The Monicas are yesterday’s news, because they tried to crash Delia’s bat mitzvah. They wanted Hannah in on the plan, but in a best friend power move, she pulled my mom away from the party to intercept The Monicas’ drop-off. It sounded like Mom was a boss. Hannah told them off too. I don’t know how I missed it in the moment!

I blame Reid’s Suit Butt.

“I’ve been iced from the gossip circle at dance,” Hannah says. “But those conversations were, like, way mean anyways.”

“You need to start a friendship circle,” Delia says. “Open to anyone who has been personally victimized by The Monicas!”

“I wish,” Hannah says. “I can’t believe I was a part of that.”

Delia swallows a sip of her Shirley Temple. “Popularity is alluring.”

It’s surprising how easily Delia and Hannah snap back to themselves, post-Monicas. When I asked Delia about this the other night, while we were eating the last of the bat mitzvah cupcakes, she shrugged.

“She stuck up for my bat mitzvah and called out The Monicas. What am I supposed to do, stay mad? She’s my best friend.”

My gut says yes. Stay mad. At least for a little bit longer! Your best friend has been treating you like trash for months!

I almost wonder how we’re related.

I definitely wish I was more like her.

Lincoln Street Blues is deep into their set when Leonard’s attention shifts to me. “How’re rehearsals going? I mean, codirectors. Who’d have thought?”

I chew on the inside of my cheek, focus on the swirling motion of the straw in my cup. How are rehearsals going? Well. This week we’ve been blocking the opening number, Reid onstage as Moritz. I can’t give him a note without thinking about his hands on my hips, his mouth on my neck—and thinking about the next time we can be alone.

Because the only directorial note I want to give Reid is, Again. Do that again.

“We haven’t killed each other yet,” I answer instead.

The joke falls as flat as my root beer is going be if I keep stirring it.

“I mean, if you were able to convince him to sing in public, maybe you can talk some sense into him about—” Leonard gestures to the stage “—all of this?”

“That is more credit than I deserve.”

Leonard shakes his head and takes a sip of his beer. “You’re thinking seriously about what’s next. That’s smart, Natalie. My son wants to throw away his future on a pipe dream, make a career out of a hobby. At the end of the day, that’s what it is. A hobby. Not a life. I mean, not even Aaron made it to the symphony, and he’s the best musician I know.”