Oh, of course, my dad writes back. I feel guilty that I made him feel foolish, but at least he seems to be buying it.

The film industry is so bizarre, I write back. Blame it on the industry!

I can’t imagine, my dad says.

You’re lucky you don’t have to, I write back. Nice and cryptic.

Cinnamon texts back. Of course you did, she writes. Did you kiss?

Not yet ;p, I write back.

Good girl, she says, and I imagine her cooing this in a baby voice to a lurky man at the Mirror Box. Make his Adonis ass wait! She’s still typing. Wanna get a drink? We can go to that place we went before and drink for free.

I am relieved. I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want to pay for anything either. I need to save up and maintain the illusion of success to my father.

I text him again. Let’s go see Phantasy when it’s out!

Deal! he writes back.

Cinnamon is whispering in the bartender’s ear when I walk in. When she spots me, she wraps me in a big hug and the bartender disappears. “He’s in love with me,” she tells me.

“Who isn’t?”

“You’re in a good mood post-Beau,” she says.

“True,” I say.

We take a seat at the bar. “What are you drinking?”

“Do they have Mountain Dew here?” I want to treat myself.

“You are so adorable.” She squeezes my cheeks, which no one has ever done to me before. I have a severe face and my cheeks are sharp, not squeezable.

“Two Mountain Dews,” Cinnamon shouts across the bar. “I’m trying to moderate my alcohol intake,” she says to me. “Being drunk is so embarrassing.”

“It really is,” I say, not that I really know.

Cinnamon removes her vape pen from her pocket and we both take big hits.

“Hey,” the bartender says. “No vaping in here.”

Cinnamon blows vapor in his face. He puts down our Mountain Dews and gives Cinnamon a disparaging finger and says, “Bad girl,” in a way that makes me vaguely ill.

“How has your week been?” I ask Cinnamon. I know mostly from film and television that this is what friends say to each other.

Cinnamon rolls her eyes, then slouches over. “The professor,” she says, “is fucking with me.”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“He says he doesn’t want a relationship,” she says, “but then he gets lonely and calls me to talk about some minute aspect of his book, and for some reason I always entertain his masturbatory ramblings!”