Emmitt might just be an indie film star right now, unrecognizable by the general public, but a year from now...

A year from now, the internet will devour him.

And having him in our short film will put us one step closer to victory.

Rosie and I both know it.

I swallow uncomfortably, weighing my wants versus my needs. Even though I want the earth to swallow Emmitt whole, I need to win the Golden Ivy Film Festival.

Goddammit.

“Does it have to be me?” I ask in a small voice, my shoulders slumping with resignation.

Rosie nods, but her face softens. “Listen, just do your best, okay? If he says no, at least we know we tried. Just say sorry and try to win him over.”

Ugh.

“I hate you,” I say, but both of us know that’s far from the truth. “And I hate him.” Not as far from the truth.

“Hate him as much as you want,” Rosie says, looping her arm with mine and pulling me in the direction of the cafeteria. “Just make sure he doesn’t hate you.”

I wish I could tell her that’s a lot easier said than done.

7

When I walk into my statistics class, Grant is at the front of the room with Mr. Ogarrio, gesturing to Emmitt and whispering in low tones.

I falter in the doorway, wondering if I should try to make amends now, but then the bell rings, and I take my seat with a sigh. I’ll catch him after class.

As soon as I sit down, my partner, Kaity, turns to look at me with a conspiratorial look. She’s in the drama club as well and we’ve worked together in the past, so it only made sense to partner up when we spotted each other in the beginning of the school year. “Have you seen the new dude? He’s so hot.”

I nod, trying not to let my gaze wander from her freckled nose and warm brown eyes. “Yeah, he was in my Italian class this morning.”

“Did you talk to him?” Kaity asks, raising her brows. “What’s his name?” She whips out her phone, already pulling up the Instagram app.

I stare at the screen for half a moment, wondering what’s going to come up if she searches Ezra Rivera. Did he create a fake account to go along with his undercover identity? No one is going to believe that he doesn’t have social media in this day and age.

“Uh, I forgot,” I say, tugging on the end of my braid. “Something with an E.”

Kaity nods, clicking into Grant’s Instagram instead and looking through his following with an intense look in her eye.

As she’s doing that, she passes by Rosie’s username, reminding me of something important. Maybe one thing can go right today. “Hey, Kaity, you and Sofia are best friends, aren’t you?”