The rest of the day is uneventful. Hours later, I push the door to the drama club open and saunter inside. Today, there’s only four of us. Miss Jota, the drama coordinator sits on the edge of the podium, a small pile of scripts by her side. She welcomes me with a kind smile, motions for me to occupy one of the plush seats. I take the one farthest from the group, away from those three girls with their thick hair and heavy makeup that make them appear older than their real age. They always act like I’m invisible.
Miss Jota distributes the scripts and returns to her seat, a small smile on her lips. She claps to get our attention, I look up from the script—a modern retelling of Romeo and Juliet. “As you know, we should have gotten started on the end-of-session production but we don’t have the
