George, Jane, Virginia, Sappho, Mary—the whole lot of us hold hands in a circle before the play starts and the drama teacher leads us in a nondenominational prayer to the goddess of school plays. We are wearing shawls and dresses with puffy sleeves, and blouses that button to the top of the neck and itch. The bonnet tie is too tight under my chin, but my hands are occupied by other sweaty hands. With heads bowed, I stare at George Sand’s boots and the bottom of her pants cuff. I wish I were George Sand.
