“—right behind us! Four o’clock.” Fitz interrupts with an over-the-top nod in their direction. I follow her line of sight to a four-seater high top near the bar. It’s The First Chairs. Lacey Henderson, first flute. Logan Price, first trumpet.

And of course, Reid. First clarinet.

I was one sentence away from blurting my entire plan in front of The First Chairs.

Fitz is a hero.

My eyes meet Reid’s. Half of his face is hidden behind a menu, as if that’s not conspicuous. Reid never comes to Chao Down. It’s my territory. If he’s going to break the rules, it’s disappointing that he’s not even trying to be covert about it.

“Odds that this is a coincidence?” Arjun asks.

We disseminated the meeting details to a select group via a swift and effective word-of-mouth campaign, but people talk. If Reid and The First Chairs caught wind, they’d absolutely show up to see what we’re up to. Definitely not a coincidence.

“It probably has nothing to do with us,” Henry says. “Not worth a reaction from—”

I don’t hear the last thing Henry says because I’m already gone, marching toward Reid and The First Chairs. Except as I approach the table, I overhear a genuinely animated conversation estimating the true value of a fire token and guessing the chances of an advantageddon. I… don’t know what language they’re speaking.

“Hey, Natalie,” Lacey says casually, looking up from her computer.

“Hi,” I answer, skeptical.

“It sucks. Your clubs getting cut,” Logan says, brushing his too-long blonde hair out of his eyes. Logan Price is the first boy I loved in the most middle school way. I loved his chill confidence in his trumpet ability. I loved writing his name in my notebook—the swoop of the cursive L and looping the G. He held my hand during the hora at my bat mitzvah and I swear I didn’t wash it for the rest of the night. “Trevor has been coping with excessive Mario Kart.”

In eighth grade, Logan came out by re-creating the Ferris wheel scene in Love, Simon and has been in a relationship with Trevor Ryan, a junior on the swim team and in The Trebles, ever since.

“Yeah. It sucks,” I repeat.

“Why are you here, Natalie?” Reid asks, placing his menu flat on the table. “I know it’s not to talk about Survivor week one power rankings.”

His tone is direct, with an edge. I can always rely on Reid to get to the point.

“Come on.” I wave to the back of the room, to the movement that’s underway. “You can’t honestly expect me to believe that you’re here. In Chao Down. To talk about Survivor.”

Reid arches an eyebrow. “Yes.”