“Actually, I saw potential, stuck my neck out for you, and now have to tell my students that our biggest trip of the year is cancelled—and still it’s not enough for you.”

Dad’s words feel like cold water dumped over my head.

I haven’t felt this way since the last time I picked up my clarinet.

I open my mouth to retort, then close it because I do not have a comeback.

I do have a production. A chance to direct and change the fate of the drama club. I can’t screw up again. I owe it to my friends and every HAVE A HE(ART) signature to see this through. Even if it means living my nightmare.

“So. Codirector,” Reid says, sarcasm heavy in his voice. “When should we meet to discuss the rewrite? I have notes. Specifically, curious about act two, when—”

I turn on my heels and book it down the hallway toward the final few minutes of pre-calculus. Theater has always been my one reprieve from the artistic intensity that radiates from Reid and my dad. Now, not even the thing that has always been my thing is safe. It’s been infiltrated by Reid, by my dad, by music. But no way will I let Reid sweep in and make it his. He has already done that to me once.

I will not let it happen again.

CHAPTER TEN

Mrs. Mulaney does know we have to… write this musical, right?”

Reid is the first voice to speak up once Dad tells us the production schedule. It is Wednesday afternoon and we are in a circle of six chairs downstage center in the music room. Dad’s classroom becoming the official meeting spot for Melted: The Musical is the worst. The creative team consists of myself, Henry, Fitz, Danica… and Reid. Makayla has preseason conditioning after school but promises to deliver an incredible set with the rest of the art team. Arjun is, quote, down to stage manage when there’s something to manage.

Danica frowns at the schedule. “Five weeks to adapt a play into a musical? It’s almost like she wants us to fail.”

“I mean, we have a script,” Fitz says, peeling the left thumb of her blue manicure. Her tone is bored and she doesn’t look up from her nails, a stress defense mechanism because in musicals, the leads generally sing.

Reid’s knee bounces in even eighth notes. “But it’s more than a script now. We need lyrics. Music. I started writing… but I’ve never composed for a full orchestra before.”

I frown. “You started writing?”

He nods. “It’s only three songs so far but Logan and Lacey think—”

I cut Reid off. “Only three?”

Reid is supposed to be as annoyed as I am that this is even happening! Wallowing with his fellow woodwinds and whatnot! Not writing three full songs!