Then the key changes and he moves into the potential showstopper, “Keep It In.” Adina’s solo. Reid wrote the lyrics for this one and they’re not quite right—the tone is a bit too insecure. Adina doesn’t leave Infernodelle because she lacks confidence. She’s afraid.

But with the right lyrics, the music could work.

Wait. No. There’s one small issue—

“Adina can’t have any songs,” I say.

Reid stops singing, but he doesn’t stop playing. “Adina is the lead.”

“Fitz can’t sing.”

I whisper this as though Fitz is going to pop out from behind the piano to claim offense.

Reid’s eyebrows scrunch, confused. “Everyone has to audition, right?”

I mean, yes. But not Fitz.

“Fitz is attached to play Adina,” I say, firm.

Reid finally stops playing and runs a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Okay. I know she’s your friend, but she was supposed to be Adina in the play. This is a musical now and I’m sorry, but we can’t cast a lead who can’t sing.”

“Henry and I wrote Adina for Fitz. We’re not recasting.”

“Where is Chao, anyways?” Reid asks. “Didn’t you say he should be here?”

I chew the inside of my cheek. “I know. But he’d agree.”

“Agree on making something already hard impossible? This shouldn’t even be my problem!” Reid says. “I should be spending my Saturday focused on my Albany audition. The chances I get in are low already, but with Melted on my plate? I’m totally screwed.”

I roll my eyes in response.

What?” Reid asks.

I shrug. “I don’t think that’s a real problem. You’ll get in.”

“Oh. Thanks,” Reid says, his voice piano.

Silence settles between us, one measure too long. I don’t know what is wrong with me because complimenting Reid is the last thing I do.

So I pivot. “Can I hear another song?”

Reid begins playing chord progressions. “Yeah, sure. I’ll play the start of ‘In Winter.’ It’s not finished, but when you’re listening to it, imagine it as your standard big Broadway tap number, okay?”

I raise my eyebrows. “Melted does not need a standard Broadway tap number.”

He stops playing. “I didn’t think so either, but after talking with Danica, I got sucked into some research last night—”

I frown. Danica? Research?

Reid reaches for his backpack leaning against the wall and pulls out his laptop. “Danica sent me some tap numbers and it feels necessary to include one now. I’ll show you—”

“You can’t just play me the song? We’re nowhere near choreography.”

“I mean, I can. But you need to believe in the tap. Otherwise you won’t get it.”