That is the rivalry origin story I’ve always known.

Reid shakes his head. “It was your instrument. It was a reason to hang out with you.”

I am, for once, speechless.

“I like you, Nat. I’ve always liked you. But for ten years you’d only give me the time of the day if we were competing for top spot, or pranking each other, or whatever.”

“Or whatever,” I repeat.

Reid swallows. “Now though, I more than like you. And I don’t want to go back to the whatever, no matter what happens with the plays or conservatory or anything else. So I’d like to request an amendment. In Natalie vs. Reid.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Okay. I’m listening.”

Reid pulls a folded-up piece of paper out of his pocket. His copy of our rule book. “To the truce clause, specifically. ‘Truces are agreed on with a double pinky swear. No pranking can occur during the seven-day truce period.’ ”

“We were weird kids,” I say.

Reid nods. “My amendment is that we extend the truce.”

“Oh?” I ask.

“Yeah. Like, a permanent truce.”

“Permanent?”

Reid crosses out the very specific details of our old truce amendment in black Sharpie, rewriting it to say, “And no pranking can occur. Ever.” He signs the updated amendment and holds it out to me.

“What do you think?” he asks.

“I don’t hate it,” I say, taking the pen out of his hand and signing our new amendment into law. Reid folds the paper back into quarters and stuffs it in his pocket, smiling. He steps toward me.

“So. Natalie. Truce?”

He crosses his wrists and holds both his pinkies out, double pinky swear. Serious as it gets.

I smile and latch my pinkies around his. And as I do Reid kisses me and I melt into this moment, high on an incredible opening night and the music we composed together and the possibility of so much more that we’ll do together. The boy who I couldn’t seem to get out of my life became the boy I never want to go away. So I answer him.

“Truce.”

Acknowledgments

I wrote the earliest draft of As If on Cue in 2018 over the course of one summer, in a world where the sound of drafting was the white noise of a local coffee shop, where brainstorm sessions with friends were in-person, where research was getting spontaneous rush tickets to a Broadway show. Even during the hard parts, drafting this story about a struggling high school theater program and championing the arts was pure joy. I thought I had conquered Second Book Syndrome.