School felt like it had lasted forever, so I sighed with relief when I shut myself into the tiny ticket booth of the Ludlow Street Theater. I only worked after school and on weekends, but the independent movie theater was basically the only place I really felt at home in the nothing-ever-happens town of Crown Falls. It was here where I got a window into the rest of the world, and the lives other people were living—the lives I would be living when I finally got out of this nothing-burger of a place.

I had just settled onto my stool when a man and a woman walked up to the window. I had a bad feeling about them as they drew near, and it was confirmed when the guy spoke.

“Hey, can we get two tickets for Starman and the Bad Universe?”

I ground my teeth, forcing myself not to roll my eyes. Of course they wanted to see Starman and the Bad Universe. It was the latest in the superhero universe franchise, though I’d never call any of it cinematic. Those movies were all like popcorn—light and easy on the way down, but basically useless.

But then I saw the moment for what it was—an opportunity. I smiled at the man and the woman next to him. Maybe if I could get them to watch an actually good film, their eyes could be opened to what was possible.

“Uh, hello?” the guy said, looking at me curiously.

“Yeah, sorry, we’re not showing Starman and the Bad Universe here. We just show independent films. But if you like the Superhero franchise, I’ll bet you’d like The Window in the Room. It’s opening night,” I added.

What I didn’t add was that I’d been waiting months for this film to come out, and that I’d been obsessively following everything written about it online. I also didn’t add that we’d actually sold only one ticket for The Window in the Room so far…and that I had sold it to myself.

I kept the smile firmly in place even as I felt frustration coursing through me. I should have known that this town wouldn’t be interested in a movie like The Window in the Room. No one in Crown Falls would know good art if it tap danced in front of them wearing a superhero costume.

“Window in the Room is like Starman and the Bad Universe?” the woman asked me, looking skeptical.

I nodded, even though I knew perfectly well they were nothing alike at all. They should’ve known too, but that ship had clearly sailed. I sent up a silent apology for the blatant lie, but I reminded myself it was in service of supporting Good Art.

The man shrugged, and for a moment I thought this was actually going to work. But then he looked over at the woman, who shook her head.

“No thanks. We really want to find out what happens in this Superhero installment.”

“Of course you do,” I muttered, finally letting myself roll my eyes.

“Have a good night,” the woman said.

“Sure,” I muttered back.

“Lana, what did you just do?”

I turned to see Regan standing in the doorway. I hadn’t even heard them come in. “If you’re here, who’s watching concessions?” I said.

Regan laughed and gestured behind them at the empty lobby. “I think we’re covered.”

I dropped my head to the counter with a groan.

Regan pulled their phone out of their pocket and checked the time. “Should we go watch the movie? It’s starting in a couple of minutes, and it doesn’t look like anyone else is going to show for this.”

“Yeah, maybe,” I said, straightening up again.

“And it would be a great conversation starter with Professor Ramsey tomorrow,” Regan added, giving me a playful poke in the side.

“Oh, that’s true,” I said, brightening. I’d been looking forward to Professor Ramsey’s guest lecture for ages. Anton Ramsey had been the auteur of the ’70s, and directed some of my very favorite films. It was his style of filmmaking that I judged every other film against. He’d become a professor of film at Maynard University a couple of towns over, but he still produced a film now and then, when he found one he deemed worthy of his vision.

And I very much wanted to be deemed worthy of that vision. I knew—I just knew—I could create something great. Something that people would connect with and love, if only I was given the chance.

And tomorrow was my chance to start that journey—if I could just get some time with Anton Ramsey.

“Do you think we’re going to be able to talk to him afterward?” I asked, chewing my thumbnail nervously.

Regan batted my hand away from my mouth. They knew all about my dreams and looked at me with a smile. “Stop worrying, Lana. It’s going to work out. I’m sure of it. But listen, for now, let’s go grab popcorn and watch The Window in the Room. It’s about to start.”

***

Sometimes I wondered if anyone actually enjoyed high school. I saw people in the hallways at school laughing and looking happy, but I wondered if that was real, or if they were just fooling themselves because we were supposed to be enjoying high school.

“This is the best time of your life!” my aunt always screeched when she saw me, though I stayed deeply dubious.

“Do you think it’s going to be crowded?” I asked as Regan and I threaded our way through the crowded hallway.

Regan shrugged. “Maybe. Since we can skip a couple of classes if we go, the guest lectures are usually pretty popular, but Anton Ramsey might not pull the crowds he did in the seventies,” they said with a sideways look at me.

I didn’t want to risk not getting a front row seat, so I picked up my pace. I had just rounded a corner when I ran into something tall and solid coming the other way.

“Hey!” I cried, stumbling back a step.

“Oh, sorry, Laura. Guess I didn’t see you.”

“Yeah, well, watch we’re you’re going,” I muttered, pulling my backpack straight, but the guy was already walking away, having not heard a word I said.

Regan shot his retreating form a deadly glare. “We’ve only all been in school together since kindergarten. How can he not know your name is Lana, not Laura?”

I shrugged. “Honestly, it’s fine. It’s not like I talk to Evan anyway.”

Regan didn’t seem to think so, though, and shook their head darkly. “Still.”

“Come on,” I said, grabbing their hand.

We made it to the auditorium and—just like I wanted—snagged seats front and center.

A few moments later the guidance counselor who arranged all the guest lecturers came onto the stage and introduced Anton Ramsey, listing his body of film work and the many stars he’d worked with. This was met with a smattering of applause—mostly provided by Regan and me—and then the man himself walked onstage.

He was wearing a camel-colored blazer with a black turtleneck beneath it. He just looked like a filmmaker, but without looking like he was trying to look like a filmmaker. He had a head of thick gray hair and wore dark-rimmed glasses that made him look smart and cool all at once.

And when he started to speak, I leaned forward, rapt. He began by speaking about his early creative influences, including film noir and the traveling circus, then about his start in film in the early days of the ’70s. I took pages and pages of notes, taking everything down, trying to commit it all to memory.

Especially the part about storytelling. I didn’t think I breathed through that section. He spoke about the responsibility of a storyteller, and how it was stories that build the world we lived in. And in that way it was the artists among us that had the most power to change the world.

I was shocked when Ms. Flores—the counselor—came back onto the stage to shake Professor Ramsey’s hand.

“It’s over?”

Regan gave me a curious look. “The guy’s been talking for two hours, girl.”

“Really?” I looked down at my phone. Lunch was nearly over. Everyone else was quickly filing out, heading for the cafeteria, but I wasn’t going anywhere.

This was my chance.

“Come on, Lana,” Regan said, giving my arm a tug.

“You go ahead,” I said. “I’ll meet you in a second.”

They gave me a look. “You want me to—”

“No, go ahead. I’ll be right there,” I insisted.

Understanding, Regan nodded and headed for the door.

So I was the only student still there when Anton Ramsey came back on stage. He looked surprised to see me as he walked down the steps. He had a leather satchel slung over one shoulder and was clearly on his way out. He nodded at me and started toward the door.

My heart was pounding, but I couldn’t just let him walk out the door. This was my chance!

“Professor Ramsey!” I blurted out, hurrying after him.

He turned, looking curious. “Yes?”

“I wanted to thank you for the lecture. I really got a lot out of it,” I went on.

He gave me a bland smile. “Good. Well, goodbye—”

“And I wanted to tell you how important film is to me,” I said, speaking in a rush. “And what you said about storytellers being able to change the world really resonated. That’s what I want, you know. I just want people to experience that and see movies that are real art. Work that has a chance to really change them, you know? And I just wish studios would stop making trash like that superhero series and She Hasn’t Been Kissed. I mean, I know they made a lot of money, but isn’t that just an indication of everything that’s wrong with us as a society? And I just want—”

“Do you really think those movies are trash?” Professor Ramsey asked, raising an eyebrow.

“W-What do you mean?” I stammered, surprised.

“Do you think any movies are trash?”

I shook my head, baffled. “I don’t understand.”

He straightened a sleeve of his blazer. “Films like She Hasn’t Been Kissed are just as important as any other—say, a movie like The Window in the Room.”

I stared at him, floored. “How—how can you even compare those two movies?”

He shook his head, looking disappointed. “You clearly don’t understand.”

“Understand what?” I asked.

He sighed. “A film like She Hasn’t Been Kissed speaks to what the audience wants to see and how they want people to act. Audiences are simple.”

I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. “How can you say that? After what you just said—”

“Oh, that?” Professor Ramsey chuckled. “That’s the act.”

“The act?”

He nodded toward the stage where he’d just been speaking. “That’s what people expect to hear from me, so that’s what I give them.”

And then, without waiting for a response from me, he turned and started toward the double doors leading out of the auditorium.

I stared after him, completely aghast. I couldn’t have heard what I thought I’d heard. No—this just didn’t track.

“Hang on!” I called as I started after him, my cheeks blazing with heat. “I don’t think audiences are simple! My sister loves She Hasn’t Been Kissed, and I would never call her simple.”

Professor Ramsey didn’t answer. He pushed through the double doors that led out of the auditorium, and they slammed shut behind him.

But I wasn’t about to let this go. Gritting my teeth, I followed him, pushing through the doors. “And I don’t think any filmmaker should pander to—”

My argument disappeared into the wave of sound that hit me as I passed through the doors. I looked over to my right to see a huge speaker—as tall as me—blaring pop music so sticky sweet it was like being covered in cotton candy.

That was disorienting enough, but when I looked around, taking in the rest of the scene, my mouth dropped open. Instead of the bright hall of my small-town high school, I had somehow found myself in a gym I had never seen before in my life.

On the far side of the gym was a DJ booth, and all around me there were kids dancing, moving to the high-pitched music. I turned in a slow circle, scanning the room for a familiar face, but there was no one.

My stomach dropped. I was in a strange place, surrounded by strangers.

What the hell is going on?