After school, I lay on the sofa on top of the remote control (I’d miraculously changed back from stone to human on the playground) and stared at the TV for ages. Potential—huh! Having potential wasn’t enough to build a dream on. I wanted her to say I was a natural or a born star or a drama genius. But she didn’t. Maybe because there was no such thing as a drama genius. Or maybe there was such a thing and I would never be one. Which meant I’d never be famous. Which meant I’d never be on TV or in movies. Which meant—

Mum poked her head into the living room and said “Didi? What happened?”

I’m not sure how she knew something was wrong. Maybe because I was wailing. Maybe that was a teeny tiny clue, I’m not sure.

Georgia walked past, made a curly finger spin around her temple and pointed at me. I saw her doing it in the corner of my eye. I tried to wail quietly but I was snuffling and snotty, which you can’t help when you cry. Mum got me a tissue and Georgia put her hands over her ears.

“Dara?” Mum said. “You do realize the TV isn’t on and you’re staring at a blank screen?”

I did realize that, yes. But I couldn’t turn it on because I couldn’t bear to see anyone acting when I knew I wasn’t good enough. It was so miserating (I’m not sure if that’s a real word but it should be).

“I’m never watching TV again in my whole life,” I whispered.

“Oh, good. Can I have that in writing, please?” Mum said.

Huh.

I needed to decide what to do. I went up to my room and stared at my posters. Yes, I wanted to act, but Miss Snarling was mean, nasty, cruel, evil, despicable, and harsh.

How could I go to her drama classes?

I squeezed my toes. Maybe I could—just, like, once? Just to see?

No. I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.

But if drama classes were what I needed to become a better actor, then shouldn’t I give them a shot?

But it was full of people who didn’t know how to act.

I squeezed the toes on my other foot. What if it was full of people who could act and that was the whole point?

But what if that wasn’t the point at all and I was wrong?

Oh noooo, it was so difficult to know what to do.

I let go of my toes. They were throbbing.

What would Liberty do? What would Bradley do?

I let my mind wander.

Bradley: Dara, this is a life and death decision. I’ll just sit here with you while you decide.

Me: OK, but give me some advice. Drama group. Yes or no?

Bradley: I think you should go, even if it’s just to laugh at how little they know and how bad their faces are. You’re never going to marry me if you don’t star in Hollywood movies, now are you?

Me: You’re right. Libs, what do you think?

Liberty: I agree! But I agree with everything anyone ever says because that makes life so much easier. Can we go to the mall now?

Me: Sure.

(I jump in Bradley’s car, Liberty jumps in her pink convertible, and we drive off into the sunset boulevard. Actually, maybe Sunset Boulevard is a place—I’ll have to google it and find out.)

When I came back to reality, another thought slowly dawned on me.

Vanna was right: I was lucky. At least I had choices. Plenty of children put in orphanages didn’t.

Like the girl who was nearly my sister, the one who had to stay behind.

What happened was this. When my parents saw how many children in Happy Angels needed families, they decided to adopt another little girl from Cambodia. After they got home, they applied again, and eight months later, the adoption agency sent them a photo. Her name was Samnang and she was six months old. She wasn’t related to me—least, they didn’t think so. Mum and Dad booked tickets to get her then suddenly the law changed and families weren’t allowed to adopt from Cambodia anymore.

My parents fought for Samnang, but even with my mum on the case, it didn’t work. Samnang had to stay at the orphanage, and that was that.

That’s a really, really, really, really, really bad tragedy. (Not that tragedies can ever be good.)

My parents were destroyed and everything, but they realized there were children in orphanages all over the world who needed families, so they decided to adopt a child from Russia. And that child was Georgia.

I stared at Bradley and Liberty.

If that law had changed just a bit earlier, my parents wouldn’t have been able to adopt me either. I’d still be in Happy Angels now and I’d have lived a completely different life. I wouldn’t have even been me. Or maybe I’d have been a different version of me, I don’t know.

But here I was, this version of me anyway. Sitting on my bed, in a life I could never have imagined. And I had a chance.

I ran down to the kitchen.

“Mum,” I panted. “I’ve decided to go to the drama group.”

“Oh, that’s great,” she said, stirring something that looked like dead plant soup. “But I have to discuss it with Dad first. Let me turn this down and we can go together and ask him.”

Oh no. We had to ask Dad. This would be another thing to pay for and Dad was majorly into budgeting because they had to pay for so much already.

I had to be a teaspoonful of charming to pull this off.

It was time to put my talents into practice. If I couldn’t use my drama skills to get me into drama group, then I really did need to go to drama group. And if my drama skills were good enough to convince Dad to let me go drama group, then I was obviously good at drama, so I needed to go to drama group.

Either way, I needed to go to drama group.

Easy.

Hopefully.