I haven’t seen my parents all night; they’re too busy mixing and mingling and being hosts. Everything came together—from the purple and gold mini-basketball centerpieces to the emotional slideshow that I was up until two a.m. finishing last night, to the speeches that every member of my family delivered to the hundred or so guests scattered throughout Rosario’s ballroom. Dad’s whole family came up from Connecticut and Mom’s flew in from Florida earlier this week. Then you have the assortment of cousins who only manifest at bat mitzvahs and weddings, the family friends my parents couldn’t not invite, and Delia’s friends because it is in fact her party—despite what all the adults in the room indicate.

Now everyone dances.

I will too, after I talk to Henry.

I pull him away from the commotion of the ballroom, toward a sitting area in the hallway.

“It means a lot. That you still came. Despite… everything,” I say, fidgeting with the tulle fabric of my dress. “I’m so sorry I made it feel like our Melted didn’t matter—or if I made you feel like you didn’t matter. All I wanted was to share this show with you. I hate how that got lost in translation… and execution.”

“I… am not the best at expressing myself,” Henry admits. “Your birthday was not my finest moment. Things have been a lot. Pressure at the restaurant, pressure with all the college stuff. I keep retaking the SATs, as if my mediocre math score isn’t my fate. When Melted became something musical and stressful I just… didn’t want to deal with it. But I didn’t want to lose it entirely either. And I threw that on you. I’m sorry too.”

I shake my head. “I didn’t know.”

“I don’t love talking about it. My anxiety,” Henry says with a shrug. His leg bounces and he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “Danica has anxiety too. We talk about it, and it’s not because I don’t want to talk to you. It’s just easier to talk to someone who understands. But you’re right, you’re not a mind reader.”

I nod, appreciating the new piece of Henry and Danica’s friendship he shares with me.

“Still, I didn’t listen about Melted. Or the prank wars.”

Henry’s laugh is sharp. “You really did not.”

“I don’t think I knew how to be a codirector.”

“You seem to be getting the hang of it with Callahan,” Henry says.

“I know. It’s bizarre,” I say.

“I’m glad,” Henry says, to my surprise. “I want it to be great.”