Auditions go by quietly from that point on, Rosie giving me short, to-the-point answers, while I sit there contemplating walking into traffic. Why don’t I ever think before I speak?

This competition—it’s everything to me—but I don’t want to damage my friendship with Rosie because of it. I thought she’d understand, but the last few weeks, it seems like we’re no longer on the same page.

Every day, it feels like the chasm between Rosie and me grows, and I’m terrified I might never be able to overcome the gap.

We take a ten-minute break halfway through auditions, and before I can try to talk to Rosie again, she stands up and walks across the auditorium, to where Sofia, Linli, and Kaity are talking to one another.

I sigh after her, slumping in my seat.

Naturally, my eyes land on Emmitt, standing at the back of the auditorium as he talks to a bunch of underclassmen from film club. Half of them are giggling at whatever he’s saying—which I seriously doubt is funny—while the rest stare up at him in awe.

I don’t know why it gets on my nerves so badly, but part of it is probably residual frustration over the situation with Rosie. Either way, seconds later I find myself moving across the auditorium to where Emmitt is, carrying a script in my hands.

When I approach the group that’s formed around him, he’s saying, “—but they weren’t nearly as lovely as all of you,” in a horrendous American accent. “Maybe one of you could show me around? I still haven’t been able to find the planetarium. I swear, this school is a maze.”

“Oh my God,” I say in disbelief.

Emmitt turns to look at me, and his eyes gleam with delight. “Glad you could join us, sweetheart.”

The underclassmen titter curiously, looking between us. Blood rushes to my cheeks, and Emmitt’s amusement only heightens my irritation.

“Shut up,” I say and slap the script against his chest. “Start memorizing Nick’s parts.”

Brighton perks up. “Ezra’s auditioning for the himbo role?”

“Yes,” I say, daring him to argue.

Instead, he raises his brows as he takes the script from me. “What’s a himbo?”

“Do I look like Google?” I ask, placing my hands on my hips.

Emmitt considers me for a moment before turning a charming smile on Brighton. “Won’t you tell me, darling?”

“Do not,” I say, stepping bodily in between him and Brighton, shooting him a glare for even attempting to flirt with one of my film kids. I look at the underclassmen over my shoulder. “Stay away from his clown ass.”

Christina frowns. “Mina, didn’t you bring him to film club?”

Emmitt smirks. “Yeah, didn’t you?”