I sigh. "That obvious?"

  "You've been staring at that cloud for five minutes," he says. "Must be some dope cumulonimbus up there."

  Our orientation group is larger than us. There's Lindsay, a former ballet dancer with perfect postural Greg who was a corpse on a CBS procedural, and a couple of people whose names I can't remember. They're all engaged in various levels of participation as James half-heartedly tries to brainstorm skit ideas.

  "We need to come up with something that won't put everyone to sleep," Zoe says, finally looking up from her phone. "Ours we were so bad that Wallace left."

  "What's the objective here?" I ask. "Just to introduce us to the school?"

  "Basically," James replies. "Just don't get weird or political. Last year, someone did a thing about how the school is like the prison-industrial complex. It was... something."

  "What about something with theater stereotypes?" Lindsey suggests. "You know, the various types of students who end up here.?"

  "That could work," Danny says. "Each of us could do a different type."

  "We could do the stereotype, then break the fourth wall with the real reason," Michael suggests.

  The idea gains momentum as everyone starts pitching stereotypes. There's the Method Acting who refuses to break character for weeks, the Musical Theater Kid who sings instead of talking, the Shakespeare Purist who speaks in iambic pentameter."

  "What about the Corporate Refugee?" Greg gestures toward me. "No offense, but you scream 'I escaped a cubicle.'"

  "None taken," I say. " I'll be flinching at the Teams' notification for the rest of my life."

  We spend the next forty-five minutes planning, blocking out bits, figuring out transitions, and assigning roles. As time goes on, I get more invested.

  "So," James says as we wrap up. "We'll get to rehearse for most of tomorrow morning before the performance.

  As we gather our things, Ethan stretches and turns to our group. "Are you down for checking out this bar near campus? It's called the Green Room. It's where a lot of the second-years hang out."

  "I'm in," Michael says as he puts on his backpack.

  Danny glances at his watch. "Why not?"

  A week ago, I might have made an excuse. I would have said I needed to do some errands. Instead, I find myself nodding. "Yeah, I could use a drink."

  Ethan smiles and slaps me on the shoulder.

  As we head off campus toward the Green Room, I feel lightness in my step. And I like it.

  The Green Room is exactly what you'd expect from a theater bar. It's dark enough to hide your disappointment and loud enough to drown out your self-doubt. Perfect.

  "Holy shit, look at this place," Ethan says, his eyes wide like someone who discovered they sell beer at Disney World. "This is awesome."

  We snap a corner table, and I volunteer for first-round duty, mostly because my body is still on corporate time. My internal clock thinks I should be sending emails with the subject line: "Circling back on those deliverables" right now, not deciding between IPAs.

  The bartender, a guy with more tattoos than career prospects, nods at me. "What will it be?"

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  "Four of whatever's cheapest."

  He smirks and starts pouring from a tap with no label, which is good for my savings account.

  While I wait, I scan the room. Everyone here looks like they're either in a passionate relationship with their own talent. A group of older guys dressed exclusively in black sit in the corner. The radiate the misery of people who once had an agent and now have student loans to pay off.

  Twenty bucks and four suspiciously sticky glasses later, I'm trying to figure out how to carry everything without baptizing myself in beer when someone appears beside me.

  "You're gonna drop those," says a voice.

  I turn to see a woman about my age with dark box braids and a Rolling Stones shirt that's seen better decades.

  "It's a calculated risk," I say. "Nothing spilled, nothing gained."

  She laughs and grabs two glasses. "Where are you headed?"

  I nod toward our table, ans she starts walking that way without waiting for a response. I follow and notice the appreciative glances she gets as we cross the rom from the guys.

  "Your friend was going to wear these," she says as she sets the beers down.

  "Thanks for the save," I say.

  "I'm Alina," she says.

  "I'm Elliot. That's Danny. This is Michael. And the one who looks coked out is Ethan."

  "Are you all in the acting track?" she asks.

  "Yeah," I say. "We're in the same orientation group. Turns out we all hate trust falls."

  "I'm in stage management," she says. "First year, too."

  "Want to join us?" Ethan asks, already looking for a chair.

  She checks her phone. "Just for a bit. My friends are coming later."

  Ethan drags over a chair and she sits down.

  "So stage management," Michael says. "Why not acting?"

  "Because I like sleep. And having people listen to me," she says with a grin. "Plus somebody's got to make sure you actor types make it for your cues."

  "He's in recovery," Danny adds as he nods at me. "One day at a time away from PowerPoint."

  "I get it."

  "I feel like I sold my soul for big data," I add.

  She laughs. "What about the rest of you?"

  "I thought I'd go pre-med," Michael says. "Then I realized I'd rather play a doctor on TV."

  "I was born to perform," Ethan says with complete sincerity. "I did theater in undergrad, then tried the New York thing, then it was all 'you need credits to get an agent but you need an agent to get credits,' so I figured school was the move."

  "I was a lawyer for a Republican," Danny says.

  "You're joking," Amelia says with a raised eyebrow.

  "Nope. I think he thought the main problem with America was that poor people had too much healthcare."

  "So why acting?" she asks, genuinely curious.

  "I don't like job security," he deadpans.

  The conversation flows easily after that. Alina tells us about growing up in Kingston before coming here for the conservatory's technical degree.

  When Alina leaves, James walks in and spots us. He invites himself to our table. We make small talk for a bit while we drink.

  In a lull, Ethan asks, "Any advice for us?"

  "Don't hook up in your cohort," he says immediately.

  "There goes my two-year plan," Ethan sighs.

  "Trust me," Jason says. "It's messy. You could be playing lovers when you're fighting, or you're cast as siblings right after hooking up. Just...don't."

  He turns to me. "You seeing anyone?"

  I nearly choke on my beer. "No. I just got out of something."

  "There's a lot of girls who want to know," he says, sipping his beer.

  The conversation shifts to tomorrow's skit, and I let myself sink into the simple pleasure of enjoying the company. It's a novel experience after years of corporate happy hours that felt mandatory.

  Maybe this whole "follow your dreams" thing isn't complete bullshit at all.

  "Is the showcase really that serious?" Michael asks.

  James runs a hand through his hair. "Let me put it this way: The first semester is like Survivor, and the showcase is the tribal council. They'll decide who to invest their time in based on the performances."

  "And don't slack on the tech work," James adds, "They like to make sure you understand every aspect of stage production.

  "So we're basically putting on thirty mini-shows," I groan as the reality of the workload sets in. I'm going to need another round.

  James raises his glass. "Welcome to the shit show."

  Ethan perks up. "I've heard rumors of a party after the showcase. It's like a tradition or something?"

  Jame's face splits into a smirk. "The Destruction. Best night of the semester. Everyone gets completely obliterated to either celebrate their success or mourn their failures."

  I didn't realize the performance could determine my entire future here. And I thought it'd scare me more.

  "Don't look so freaked out," James says as he catches Michael's expression. "The first showcase is tough, but as long as you rehearse, you'll be prepared. Just don't overthink it."

  Danny checks his watch. "I should head out. We have to be up early tomorrow."

  "Same," Michael agrees. "Plus, I still haven't finished unpacking."

  "Lightweights," James sighs. "Fine, go be responsible adults."

  We settle the tab and leave through the front door. Outside, the night air is cool against my skin. Lights glow from the nearby campus. Ethan and Michael and rebating the fastest route back to their dorms, while Danny walks ahead, on his phone.

  "You live off campus, right?" Ethan asks me.

  "Yeah. I found a place about ten minutes from here," I answer. "Couldn't quite bring myself to do the whole dorm thing at twenty-eight."

  "Smart move," he says. "The walls are paper thin. I can hear my neighbor breathe."

  "That's not creepy at all," I laugh.

  "See you tomorrow," Michael says as we reach the point where our paths diverge.

  "See ya," I reply.

  As I walk toward my apartment and let the events of the day replay in my mind. It has been overwhelming, more raw, more immediate.

  My phone buzzes with a text from my sister:

  How was the first day of your quarter-life crisis?

  I smile and type back:

  So far, so good. No regrets yet.

  She responds almost immediately:

  I'm proud of you.

  I don't respond, but I smile to myself.

  My apartment comes into view. It's a small one-bedroom that's on the second story above a bookstore. It's nothing like my sleek Boston condo, but it already feels more like home than that place ever did. The furniture is minimal. Boxes are still stacked in the corners. But it's mine–a fresh start.

  Tomorrow will bring a skit, more orientation, and who knows what else. But for tonight, I'm going to enjoy the fact I survived day one.

  And maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the stupidest decision I ever made.