Rosie gives me an incredulous look. “What do you mean for what? I’m surprised you didn’t think of it first.”

“Think of what?” I ask, refusing to meet her gaze.

“You know what—forget that for a moment. What even was that this morning?” Rosie says, poking my shoulder roughly. “He looked like he knew you. How could he know you?”

My nose wrinkles. Well. That was nice while it lasted. “I...might have run into him on Friday, after your dad picked you up.”

Rosie audibly gasps. “What? And you didn’t say anything?”

“I thought I was imagining it,” I mutter, resisting the urge to stick out my bottom lip. The few people lingering in the hallway don’t even give us a second glance, used to associating the film club with dramatics. “What are the odds he’s in New York City just casually taking a walk in the rain near our high school? Come on.”

“Well, apparently the odds are high!” Rosie throws her hands up. “What happened? Did you talk to him?”

I wince and finally recount the whole situation to her. Rosie’s jaw drops lower and lower until she’s nearly on the floor, holding her head in her hands. “Mina, are you actively trying to ruin our lives?”

“He deserved it!” I say. I was expecting a little more sympathy from Rosie, so this is throwing me for a loop. “Come on, Ro. He treated me like I was the dirt beneath his feet. That’s an asshole move.”

“It is,” Rosie says in agreement, which mollifies me somewhat. “If this were any other situation, I’d agree that he deserves to choke.”

I sigh, already knowing what’s coming. “But?”

“But he’s a celebrity!” She rises to her feet, reaching out to shake my shoulders.

“I know,” I grumble, pushing her off. “It’s still not an excuse to be an absolute dickhead.”

“I agree,” Rosie says again, and I consider banging my head against the lockers. “But he’s a celebrity. In our school. And in case you forgot, we are in desperate need of someone famous to be in our film.”

“I didn’t forget,” I say under my breath. “I just... I didn’t recognize him until later. And then it was too late.”

“What about this morning?” Rosie asks, running her hands through her hair in distress. “I know you recognized him then! And you embarrassed him in front of our entire Italian class.”

“Did you see the way he looked at me?” I protest. “It’s not my fault!”

Rosie shakes her head. “You have to go apologize. Like, as soon as possible.”

“Apologize?”

“You have to,” Rosie says, looking at me through a curtain of red curls. “You have to, Mina.”