Meanwhile, Emmitt is off to the side of the stage, chuckling as if all this is amusing.

I blow out a harsh breath.

At my side, Rosie is busy stealing glances at Sofia, but anytime their eyes meet, she twists her head back to the stage so fast I’m worried her neck will snap.

“Are you done yet?” I call to Grant.

Grant looks up, blinking innocuously. “What did I do?”

I narrow my eyes, and he quickly scampers off the stage, though he’s laughing, and Emmitt offers him a high five as they disappear behind the curtains.

“Clowns,” I say under my breath. “I’ve let clowns enter the film club.”

Rosie nudges my shoulder. “At least people find the circus entertaining?”

I give her a flat look.

She laughs loudly, which lightens some of the weight on my shoulders. “Come on. We’ve got this.”

With a sigh, I nod. “All right, let’s manifest it. I’m speaking our success into existence.”

Rosie grins, offering me one of her pinky fingers. “We are planting the seed.”

“And we will see the harvest,” I say, linking my pinky with hers.

“Next!” Rosie shouts.

Another sophomore climbs onstage, her expression hopeful. “My name is Zoe. I’d like to audition for the role of Charlie. I’ll be reading from the eighth scene.”

“Go ahead,” Rosie says, offering her an encouraging nod. I lean back in my seat, absently chewing on my pen cap as I flip to the aforementioned page.

Zoe clears her throat, before looking up at us with an anguished expression. “Vivienne... I’m sorry, I didn’t think—” She falters, her lips parted on a sharp inhale. “I didn’t realize it would get so messed up. I didn’t—” She closes her eyes, her fingers clenched tightly at her sides. “I love you. I should have told you sooner.”

“How long?” Rosie asks, reading from the script, her voice monotonous, though her cheeks are flushed with color. We flipped a coin for who would have to read along with the actors, and I lucked out in picking heads. There’s a reason the two of us prefer to be behind the camera. “How long have you loved me?”

Zoe opens her eyes, and they glisten in the overhead spotlights. “I think I’ve always loved you.” She pauses, taking a deep breath and looking away, as if she can’t bear to meet our eyes. “Do you hate me? Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“I could never hate you,” Rosie reads. “I could never hate you—how could you ever think that? I just wish you would’ve told me before...”

My eyes dart away from Zoe’s performance to Emmitt, where he’s idly swinging his legs back and forth as he sits on the edge of the stage. He looks up, as if he can feel my gaze, and offers me a lurid grin.