I hook my thumbs into the pockets of my shorts, looking for something to do with my hands to make me feel less awkward. “It’s not actually about the show.”

We stand there staring at each other. The distant sounds of soccer practice come floating from beyond the cafeteria. I can’t anticipate how she’s going to respond here, and it’s psyching me out.

“Oh my god, spit it out,” she says.

I shift from side to side uncomfortably, gathering my nerve. “I saw you . . . and Mr. B . . . together.”

Her breath catches in her throat. Then she clenches her jaw into a steely smile. “What?” she says, twisting her face into an expression of confusion. Those years of acting are really helping her right now. If I hadn’t seen the split second of terror on her face, I would believe she had no idea what I was talking about.

“Yesterday. After rehearsal. In his car.” I swallow hard, forcing myself to continue looking at her. I reach for the cooling magic in my T-shirt to deal with the nervous sweat beading on my skin.

“And? He gave me a ride home after rehearsal because my car was at the shop,” she says, glaring down her nose at me. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

“You were . . . sharing magic. And kissing.”

Her eyes widen minutely, then settle into furious slits. “What do you want?”

“What?”

“You’re trying to threaten me with this crazy story, so you have to want something.”

“N-no,” I stutter, baffled by the turn this conversation has taken. “I want to help you. You should tell people about what he’s doing to you.”

“Don’t try this goody-two-shoes act on me,” she snaps. “You’re just jealous. You’ve been throwing yourself at him since you started this show, and you don’t even care about him. You just want the scholarship.”

She’s not exactly wrong, but I have no idea how she’s come to the conclusion that I’m trying to blackmail her. What would I even want from her? “He’s taking advantage of you,” I say, using the kindest tone I can muster. “You know he can manipulate your emotions right now because you’ve shared magic. You have to say something.”

Her hands are shaking at her sides. The fingernails are bitten down to the quick, and the skin around one of her pointer fingers is ragged and scabbed. She notices me staring at her hands and folds her arms sharply across her chest. The movement curves her in on herself, as if she’s protecting herself from me. “He would never take advantage of me. He wouldn’t.”

“Brittany, he’s, like, thirty—”

“I’m eighteen,” she snaps. She pauses, looking like she regrets saying that. “He’s never—he doesn’t think of me like that. He just wants what’s best for me.”

“I saw you together,” I say softly.