‘Yes,’ she said. ‘Make it out to Open Door.’

CHAPTER SIX: THE PEOPLE WHO DIDN’T AGREE

The courtyard became a workshop that afternoon. Tamsin brought out folding tables. A florist named Ren lent wooden crates, provided nobody painted them. Harper laid out fabric, tools, and a collection of cardboard offcuts. Odessa arrived carrying sandwiches and a bright orange extension reel, followed by three parents who had heard about the project through their children.

Not all the parents were pleased.

Gemma Ortiz approached Harper beside the tables. ‘I support the kids performing. But you can’t pretend nothing happened with the old show.’

‘I’m not pretending.’

‘You walked away while my sons were crying because they thought they’d ruined it.’

Harper set down her scissors. ‘They didn’t ruin anything.’

‘Then you should have told them.’

‘You’re right.’

Gemma looked startled by the direct answer. She had come ready for a fight, and Harper wasn’t offering one.

Nearby, a man named Victor Dane surveyed the children’s constructions with his hands in his pockets. His daughter, Chloe, had been at the center of the original parent argument. Victor had demanded that Chloe be given the lead role because she had taken private acting lessons. He now watched as the children assembled a show in which nobody was the star.

‘I don’t see how this benefits Chloe,’ Victor said.

Chloe, thirteen, turned sharply toward him. ‘Dad.’

‘I’m asking a question.’

‘You can ask me.’

Victor blinked. ‘All right. Does this benefit you?’

‘Yes. I get to be part of it.’

‘But you’ve worked hard on performance training.’

‘I know. I can still help everybody else.’

A quiet embarrassment settled over Victor. He glanced at Harper, perhaps expecting her to defend his ambition. Instead she asked Chloe which scene she was working on.

‘The crowd at the door,’ Chloe answered. ‘We need more hands for it.’

‘You can have mine after I finish the frames,’ Harper said.

Victor remained by the table a moment longer, then asked his daughter how to cut the cardboard figures. She handed him a pencil. The conversation was small, and nobody announced a reconciliation.

Trouble arrived when a tall boy in a black jacket appeared at the entrance. His name was Kieran Bell, and he was sixteen, older than most of the group. He had operated lights during the original rehearsals and rarely spoke unless something went wrong. Harper had not seen him since the hall closed.

‘I heard you were doing it without me,’ he said.

Sachi hurried over. ‘We tried calling. Your number changed.’

‘My mom took my phone.’