“It’s hard. It’s like, I direct at school. I write at home. I’ve never let myself think beyond the script, before working on Melted. The separation is easier.”

The words tumble out before I can take them back.

Reid wipes the foam away. “You write? Beyond Melted?”

“It’s no big deal.”

“Natalie ‘I Don’t Art’ Jacobson is a writer?”

Of course Reid thinks it’s a big deal.

I swallow a long sip. “I write for fun. It’s not serious.”

“Something can be fun and serious. It doesn’t have to be an either/or thing.”

“Maybe at first, but don’t you think the seriousness will eventually suck out the fun?”

Reid shakes his head. “Not if you love it enough.”

I don’t agree. Not at all. I roll my eyes at Reid, who quickly reverts to the serious clarinet version of himself. I’d rather hang out with fun, musical theater Reid today. I don’t want to lose this creative high. So I circle back to his initial comment. “You didn’t mention the dancing. A pivotal part of any musical.”

Reid laughs. “One musical and you’re an expert? You know I’m staging a tap number.”

“I’m pretty sure we need to put Danica in charge of choreography.”

“You want to put Danica in charge of something?” Reid looks skeptical. “Is this growth?”

I choke on my hot chocolate. “More like fear that she’ll mutiny again if we don’t.”

Reid nods. “A real low point. Codirectors, pull it together!” He drops his voice in a terribly gruff impression of my dad and I laugh, loud.

“I think… we’re starting to? Pull it together.”

“Me too,” Reid says.

Reid and I can’t stop talking about the show on our walk back to North Station. We dissect the perfection of the performances and the emotional resonance in the second act, the narrative choices the musical made that were absent from the movie—and we both come to the same conclusion.

Every lyric in The Lion King is necessary. Propulsive.

Melted has great moments—but some of the songs are so obviously filler. I imagine the moments that could exist if I stop holding on to monologues from the play and let them become songs that move the plot forward.

“Not to ruin the mood, but I think we need to do another pass on the second act.”

“It’s not there yet,” I agree.

“It’s unbalanced,” Reid says. “Our showstoppers are all in act one.”

“I don’t think it’s about showstoppers, necessarily,” I counter, looping my infinity scarf around my neck one more time. “It’s about tension—and balancing the showstoppers with the quiet, emotional moments. We’ve been so focused on big Broadway numbers… but maybe not everything has to be a big Broadway number.”

Reid considers this and I am prepared for the counterargument.