I part ways with Anam at the door, watching as she runs off to find her volleyball teammates the second I let go of her.

As I pass through the cafeteria, I wave at some of the underclassmen from film club, and they eagerly wave back. I try not to think about how I potentially blew an amazing opportunity for the entire club by letting my bad mood get the best of me on Friday. It doesn’t help anyone to be remorseful now. I can’t exactly change the past.

“Rosie is looking for you!” one of them calls.

I nod, gesturing to my phone, which has seven unread texts from Rosie, most of which are keyboard smash. “So I’ve heard.”

When I reach Rosie’s locker, her head is buried inside of it. I gently poke her arm, trying to gain her attention. She doesn’t move but acknowledges my presence with a low groan. “Kill me,” she says.

“What’s in it for me?” I ask, leaning my shoulder against the locker beside hers. When she only groans again, I nudge her. “What’s wrong? I’m usually able to decipher your texts, but these were just pure chaos.”

She finally pulls her head out of her locker, her hair in disarray. I lean forward, picking a red curl out of her mouth. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she heard about my celebrity encounter. As it is, I’m pretty sure Rosie would be trying to kill me, rather than asking me to kill her, if that were the case.

“Mina,” Rosie says, her voice frighteningly solemn. “I’m going to die.”

I pause, waiting for more information to come forward, but Rosie seems content to leave it at that. “Why?”

“Sofia asked me to run lines with her,” Rosie says in the same awful voice I used Saturday night to explain the Emmitt Ramos situation to Nazifa and Syeda. Their response was to laugh at me while I pouted.

With that in mind, I try to be a good friend instead and consider Rosie’s situation seriously.

“Sofia from drama club?” I purse my lips. “I guess it makes sense she’d want to be in our film. She was a good Rizzo in Grease last year. Are you worried that running lines with her might be unfair to the other people auditioning?”

“What? No,” Rosie says, giving me an incredulous look. “Forget the film. She asked me to run lines.”

I frown at her. “Am I missing something? Does run lines mean something different to you than it does to me?”

Rosie shakes me slightly. “Mina, it means she wants to spend time with me alone. I’m going to die.”

The pieces finally click together in my brain. “Oh my God, Rosie, come on.” I flick her forehead. “Get it together. Just run the lines with her.”