Henry swallows. “Can we cross that bridge when we get to it?”

Danica crosses her arms on the table, oblivious. “I showed it to Cassie and Toby and we’re down to convince the musical theater troupe that Melted is worth auditioning for, even without music. Assuming this even works.”

“It will work. HAVE A HE(ART) is a story. A message to the school committee that our clubs deserve funding too. That all art benefits the student body and the school’s image,” Fitz says.

I nod. “Drumming up good PR for the school is not just a band thing.”

We spend the rest of the night unpacking our agenda items. I type meticulous notes while we brainstorm the event, and it’s so exciting, feeling the proposal coming together and being able to see it—Melted—happening for real. A sold-out audience of students and parents and staff supporting the arts coming together. But as focused as I am on HAVE A HE(ART) and making Melted a reality… I still can’t stop thinking about Boiled.

Mostly, how I can’t not retaliate.

Prank wars with Reid are a recurring plot thread in our history. Okay, so the last one blew up in my face in a truly traumatic way, ending in a friendship breakup and a clarinet breakup. I can’t deny it. But I have evolved. Reid’s prank is so annoyingly good it is infuriating and has reawakened something in me.

Am I out of practice? Perhaps.

But not enough that I can’t focus on HAVE A HE(ART) and distracting Reid from it.

I can’t let him win by default.

Natalie vs. Reid

The summer before fourth grade, Natalie vs. Reid was signed into law.

I don’t remember a universe in which competition did not define our relationship.

Who was better at Mario Kart. (Reid)

Who learned to read first. (Me)

Who could keep a fish alive longer. (Reid)

Who could solve a Rubik’s Cube faster. (Me)

But the moment Reid picked up the clarinet and started joining my lessons with Dad? He shifted the entire nature of our rivalry. It didn’t feel like a fun way to pass the time at family events anymore. Reid took the music I shared with my dad, the time I spent with him—and made it too intense, took it too far.

Childhood rivalries are cute until a doctor is setting your radius bone.

“This could’ve been serious,” Dad lectured in the car, post-hospital.

“What were you thinking?” Leonard added.

I shrugged and cradled my broken arm. In retrospect, it was not the best idea to stage and race through a downhill obstacle course. But Reid’s test run made it look easy. And he bet I wouldn’t do it. I had no choice but to prove him wrong. Also, I had just perfected the chromatic scale. Anything felt possible.