“I get it,” I say. To the rest of the world, Reid and me doing something, going somewhere, together, seems like a big deal. But it’s for Melted. So what if I had more fun than I’d ever admit out loud? It doesn’t suddenly mean anything.

“They’re not over Star Wars,” Reid confesses. “Or that I started the prank war that resulted in a musical.”

“Relatable. Pretty sure my friends blame me for losing a play we never had in the first place. I know Henry does.”

Reid chooses this moment to offer me an earbud. We’re not headphone sharers, so this is the cherry on top of this bizarre twilight zone of a day. Matching outfits. Noncombative conversations. Now headphone sharing. Who are we?

“This feels like a truce,” I say, taking Reid’s earbud.

“Can it be?” Reid asks. “Temporarily, of course.”

“Obviously.” I keep my expression neutral, but the disappointment I feel is another level of confusing. “Do we agree to extend the truce clause? Pause Natalie vs. Reid until opening night?”

I almost mention Dad, but I don’t want to bring those stakes into it.

Reid nods. “That seems mutually beneficial.”

“I think so too,” I say.

Because truces are agreed on with a double pinky swear, Reid’s pinkies wrap around mine and I don’t know how his skin is so warm or how mine is so cold when I’m the one who is wearing fingerless gloves. After a beat, our pinkies untangle and this temporary truce feels like a weight off my shoulders.

We’re quiet for the remainder of the ride, listening to The Lion King through one pair of earbuds. I close my eyes and let tonight’s performance replay in my memory—excited to return to the pages of Melted, to review it with fresh eyes and let it be a musical instead of resisting it.

I guess I never paid attention to musicals in the first place because of Reid.

It reminds me of fourth grade, when Reid created a Survivor draft system so intense I gave up watching entirely. I’ve been unable to listen to “Rhapsody in Blue” since he perfected the clarinet solo in sixth grade. Also, there’s a reason my clarinet has been untouched since the conclusion of the seventh-grade prank wars. Why I don’t play anymore, not even for fun.

Because if Reid likes something, it’s easier if I just don’t.

At least, that’s what I’ve subscribed to. But maybe I’ve been missing out.

Maybe rejecting something solely based on Reid’s enthusiasm is on me.

I hand him back his earbud as we approach our stop and are nearly back to reality.

“Thanks for inviting me,” Reid says. “I’m really glad I came.”

“Even though you’re with me?”

“Yeah. Spending time with you isn’t the worst. Who knew?”