“Who’s Martin?” I asked. “Miranda’s father,” Mom answered, and then to Dad: “Who told you?”
“I ran into Miranda’s mother in the subway. She’s not happy about it. He has a new baby on the way and everything.”
“Wow,” said Mom, shaking her head. “What are you guys talking about?” I said. “Nothing,” answered Dad.
“But why do they call it understudy?” I said.
“I don’t know, Auggie Doggie,” Dad answered. “Maybe because the actors kind of study under the main actors or something? I really don’t know.”
I was going to say something else but then the lights went down. The audience got very quiet very quickly.
“Daddy, can you please not call me Auggie Doggie anymore?” I whispered in Dad’s ear.
Dad smiled and nodded and gave me a thumbs-up. The play started. The curtain opened.
The stage was completely empty except for Justin, who was sitting on an old rickety chair tuning his fiddle.
He was wearing an oldfashioned type of suit and a straw hat. “This play is called ‘Our Town,’” he said to the audience.
“It was written by Thornton Wilder; produced and directed by Philip Davenport....”
“The name of the town is Grover’s Corners, New Hampshire—just across the Massachusetts line:
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