Reid shrugs. “It’s not like we have time to waste. I reread the script and I felt inspired, I guess. I don’t know. Do you want to hear them or not?”

No. Yes. I don’t know.

“Yes,” Dad answers on my behalf, reminding me that Reid writing songs isn’t the worst part of this whole Melted: The Musical situation—that award goes to my dad, who is sitting directly across from me in total Mr. Jacobson mode. “I think that’s a great place to start.”

“Me too,” Danica says. She reaches into her backpack and pulls out an Elsa notebook that says MELTED MUSIC in perfect block bubble letters. Her lavender lips break into a smile. “I don’t write music, but as the resident musical expert, I have so many ideas. Luckily, we aren’t working from scratch. We have Melted, the play. But we also have Frozen to vibe from.”

Henry shakes his head. “It’s not Frozen.”

“But I think we can lean into the Frozen opposite theme,” Reid says, rummaging through his backpack and pulling out his composition notebook. “Add some familiarity for our audience.”

“Yes!” Danica agrees, and wow I hate Danica and Reid being on the same page. “Exactly.”

Reid nods and takes a seat at the piano. He opens his composition book and begins to play a medley of songs he’s composed for our show. Henry’s and my show. The songs have titles like, “Keep It In,” “Do You Wanna Build a Fire?,” and “Hate Is a Closed Window”—and while the names of the songs are inspired by the Frozen opposite concept, almost like it’s a joke… the music Reid has composed is wholly original. Reid bops along to his own melodies and describes how each piece could fit into the show, since lyrics are still a work in progress.

I stand. “This isn’t going to work.”

“Nat, I was skeptical too, but these aren’t bad,” Henry says.

I swear, Henry sounds impressed.

Danica blinks at me. “I mean, this is obviously a rough draft. But it has potential.”

Even Fitz shrugs. At this point, she’s made significant progress with her left hand and has a pile of dried blue nail polish on her lap.

Henry nods. “Natalie, as a fellow codirector, I know this isn’t what we planned, but it has—”

“Henry!”

“Can you maybe let me finish my sentence? Just, like, for once!” Henry snaps.

Wow.

What does that mean?

Silence.

“—it has the potential to still be great. That’s all,” Henry finishes.

“But it’s already so wrong,” I insist. “You cannot just start writing songs, Reid. That’s not how a collaboration works.”