The theater was dim with only the stage glowing warm under the lights. You slipped in quietly, still standing near the back as the scene unfolded. On stage, Neil moved as Puck, quick-footed and full of energy, a crown of leaves tilted in his dark hair. His words carried easily, playful and sharp as he pulled laughter from the audience.

For a moment his eyes flicked toward the back of the hall, and when he caught sight of you, something in him brightened. His grin widened and his voice lifted. It was fleeting, hidden under the guise of Puck, but you knew him well enough to notice.

Scanning the crowd from where you stood, you spotted Mr. Keating further up, sitting with the other boys from Welton—all watching with rapt attention. Their faces were alight with pride.

And then the air shifted. The doors at the front opened, and Mr. Perry entered. His presence was unmistakable: stiff shoulders, a heavy frown, the kind of silence that commanded notice. On stage, Neil faltered just slightly, the tiniest hitch before he forced back into rhythm. His voice carried on, the picture of confidence, but his eyes didn’t wander back again.

The play continued, laughter and applause rippling through the theater, yet the weight of his father’s stare seemed to press down on the room. You were still standing at the back, caught between Mr. Keating and the play and everything Neil had fought to be here.