Michal from the scenery group is dashing up the hallway. I blink. She’s… wait, she’s crying? 

I

don’t get to speak to Ima before production in the end.

The mornings are a rush, the days are full, and I get home late and exhausted.

After it’s over, I promise myself, I’ll finally get to call home.

The final dress rehearsal is on a Sunday; we’re performing to an audience of elementary and high school girls from other schools. We have our full costumes, but not hair or makeup; Faiga and I decide to do our hair in tight braids to try for a sisterly-ish look.

She braids my hair first, while I sit in front of a propped-up mirror in some corner backstage, and then we switch, and I try to cajole her wild red hair into neat braids.

“No fair, you had it much easier,” I grumble.

“I know.” She giggles. “That’s why I did you first. Now you’re stuck, you need to do mine, too, otherwise you’ll be the only one in kiddie braids.”

“Oh, how devious.” I scowl at the mirror. Faiga sticks out her tongue.

We get each other and it’s so much fun.

“You know, Ashira,” Faiga says, and her voice sounds pensive now. “I hope we can keep in touch after play. It’s been great hanging out with you.”

I love her, I love that she has the confidence and guts to say that, straight out.