“Everyone wants to do Melted?” I ask, unable to hide the surprise in my voice. I had a pitch on deck, prepared for a hard sell.

“I mean. Yeah. Who wouldn’t pay to see a Frozen opposite play?” Danica says.

Everyone else nods as the ideas of repressed arts students begin to pour out—and from there all eyes are on me as we exchange phone numbers and discuss next steps. I’m not used to this attention, to the spotlight being on me. Not that I hate it.

I actually don’t hate it. Not at all.

CHAPTER FIVE

Level four crisis.”

My eyes shift from the biology flash cards I’m creating at the kitchen table to my sister as she drops her soccer bag on the floor and collapses into the empty chair next to me, her cheeks still flushed pink from hours of drills. Delia is the least dramatic person I know. Her crises are usually level two, at worst.

“What’s up?” I ask.

“Hannah wants to go to the movies next weekend. Reid is driving us.”

Relevant information: Hannah’s last name is Callahan. Yup. As if Reid isn’t on the periphery of my life enough as is, we both have twelve-year-old sisters who are pretty much inseparable. Worse, I know Delia thinks of Reid as a big brother. Worst, Reid acts like one.

But that’s my crisis, not hers.

I scrunch my nose. “What aren’t you saying, Dee?”

“Hannah invited The Monicas, too.”

Of course this is about The Monicas. Hannah bonded with Monica Delgado and Monica Grisham over a mutual appreciation of grand jetés and the boys’ basketball team this summer, while Delia was at Jock Camp. Delia returned from camp to a whole new Hannah, who has sleepovers nearly every weekend with her new dance team, cocaptained by The Monicas.

Delia is never invited to their sleepovers.

She undoes her French braids and ties her chestnut brown waves into a messy topknot before taking a seat at the table. “This is the first time I’ve been invited to hang out with her and The Monicas. I should be happy! Except today Monica D. asked me why a bat mitzvah couldn’t just be in English. I’m used to people saying dumb stuff like that—I’m just not used to Hannah laughing at it.”

My eyebrows shoot toward the sky. “Hannah did what?”

Delia looks like she’s going to cry and I hate The Monicas. Antisemitism in Lincoln is disseminated through casual microaggressions. The Monicas, it’s becoming clear, are two of the worst offenders.

“Hannah says she’s joking and I’m too sensitive. Obviously, she’s Jewish too, so it’s like—am I?”