“Jamie, there was no blowing of literal chunks. You were doing great and you got spooked, but it’s probably because of what happened last time you performed. You’ll keep trying until your brain moves past it.”

I start walking faster. “Zarar, there were no chunks because I ran off stage before it had a chance to get worse. This was proof that the Laugh Drop wasn’t a fluke. I have some sort of performance anxiety or stage fright or whatever sad, stupid brain thing you want to call it. Everything I like to do has some performance aspect to it! This could get worse, Z, and leak into my all other shit. I’m fucked.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.” Zarar puts his hand on my back and rubs the space between my shoulders. It feels nice. Also couple-y.

I shake his hand off. He drops it, and we keep walking side by side without comment.

“I have a performance coming up for my acting class next week,” Zarar says casually. “I’ve been pretty good at the other jobs I’ve dabbled in leading up to this, but I don’t know about this one. You have to have major balls to get up on a stage in front of an audience at all, Jamie, but to go up there by yourself: That’s really difficult, and you do it with ease.”

“Your improv class is already performing?” I eye him sideways.

“Nope, the regular acting class. We’ve been split into groups and every week there’s a little show where each group puts on a five-minute scene.”

“Dude, you have so much on your plate right now.”

He shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. “Trying to get as much done as efficiently as possible. I like being busy.”

“When’s your performance?”

“Next Saturday at the Bluetail Theater.”

I blow out a resigned breath. “I’m sorry I won’t be here to see it. How’s the music production internship going?”

He nods enthusiastically. “Really good. The guy I’m working with is great; he walks me through everything he’s doing and lets me help out in whatever ways I can. We’re working on a new EP for this singer-songwriter that has a decent following on YouTube.”

I jut out my lip and nod approvingly. “That sounds cool. You’re in the recording room with the dude and the singer?”

Zarar’s side grin is back as big as I’ve ever seen it. “I am. It’s kind of awesome.”

“How’d you get this killer internship?”

“Knew somebody who knew somebody who knew somebody. The guy I’m working with actually went to school with my brother; they were in a band together way back when.” He purses his lips. “I come from a very friendly, curious group of chatty people.”