I had to lie to my parents and say I was attending an overnight lecture at Princeton University with Rosie to pull it off, but I still have no regrets to this day. Usually, my parents would never let me go, but the mention of Princeton and how it would look good on college applications won them over.

Rosie’s mom is a trouper who agreed to cover for us as long as she was allowed to check in on us in line. After a brief discussion, Rosie and I decided seeing Saoirse was worth the embarrassment of having her mother babysit us.

From befriending the Tishman security guards (whom we now fondly call the Tishmen), to eating the absolute best avocado breakfast burritos at Toasties, to running into three different celebrities by accident—it was arguably the most chaotic and exhilarating experience of my life.

And I got to experience it with Rosie, which is the best part of all.

There’s a sour taste in my mouth all of a sudden, and I swallow it down. Focus. Focus. “The line usually starts on Thursday, which is why we had to wait to go later in the week. Sometimes, for bigger celebrities, people line up from Monday or Tuesday, but I didn’t want to risk it.”

“So they sleep on the street from Monday to Saturday?” he asks incredulously, clearly struggling to comprehend why anyone would want to.

I want to point out that it’s the superior version of camping, because there’s restaurants lined up all down Forty-Eighth Street and easy access to restrooms, but instead I shrug a shoulder. “It’s not that bad. I got the best sleep of my life on the street. Hard surfaces are good for your back, you know?”

Emmitt’s jaw somehow dips even lower. “You did that?”

“And I’d do it again,” I say, raising my brows. “I’d work on that attitude. I’m sure your fans will be lining up on the street for you in a few years, too. You don’t want it to seem like you’re judging them for their devotion toward you.”

His expression is doubtful, but with how attractive he is and the films lined up on his IMDb page, I’m certain of it.

“Come on, it’s on the next street,” I say, waving him forward.

Emmitt follows me slowly, his eyes searching out the SNL line. We spot it pretty quickly once we reach Sixth Avenue.

He inhales in surprise, and even I’m slightly taken back by the length of it, wrapping around the block.

I scramble for my phone, eager to commemorate this. At my side, Emmitt is still taking the sight in, his hands clenched tightly around his camera. “They’re really going to sleep here until Saturday?”

“Yup,” I say, popping the p. Even as I record the line, I turn to look at him. “Does this work for your prompt?”