Noelle’s POV:

I’ve been standing at the edge of the auditorium for five full minutes. All of them have been spent scrolling through nothing on my phone and trying to look busy.

The room buzzes with people trying to make good first impressions. Everyone's a little too loud, a little too animated. Some people have already formed clusters. They lean in, nod with exaggerated interest, and exchange names and past credits.

I tuck a strand of hair and scan the room for an opening. My thumbs hover over my phone, on break, as I type and delete the same text to my mom.

Made it to orientation. It’s going...

Delete.

At school now. Everyone seems nice.

Delete.

Why is updating her so complicated? Probably because she’ll have follow-up questions you don’t want to answer. Probably because everything will be measured against her expectations.

I slide my phone in my pocket without sending anything.

A guy near the front looks like he’s holding court. He has one hand gesturing theatrically as a small crowd around him nods. "–and then Pacino actually told me my interpretation was ‘refreshingly bold.’ His exact words."

Someone nearby whispers, "That’s Kirk Daniels. He was in that HBO miniseries. The one Soprano’s rip-off. He was the lawyer’s assistant who got murdered in episode three."

I shake my head. There’s always one.

Across the room, I spot a man sitting alone with his nose buried in a book. He’s older than most of the students here. And unlike them, he has the presence of someone who doesn’t feel the need to perform his personality.

He’s the perfect candidate for a warm-up conversation.

I walk over and sit in the empty seat beside him and glance over at his book. Das Kapital. “Do you plan on seizing the means to production?”

He looks up but keeps his expression neutral. “I’m just trying to figure out whether capitalism or acting school are going to disappoint me more.”

“You already hate it?”

“Hate’s a strong word. I save hate for describing the art of practicing law.” He dog ears his page and closes his book. "I’m Danny."

“Noelle.” I nod toward the group at the front. “Not feeling Pacino story hour?”

He follows my gaze to Kirk, who is now describing his approach to character backstory.

“Guys like him think they're the main character. I’ve met enough of them,” he says. “Luckily, you got stuck with the grump of the room.”

“You seemed the least exhausting.”

He gives me a small smile.

“What kind of law did you practice?” I ask.

“I worked for a Republican congressman.”

I blink. "Well, that’s…unexpected."

“I had a crisis of conscience after defending budget cuts to after-school programs. So, I’m trying something different.”

“Talk about a career change.”

“My boss was shocked too. Especially when I helped pass medical marijuana on my way out.”

I laugh, genuinely surprised. “Are you serious?”

“There’s an art to making people think your idea was theirs all along.”

For the first time since arriving, my shoulders relax. There’s something refreshing about Danny’s bluntness.

“What about you?” he asks as he looks me over. “What brings you to Deer Lake?”

Before I can answer, I hear a sharp, excited voice call my name.

“Noelle? Oh my go, Noelle!”

I turn to see a flash of movement as someone weaves through the crowd toward me.

Amelia.

The relief is immediate and unexpected. We only met for a weekend during the in-person interviews, but she’s a familiar face. I stand up as she reaches me, and she pulls me in for a hug.

“I was so happy when you got in,” she says as she steps back to look at me. Her hair is different, short now, but her energy is exactly as I remember it. “When you texted me last month, I almost screamed. Did you just get here? Have you met anyone yet?”

“I arrived,” I respond. “And I was just talking to–” I gesture to Danny to cue him.

“Danny,” he supplies.

“Danny was just telling me about his past life as a Republican lawyer turned revolutionary hero for the stoner community,” I explain.

“It’s less exciting than she makes it sound,” Danny says as he reopens the book. He wants to be left alone.

Amelia gives me a look before she links her arm with mine. “There are some people you need to meet. Some of us got coffee beforehand. I think you’ll love them.”

I hesitate and glance back at Danny. “Hey, don’t overthrow the bourgeoisie without me.”

He looks up just long enough to smile and nod. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Amelia tugs me toward a small cluster on the other side of the room. “Who reads Marx at orientation?” she whispers.

“Maybe it’s a kink.”

She snorts, and the sound is so unrestrained that a few people turn to look. Amelia doesn’t notice or care.

“So,” she says, “How was your summer? Did you do the community theater thing? Are you moved in yet? I’m at Social Onyx. It’s not terrible, thank god.

“Slow down,” I laugh. “Yes to community theater. Yes to moving in. I’m at The Pelican, though. And my summer was…” I search for a word that isn’t a lie but doesn’t invite questions.

“Transitional.”

Amelia accepts it with a nod. “Well, we’re here now. Blank slate, right?”

“Right.”

We reach our group. It’s three other students engaged in conversation. One of them, a shorter girl with blonde hair, looks up as we approach.

“Amelia! We were starting to think you got lost.” Her gaze shifts to me.

“This is Noelle. We met during the interview weekend. Noelle, this is Harlowe.”

Harlowe gives me a once-over that’s somehow both scrutinizing and friendly.

Amelia clears her throat. “Noelle was the only one who called out this fucking pretentious guy in our group interview. He just goes on and on about the ‘raw approach to vulnerability.’”

“Oh god, him” I groan as the memory comes back. "He tried to make us all hold hands, so we could all process our feelings about the audition."

Harlowe snorts. “Did you do it?”

“I told him I had hepatitis B.”

This gets a genuine laugh from all of them, and something in my chest loosens. For a moment, I can imagine sliding into this group like I belong.

“So, I’ve been watching everyone all morning,” Harlowe says, "and I’ve already identified the try-hards and the breakdowns waiting to happen."

Before she can elaborate, a guy my age, maybe younger, jumps in.

“Are you talking about Kirk?” He turns to me with an outstretched hand. “I’m Jason, by the way,”

“Noelle,” I reply as I take his hand.

I look over to the other person in the group. It’s a petite woman with delicate features and enormous eyes.

“This is Kristi,” Amelia says. “She’s with us in track two, whatever that means.”

Kristi smiles up at me. “Nice to meet you.”

Across the room, movement catches my eye. Danny is still in his seat, but he’s not alone. I can’t really see the other person but somehow he also got Danny to talk.

“Noelle?” Amelia says as she taps me on the shoulder.

I blink and refocus. “Sorry, just taking it all in.”

Amelia follows my gaze across the room, probably wondering why I’m looking at the Marx guy again. “We should sit somewhere.”

Before we can move, the doors at the back of the auditorium swing open. A hush falls as a man strides in. He wears a leather jacket, has a graying beard, and has the tired eyes of watching too many student productions.