“I’m a jerk too,” I say. “To you, at least. I’m sorry.”

Emerson shrugs. “It’s cool. Reid said it wasn’t about me.”

“It wasn’t.”

Emerson nods before exiting behind Danica. Reid and I are now alone in the music room, straightening sheet music and rolling the piano back to its place, and I want to be, like, what was that? I mean, it was awesome. But the Reid Callahan I know is not, um, awesome.

“You didn’t have to do that for me,” I say.

“I didn’t do it for you,” Reid says. “I found Hannah sobbing in her room the other night. I think because The Monicas aren’t invited to Delia’s bat mitzvah so they want her not to go. And I just… I comforted Hannah. Because it seemed easier than making her more upset. But it feels like such a fail. This shit is so insidious. If Hannah heard Toby, she wouldn’t even be upset.”

I reach for the eraser to wipe this afternoon’s schedule off the whiteboard. “Middle school is a casual antisemitism cesspool. You let things slide, you tell yourself it’s a joke. In sixth grade, I was partnered with Lacey for an art project where we had to trace each other’s profiles—” I apply pressure to the words that seems to have dried to the board “—and Lacey overdrew my nose. Instead of speaking up? I laughed.”

I swallow. I cannot believe I just told Reid that. I never told anyone that.

“Band Lacey?” Reid’s eyebrows furrow. “We’re friends. I never knew—”

I shake my head and brush off Reid. “How could you? We don’t talk about these things.”

“So why are you telling me now?”

Because there are so few people in this town who would react that way to antisemitism.

I didn’t even react that way and I have been leading the anti-Monicas charge all year. Reid is right. This shit is insidious, and every time we let it go, it signals that it’s okay.

It’s never okay.

“Because it’s Hannah,” I say instead. “Don’t be too hard on her—” this is the point where my mouth should stop moving, but for whatever reason, it doesn’t “—or yourself. I’d comfort Hannah too, because at the end of the day she needs to work through these feelings on her own.”

Reid nods. “I wish I knew about Lacey.”

I shrug. “It’s always the quiet ones.”

Reid’s expression softens. He opens his mouth like he has something else to say, but then he turns away and starts wiping down the other side of the whiteboard. We finish cleaning up quietly. I try not to stress about the fact that today was a nightmare, swallow down the worry Emerson will never hit the high note, and we’re now temporarily down a cast member.