Their high school canceled an LGBTQ play. These teens put it on anyway.

Dotted among the crowd, Sydney saw, were security personnel in bulletproof vests. At the entrance, theatergoers were submitting to bag checks and a metal detector wand. Behind Sydney stood Fia, her 14-year-old sister, costumed as Much the Miller’s son.

Sydney and Fia, and their characters, were the reason for the security — the reason this play was happening not at school but at an outdoor theater in the girls’ hometown. Alanna confesses her love for a woman in the 16th scene. Much declares they are nonbinary two scenes later. The LGBTQ storylines drew complaints from parents, spurring Carroll High School to cancel “Marian” in February out of concern for students’ safety.

But the cast of two dozen teenagers decided to put the play on anyway. Now, on a chilly evening in late May — after raising almost $84,000, booking Foellinger Theatre and whirling through 2½ weeks of late-night rehearsals squeezed between Advanced Placement exams and finals — it was opening night for a show adults had warned them not to do.

Sydney sidled to her little sister. “How are you feeling?”

The teens believed — knew — they were part of something bigger. They knew schools across the country are nixing plays and musicals that feature gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender roles, often due to parent objections. They were aware Republican politicians are passing a record-breaking wave of laws restricting the rights of LGBTQ children, and that Fort Wayne trends White and red.

The teens also knew they had fans: the thousands who bought $15.50 tickets or donated to their fundraiser; the local theater groups who lent decorations; even “Marian” playwright Adam Szymkowicz, whom they had met on a Zoom call.

But in these last moments with her sister, Fia had something to confide.

She was thinking about what producer Nathan Gotsch said a half-hour before showtime. Should any hecklers emerge, he told students, ushers would escort them out. One student, dressed as a king’s guard, had raised black armored gloves and promised to deter disrupters with his fists, earning laughs. But Fia wasn’t laughing now.

“If someone yells something,” Fia whispered to Sydney, “I think I’m going to cry.”

Sydney pointed to the audience. “Dude, there are so many people with dyed hair out there,” she said. “We’re going to be okay.”

She laid her arm on Fia’s shoulder. Fia rested her forehead on Sydney’s hand. The sisters stood, curled in an embrace, as the crowd began to hush.

Three months earlier, Meadowe Freeman arrived early to school for a surprise meeting called by her principal and theater director.

Auditions had just wrapped for Carroll High’s production of “Marian.” The 18-year-old, who chose theater because “I’m not very sporty,” had anticipated teasing from students about the play’s LGBTQ characters. But she never expected what she heard that day: that some parents disliked the play so much it couldn’t continue.

“You read about it on the news,” Meadowe said, “but you never expect it to happen in your school.”

Sitting near the front of the room was Tristan Wasserman, 18. He watched his friends start to cry. Walking from the meeting, he decided: The show would go on.

That night, Tristan hunted up the email of “Marian” playwright Szymkowicz. He researched the name of a reporter with Fort Wayne’s 21 Alive News. He fired off versions of the same email.

“Hello,” he wrote, “my name is Tristan Wasserman … It was actually on my 18th birthday that we found out that we wouldn’t be doing Marian.”

His efforts yielded news coverage and, ultimately, 5,600 signatures on a petition to reinstate the play. One of Tristan’s friends, Stella Brewer-Vartanian, president of a left-leaning political club at Carroll High, launched Twitter and Instagram accounts devoted to reversing the cancellation. But the school stuck by its decision.

So Tristan began recruiting students to speak at the next school board meeting. If enough teens explained why it was wrong, he figured, the adults would have to listen.

On Feb. 27, Tristan, Stella — who wasn’t part of the theater program but felt outraged by what she called adult bullying — and roughly 20 high schoolers showed up, some with prepared speeches.

Before most could speak, a woman rose. Kaye Niman said she was a taxpayer, a mother and a pastor’s wife. “Marian” — with its “LGBT whatever, however many ABCs you want to put on it” — was immoral, Niman said.

“What we believe in is what the Bible says, and the Bible says that homosexuality is a sin,” said Niman, who did not respond to a request for comment. “It’s forgivable, don’t get me wrong, it’s forgivable and we love them, but nevertheless … I applaud whoever made the decision to not have this play go on.”

As Niman wrapped up, 16-year-old Peyton Stratton sat picturing the role she had hoped for: that of Marian/Robin, who leads the troupe of Merry Men. Peyton, who wants to attend law school, admired Marian for her ferocity, wit and determination to protect the people she loves.

Telling herself to summon those traits now, Peyton walked to the microphone. She reminded the board of school anti-bullying initiatives that teach children not to tolerate hate.

“By taking down this play, you’re following the opposite of that message,” she said. “You are teaching students to fold at the first sign of struggle.”

Stella told the adults they were writing themselves into history as “hateful.”

And Tristan gave a promise: “I have not rested,” he said, “nor will I rest until this decision is reversed.”

Students headed home with hope. Tristan was in his bedroom when he got a text alerting him that the superintendent, Wayne Barker, was speaking about the play.

“This came down to an issue where our principal felt that it was going to be an unsafe activity for our students to participate in because of how divisive it was becoming,” Barker said. “I support his decision … I’m comfortable with why he did what he did.”

In a statement to The Washington Post, district spokeswoman Lizette Downey said the decision to cancel “Marian” was due not only to parent complaints, but primarily to “disruptions already occurring between students directly involved within the theater department.” She did not specify what those “disruptions” were.

Superintendent Barker declined repeated interview requests.

For a while, the students were lost. Some pondered putting on the play outside school, Stella said, but no one knew how. Then Stella got a message saying a local man she’d never met wanted to talk to her.

A former teacher born and raised in Fort Wayne, Nathan Gotsch, 40, sympathized with administrators’ plight — but felt more for the students. And, he felt, he was perfectly positioned to help.

Gotsch, who attended film school at the University of Southern California, spent his 20s working in entertainment in Los Angeles. After stints in education and journalism, he had just run unsuccessfully for Congress. Taken together, it meant Gotsch had the know-how and the network of political, activist and theater contacts the students would need to stage “Marian” themselves.

Over a video call, the idea took shape. Gotsch agreed to serve as overall producer, and four teens — Tristan, Stella, Meadowe and Kaitlyn Gulley, head of Carroll’s Gay-Straight Alliance — would become student-producers.

Gotsch set up a GoFundMe to pay for the play; it pulled in $80,000 in under two weeks. Nonprofit Fort Wayne Pride, which advocates for LGBTQ rights, stepped in as fiscal agent, managing the money.

Nathan and others identified two dozen students willing to act in “Marian” and assigned them parts. He hired a professional director and crew to handle stage management, engineering, sets, sound, costumes and lighting. He secured Foellinger Theatre for May 20 and coordinated security with Indiana State Police and parks personnel.

Meanwhile, Stella and Kaitlyn promoted the play at a “No Hate Fort Wayne” rally and a Democratic Party gathering. Meadowe and Tristan liaised between adults and students in the production — while Meadowe learned a role as a guard and Tristan served as assistant stage manager and sound designer, at one point imitating pigeon calls for the play’s soundtrack.

Rehearsals — running after school and on weekends — started May 3. The student-actors had fewer than 4o hours, across less than three weeks, to learn their lines.

Teens were facing APs and fast-approaching finals. They were fielding phone calls from journalists and messages from actors who wanted to cheer them on — support they appreciated but which took time.

The Friday before opening night, Peyton arrived late after ferrying over three students who lacked cars. Her hair was already braided in the intricate coils required for the role she had coveted: Marian.

She fast-walked into a kitchen tucked below the theater to cries of “Peyton! They need you in makeup!” and “Peyton! Go straight to makeup!”

“I know,” Peyton said, crossing to a wall and scribbling her initials onto a sign-in sheet.

She eyed the steaming platters of Mexican food her cast mates were already gobbling. But there wasn’t time.

She ducked into the makeup room.

Close to 8:15 p.m. on opening night, the play more than halfway over, Fia Knipp’s fears were deflating.

The security officers had had nothing to do. The audience had laughed, sighed and clapped at all the right moments.

When Sydney-as-Alanna confessed her love for a woman, the audience hooted approval. When Fia-as-Much declared, “I think that I’m not a man or a woman,” no one hissed or booed.

Now came the lines Sydney liked most.

Will Scarlett, a member of Marian/Robin’s troupe of Merry Men, was questioning Much’s new gender identity. “Wait a minute, wait a minute, you can’t stop being one thing,” said Will, acted by sophomore Everly Salyers, “and start being another thing.”

Sydney took two steps toward the people who had come to watch her defy what she called censorship.

“Yes, you can,” she said. “You could wake up in love. You could wake up feeling a whole new way you never felt before.”

She raised both arms in the air, half-pleading, half-triumphant.

“Anything,” she shouted, “could happen!”