“Struggle,” Fitz says, clipping the lavalier mic to her shirt. “I am a visual master, but sound is my nemesis! It is annoyingly easier to edit when you check the levels. Always.”

There is no casual way to say this: Fitz is kind of internet famous.

I put on headphones as Fitz sets up the scene. Her bedroom is light woods and pops of pastel. She centers the shot on her bed, a white duvet with two blankets, lavender and mint, draped over the left corner. Two mannequins are in the background, one half-clothed in the bodice of a dress that Fitz is working on for her sister Tessa’s twenty-first birthday. On the other side of the bed is a clothing rack filled with If the Shoe Fitz pieces.

I turn the volume down on the mixer. “Speak.”

“What do you think is up with Henry and Danica?” Fitz asks, her voice still way too loud.

I wince, turning the volume down more. “I don’t know. They have a lot of classes together.”

“Okay. But Henry had literal heart emojis in his eyes when Danica showed up at Chao Down. I have never seen him like that before.” Fitz moves into the frame of the video, sitting crisscross on the end of her bed. “Shouldn’t we keep the dynamics between the HAVE A HE(ART) e-board members professional?”

“Sure. But what if Danica wanted to hug you?”

Fitz launches a pillow at my face. “I am a hypocrite.”

“Henry would tell us if they were more than friends. You’re overthinking this.” I spin the desk chair to face the camera and fix the off-center shot. Through the camera, I notice her cheeks are a deeper shade of pink than the blush she’s wearing. “Why are you overthinking this?”

Fitz runs her fingers through her hair and shrugs. “I don’t know. Danica has always had big queer energy. But maybe I’m projecting. I’m definitely assuming, which is also not cool. Can I go back to pining from a distance? Ditch this alternate reality dream come true where my crush is coming over to my house in the name of saving the arts. Ugh.”

“As she is coming over in—” I check the time on my phone “—forty-five minutes, it’s a little late for that. If it helps, you look fabulous.”

Fitz exhales her anxiety and fluffs her curls. “It does.”

“Okay. Focus on your video. Pizza bagels will be waiting for you when you’re done.”

“Have I ever told you you’re my hero?” Fitz asks.

“Not often enough,” I say.

Fitz sticks her tongue out at me. Certain she has the frame and audio levels for a perfect video, I toss my backpack over my shoulder and exit Fitz’s room, heading down the creaky wood steps that lead me to an empty kitchen.