“—a friend from All-States. Her dad plays trombone in the pit. I asked, and she pulled a few strings.”

I bite my lip, trying to think of how this could be a prank, what other motives he might have, but nothing comes. “Why?”

“I wanted to. You need to see a musical before you can codirect a musical. Plus, it’s like the ultimate adaptation. A musical adapted from a movie adapted from Hamlet!”

His arm brushes against mine and I’m definitely more buzzed than I thought because the space between us is, well, nonexistent. I focus on the piano keys, on middle C, because it’s either that or looking at Reid’s stupid earnest face and the out-of-place curl that has flopped in front of his eyes.

“Thank you,” I say.

“You’re welcome.”

My phone buzzes on the piano with a string of Very Concerned texts.

Fitz (Not Ava)

natalie where are you? so help me god if YOU FLED YOUR OWN PARTY!!! I made cookies.

10:37 PM

my heart is dkfdlsjfoisdjfejeofjlkefjjdlsk

10:37 PM

dani + chao, sitting in a tree (well on ur stairs UGH)

10:37 PM

Shit. I stand, smoothing down the fabric of the floral sleeveless jumpsuit I’m wearing, an If the Shoe Fitz original. “I’ve been beckoned by Fitz.”

Reid stands and takes a step backward. “I should probably get going too.”

“Thanks for the birthday truce,” I say. I twist the doorknob so the lock pops. “I’m sure my dad will drive us to the train, but I’ll double-check.”

Reid coughs. “Oh. No. I mean, those are for you. Not, like, for us.”

My hand drops from the door and my cheeks flush, embarrassed I even thought otherwise. “Oh. Right.”

I blame the shitty vodka. Shit.

“You should take Chao,” Reid says.

“Maybe. Henry barely cares about our musical though,” I say.

“It’s so good though! He’d be missing out.”

“Oh. Have you seen it before?”

“I mean, on YouTube.”

“Reid. Come on.” I take the extra ticket out of the envelope and hold it out to him. My own peace offering. As weird as this sounds, maybe this is exactly what Reid and I need. To get on the same page, to start acting like codirectors, to stop self-sabotaging Melted.

Reid considers my invitation just a beat too short to make me believe he’s actually reluctant, before nodding. “Okay. But Nat-a-lie…” Reid drops his voice low, my name spilling out in three awkward syllables. “Our parents are going to think it’s a date.”

I laugh. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Well. Thanks,” Reid says, his expression unreadable.

“I mean, it’s us,” I say. “We’ll call it a research trip, codirector.”