“I just—I never knew I could feel like that,” I say. It’s not what I imagined, alone in my bed at night. It’s so much better. It feels like I’m floating, brain clear, eyes blown out of their sockets. I want to share it with him. “But now it’s your turn.”

I push him against the counter. His eyes are wide.

“You don’t have to if you don’t feel like it,” he says. The corners of his mouth turn up, but his words tumble out. “It’s not like you have to pay me back. It’s not a business transaction. I just wanted to—”

Before I can say anything else, his lips are on mine. It’s different from the first time we kissed. Kissing Miles for the first time was like texting someone for the first time: using proper punctuation and spelling, commenting only on “appropriate” topics.

It’s different now. Lazier, a little messier, like we know each other.

“Are you sure?” Miles asks, voice soft.

“I am. It’s not about paying you back,” I say. “It’s because I want to make you feel good, too.”

“You already make me feel good.”

I roll my eyes, even though I’m smiling.

“Shut up, Miles,” I say, pulling at his zipper.

CHAPTER 26

With just two weeks left until opening night, Ms. Klein has gone absolutely batshit. I can’t make a single move at rehearsal the next day without her breathing down my neck. Maybe I’d understand the concern if we were further behind, but we’re doing pretty well. The sets are all painted, and everyone knows their lines. I’d call that success.

“I think we should try that again,” Ms. Klein says, snapping her fingers. The poor kids onstage seem to hate her almost as much as Eric hates me. “You need to have more emotion in your voices. Even if you’re in the ensemble, you need to accentuate your facial features. Remember, people are looking at you!”

Claire is pouting openly, and it makes her look like a fish. I snicker. Ms. Klein whirls around and I school my features. I can’t even breathe without her giving me the stink eye. I’m pretty sure any teacher would be better at this than her.

“Do you have any notes, Simone?” Mr. Palumbo asks, turning to me. “You’ve been quiet.”

That’s because I’m intent on watching and absorbing every single detail. Once we finish running the show for the thousandth time, I’ll start taking notes again. Right now, I need to see what the audience would see if we opened tomorrow. It’ll give me a different angle.

“I’m not sure,” I say, folding my arms. “The only thing really bothering me is the ‘I’ll Cover You’ reprise, but I don’t know if I could get a word in.”