Danica pulls up a chair next to Henry. “Right? It’s like, I can wallow over the fact that it is my senior year and there is no musical. But I’m tired of feeling angry. I want…” Danica’s voice trails off, searching for words.

“… to feel useful?” Fitz asks.

Danica smiles at her. “Exactly.”

Fitz flushes. “I get it. It’s how I feel thinking about Melted. Henry and Natalie’s show. And not playing Not-Elsa in it.”

“She’s not Elsa,” Henry says. “Her name is Adina.”

Fitz winks. “Exactly.”

“I have… so many questions,” Connor says. His voice surprises me, as I was thinking he’s mostly here for the dumplings. “Wait. Melted. As the in… the opposite of Frozen?”

Danica’s eyes widen. “That’s actually incredible.”

“Right!” Fitz says. “Genius.”

“How does it work?” Connor asks. “Is everything, like, literally the opposite?”

“It’s about Not-Elsa, climate activist and Queen of Infernodelle,” Fitz clarifies. “On the eve of her twenty-first birthday, a hot air balloon—”

I cut Fitz off. “This isn’t just about Melted.”

“Can it be?” Connor asks. “Because I want to know everything.”

“Fitz can DM you the synopsis,” I concede, because honestly, I’m pumped that our basic-white-boy student council president is invested in Melted based on concept. “But we need to talk about the budget cuts. Has anyone tried proposing budget-friendly alternatives to their clubs?”

Everyone nods in unison.

“Mulaney turned down our art auction yesterday,” says Cherish Montgomery, Makayla’s friend and collaborator on all things set design for the drama club and musical theater.

“We can meet for lit mag, but it’s now a lit blogspot. Can’t even have a real domain!” Liliana Ortega, captain of the swim team and the head of the former literary magazine, adds.

Fitz winces. “I didn’t know blogspot still existed.”

Danica crosses her arms and rolls her eyes. “The Trebles can sing the national anthem at sports events. No concerts, no competitions.”

Okay. Noted. I thought after the public callout at the assembly at least one club would get a sympathy win, but Mrs. Mulaney isn’t even trying. That works for me. There is no better bond than that of a common enemy.

“Look around,” I say. I’m typically a writer of impassioned speeches, not a deliverer of them, but I’m not about to waste a captive audience. “Look at who’s here. More importantly, look at who isn’t.” I pause, letting the weight of the last word settle. “The band is sitting pretty. Why? Because they bring prestige and local media attention to our otherwise mediocre town. I’m not against the band. Or my dad. Just so that’s on the record. But the band is—”