Mom says I should write down the thoughts in my head, especially if I’m having “Super Big Feelings” and I can’t shake them out. Only, talking to you feels way more helpful. It’s a soliloquy, a speech just for you.

The first time I saw a musical with my parents, I was immersed in the whole thing. I was younger then, so every scene felt like it was real. Every line felt like it was being spoken to me. I know it wasn’t, but I felt so connected to everything happening on the stage. I knew then that musicals were made for me.

So you can imagine my surprise when the actors came back on stage after the final scene. The curtain closed and everyone started clapping. The lights turned back on above my seat. I thought the whole magical experience was over. When the actors ran back on stage, waving to the audience and moving around in ways that weren’t anything like their characters, I felt betrayed. They were still dressed in their costumes, but it felt like they had broken out of the rules of the script.

Now that I’m older and understand what was happening, I’m not upset. The curtain call is still a magical part of the musical: it’s a little bit of a “thank you” and a little bit of a “return to reality.”

Since you’re still here with me, I hope you can feel how this party is like that curtain call. Some of the campers are playing improv games in one corner of the basement. Others are joking around and eating snacks. Ash and Gio are dancing. Ash keeps waving at me to join them. Being around everyone now that camp is over has that same feeling of breaking out of the script.

That’s why I’m watching everyone else and not joining in: I’m imagining that these couches are actually the plush seats in the audience. I’m trying to return to reality after the magic I felt at camp. Because it’s still hard to accept that nothing went like my plan after all. There’s a little lightning bolt in my heart when I think about Jules not being here. I’m not sure when I’ll talk to her again. I never thought that would happen.

So many things changed this summer. I guess Dad was right after all that things change even when you don’t realize it. It makes me think about how every time I watch a musical I feel a little change inside of me too. Watching them helps me get a bit better at being Maya in Person, when I get to see how other people make mistakes and solve the problems that come up. In only two hours, they go through a whole transformation!

I’m feeling like that right now. Like I’m transforming more into myself and less like I’m playing a part. I’m going to make new rules for myself. Mom is going to help me with them, but I know that I want one to be about making sure I listen to what’s important to other people too. Because I know how much musicals make me happy, so much that I could burst into a million sparkling pieces of happiness. I want to learn about what makes other people feel like that.

And sure, some of the rules that my mom gave me about representing our family in public—“Don’t walk away from someone when they’re still talking to you”—I think I’ll have to keep. I know that some of them I can’t stop doing completely. Even if I don’t always understand how, sometimes they’re actually helpful for me to work with other people or be a good friend. But if someone asks me about what I love? I’m going to talk too much about musicals every time.

Sitting on this couch, I feel like everything will be okay. I know I won’t always have all the stage directions, and I won’t always say the right thing or know exactly how to be, but that’s okay. I can be the director of my own life, instead of just an actor who’s following the parts. Because I can point to all the people who are supporting me. People like my mom, who listens even when she’s super busy; or my dad, who might be far away but always understands what I’m trying to say; or my new friends, who love musicals just as much as I do. Even people like Jules, who might not be my friend anymore, but was super important to me for a long time. Or Aislinn and THE Irene Brown, who helped me see that I have my own strengths and I can just be myself, even if other kids find it weird at first.

If there were an end for the Maya in Public musical, all these people would be at the curtain call. I can see it now: the lights still slightly dimmed, the audience clapping for each of them, a slow but deliberate standing ovation. And then, when the clapping started to quiet down, we would come into a big, tight hug. It would be the perfect hug because I would feel squished in the arms of all these people that I care about, and I would know that I don’t have to be Maya in Public anymore.

I can just be Maya.