But I can’t unsee Reid’s face at rehearsal, the way his expression deflated when he told me he didn’t get an audition. I can’t stop thinking, Yes, you did, because you’re brilliant, okay? I can’t stop thinking that he doesn’t know because of me.

“What?” Henry asks.

The expression on his face morphs to genuine concern.

“Natalie. What’s wrong?”

And because it’s what we do, I tell Henry everything, the truth spilling from my lips before I can take it back. I, Natalie Jacobson, have Reid’s dream hidden in pieces at the bottom of my desk drawer. I, Natalie Jacobson, ruined the boy I hate before he could ruin me. Because I, Natalie Jacobson, think the boy I hate might accidentally have become the boy I love, even though it will never work because he’ll always love music more.

Henry blinks. “You have to tell him.”

“But Melted.”

“The Albany Institute is no joke. Uncle Joey already has Kelli working on her application. She’s a freshman! Callahan has no classical training beyond public school band lessons and your dad and—okay, yeah, your dad is pretty great—but the odds were stacked against him from the beginning, and he got a shot. You can’t take that from him.”

I swallow, indignant. “You have to admit that it’s messed up he took on Moritz, knowing that his audition will be Melted weekend. And he has a history.”

Henry shakes his head. “I have to believe there’s an explanation.”

“Explanation: Screw Natalie over,” I say. “It’s Madeline Park all over again.”

“Okay. In the spirit of communicating better, I, for one, never believed that was a prank. And even if it was… that’s seventh grade bullshit. Reid is so into you now, Nat.” Henry’s expression softens. “I’m your person, right? Do you really think I wouldn’t tell you if I thought Reid was screwing with you?”

I look at the floor. “No.”

“You need to talk to him,” Henry says.

I pull my phone out of my backpack. There are three missed calls. From Reid. And another one comes through.

“Hey, Reid. I’m—”

“Natalie? Can I come over? It’s important.”

Reid… doesn’t sound like Reid.

“Is everything okay?” I ask.

“I don’t know,” Reid says. “Is it?”

The challenge in his voice catches me off-guard.

“Yeah. I’m at Chao Down with Henry. I’ll be home in ten.”

Reid coughs. “Forget it. Just tell me where my Albany Institute letter is. I need it.”

I almost drop the phone, my hand is shaking so hard. “In my desk. Bottom drawer. I—”

The line cuts before I finish my sentence.

I expect him to be gone, but Reid is still at my house when Henry drops me off.