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After one of the community theater’s last performances, Regan waited at the exit with her castmates for the audience meet-and-greet. Her castmates complimented her, as they usually did, on her emotional scene in the middle of the show. The woman who played Regan’s mother usually ended the scene in real tears because, she told Regan backstage, Regan’s commitment to the role made her believe she loved Regan like a real daughter.

As the audience filed out the door, an elderly man stopped in front of Regan, took her hand, and held it still as he looked into her eyes. “You have a lot of intensity,” he said kindly. “You’re going somewhere.”

Regan thanked him and thought about his compliment for days. Since high school graduation, her love of the theater had brought all good things. In college, her drama group had voted her club president. “Art is funny. You do it, and you try your hardest at it, of course, but sometimes it affects people in ways you wouldn’t expect,” she said later. “To have a stranger come up to you and let you know that you inspired him in some way is an amazing thing, and probably the reason why I continue to do theater.”

REGAN WAS CHECKING EMAIL at school when she saw the message. An assistant principal wanted to meet with her immediately.

“What did I do this time?” Regan wondered aloud. Every week there seemed to be another issue of contention. Just last week, Francesca had tattled to an administrator that Regan didn’t turn in an analysis she hadn’t realized she was supposed to do. This week, at a faculty meeting, as soon as Mandy saw Regan sit down, she nudged Francesca and both of them mean-mugged Regan.

Regan’s troubles with her colleagues were not going to help with her challenge. She had met with an administrator and emailed a guidance counselor, the only faculty member she could think of who might be willing to help start a GSA, but the woman said her schedule was full. Regan wondered if trying to form the club would further marginalize her. “There’s this theory that people have about ‘the gay agenda,’ the bullshit idea that gay people want to push their ideas on other people (as if you can convert to gayism),” she said. “As the only truly out faculty member, I know that people are going to look at me like, ‘Figures.’ ”

Regan found the assistant principal in her office. “Rumor has it that you are selling CDs?” The administrator’s inflection lifted, making her accusation sound more like a question, but Regan knew better.

“Yeah,” Regan said. She wasn’t about to lie. Crystal’s band had released its first CD, so Regan was selling it at school. She wasn’t profiting, only trying to spread the word about the band. Besides, her students had asked her to update them, and because the music wasn’t yet in stores or on iTunes, the only way they could get a copy was through Regan.

“You know that’s illegal?”

“Seriously?” Regan asked. “No, I didn’t know that. Say no more. I got you. Done and done.”

“No, not quite,” the assistant principal said. “[The principal] would also like to meet with you. Are you available at three?”

“Three? Yeah, I can do three,” Regan said.

“Great. We’ll see you then.”

“Okay! Not a problem.”

After school, Regan sat fidgeting in the main office. “I’ve never been to the principal’s office before,” she texted her mother. “It’s nerve-racking.” Finally the secretary called Regan in. Regan sat down across from the principal and assistant principal.

“It is entirely wrong to expose students to work that is deemed inappropriate,” the assistant principal said, “and from what I understand, the CD had both profanity and cover art that featured the artists scantily clad. Not to mention the message was inappropriate.”

This bothered Regan. If the administrators had actually listened to the album, they would understand that the songs had strong values and preached morals that were the opposite of hip-hop culture stereotypes. The cover art featured the band wearing underwear that concealed more than a bathing suit would. Regan explained later, “The message of the album is