The auditorium goes dark, and the world shrinks to a single pool of light; not the spotlight on the stage, but the quiet glow of the soundboard itself. Amber sliders catch the dim light. Green meters pulse with the room’s energy, rising with a laugh, steadying themselves in a tense scene. Small red indicators blink like a slow heartbeat, and in its own way, it is as beautiful and alive as anything happening forty feet in front of it on the stage.

Coming into high school with an instilled passion for tech crew and a reason to make friends as an underclassman, Fiocchi found sanctuary at the back of the auditorium, where the art of audio storytelling became her own.

“Eventually, I started feeling like, wow, I can’t imagine not doing this stuff…I love doing theater,” Fiocchi said. “And then, I don’t know, I just, I kept coming back.” 

The script Fiocchi works from is not full of lines, but cues. Her job is precise: to make sure every word lands, every note hits, every moment of silence feels intentional. She manages a dozen decisions a minute, none of them noticeable if she’s doing it right. 

“You hear when something goes wrong with sound; that’s kind of the motto that we’ve all taught ourselves,” Fiocchi said. “If people don’t notice what we’re doing, then we’re doing a great job.”

That philosophy didn’t develop overnight. Learning to sit comfortably in the background took time. For Fiocchi, it was shaped in large part by those who first welcomed her into the program. Looking up to alumni Jack Menzies and Nora Oksanen, Fiocchi quickly became a leader among the technical crew.

“They provided such a good example of what it means to be a leader and how to treat others in a way that functions with the high-stress environment that is theater,” Fiocchi said. “…a big piece of my heart goes out to them.”

The capacity to absorb not just the workload but the character of a leader is what made her the kind of student that the theater program recognized and cherished. Fiocchi found the same quality in former directors Wanda Teddy and Ben Tompkins, who became the first adults in the program to take her under their wing.

“They were definitely my first role models,” Fiocchi said. “Especially the way that Mr. Tompkins did things. He was always very confident in us.”

A place where students learned from each other, where confidence was assumed rather than earned, left a mark that Fiocchi still carries, but this investment ran both directions. While she was absorbing everything crew offered, Tompkins noticed the drive, passion and confidence that set her apart from the beginning.

“Realistically, what she came in with was work ethic, and that’s what set her apart from a lot of the other students, was the fact that even if she didn’t know how to do something, she had the wherewithal to figure it out,” Tompkins said. 

The resilience and drive she cultivated inside a program that once felt stable, shaped by people and tradition, was now being tested. When Tompkins and Teddy left the program, that stability gave way. What followed would be some of the hardest stretches of her high school career, and the most defining.

“That was really hard,” Fiocchi said. “But going through that [with my friends] and realizing…this is what change is, and theater is a part of who I am. And I think that’s just really special. I legit can’t imagine my life without doing sound or theater.”

She wasn’t the only one feeling the lack of stability; senior Deck Manager and Master Carpenter Simona Valiokas was facing the same uncertainty, and the two of them became each other’s answer.

“There really wasn’t that much to lean on other than each other,” Valiokas said. “It was that support system and stepping back and saying, ‘It’s okay, we’re still here. We’re still Sequoit Theater.’”

What Fiocchi couldn’t have seen from inside her own experience was what it looked like from the outside. Valiokas had a clearer view.

“Over the years, she’s really formed her own definition of a leader,” Valiokas said. “And I’ve seen it really impact people and influence them and inspire them. And the underclassmen, look up to her and I even still look up to her. I think that’s a really special thing she’s grown into.”

What emerged wasn’t just a more seasoned crew, but a friendship that learned, through difficulty, exactly who they were, what they were made of, and what it meant to be part of something worth fighting for.

“She’s really just such a rock in my world and so many others,” Valiokas said. “She’s so creative and so passionate about everything. And it’s something that I love not just about her, but what other people love about her.”

For Fiocchi, that identity, care and creativity had always been rooted in something deeper than any single program or role. It lived in her hands, in the things she made, in the quiet and constant act of creating something where there was nothing. 

“I think I had great examples of parents growing up. I’ve been blessed in a way and they’ve loved me and been very accepting of every part of me,” Fiocchi said. “My origins were five-minute crafts and my parents enabling me because growing up, my mom made hair bows and headbands…and my dad is a mason… I’ve observed a lot of ‘do it yourself’ kind of stuff. I was raised with that: if you want to do something, then do it.” 

That upbringing gave her something rare: a home where creating was what people did, where ingenuity wasn’t a personality quirk but a way of moving through the world. It took time before she fully claimed that identity outside those walls, and looking back, she encourages anyone still trying to figure out how to own theirs.

“Be more confident in the things that you love…” Fiocchi said. “It’s taken me a long time to get there to not be ashamed of being a theater kid…be open about who you are, and like the things that you like and the hobbies that you indulge in.”

The passion that moves toward what it wants instead of waiting for permission shows up in everything Fiocchi does. And according to Valiokas, it shows up just as strongly in the way she treats those around her.

“Whenever I’m feeling down or I’m having a horrible week or day, she is always one of the first people to notice and to care and to realize that something is going on…she just realizes all those little things,” Valiokas said.

The laughter, late nights in the shop and giggling at nothing are the memories and moments Valiokas holds closest. And when asked what they would want to say to Fiocchi directly, with all of it behind them and graduation ahead, they spoke from somewhere quieter.

“Thank you for always being there for not just me, but for everyone,” Valiokas said. “Take a moment, take some time for yourself too, because I know [you have] a lot of weight on [your] shoulders and people expect a lot, but it’s okay to care about yourself and to take a moment for yourself, and to not let anyone tell you otherwise.”

The charge to take care and to carry others without losing herself echoes beyond friendship. From further away, Tompkins watches the person Fiocchi has become with pride.

“Her indelible passion for what she does. It is contagious,” Tompkins said. “The interest she brings to whatever it is she’s doing, and she instills it in most people that she works with….I don’t see that changing. I really, really hope that she looks back on what she worked on with a sense of pride, knowing that it doesn’t matter how old you are or how experienced you are in something, the passion you put into things reflects in the final project.”

When the closing night curtain fell on Joseph and the Amazing Technicolor Dreamcoat, two Sequoit seniors stood in the same auditorium they had given four years to, wanting the same thing: to go back to the beginning. To the first cue, the first show, the first night the board glowed to life. The music that brought them to tears on opening night found them one last time.