That hiding—it’s what I want most as I trudge up the stairs to my apartment, feeling the energy leak from my bones. When I open the door, I’m head down with headphones on, hiding, hiding, hiding, but my day of confrontation isn’t quite over yet, because when I finally pull them from my ears and look up, I see that it’s not only Sibby here in the apartment.

It’s Lark, too.

And in her hands, she has her planner.

“I did not hide anything in there,” I blurt immediately, because I guess I’ve finally snapped. I wish this proclamation—which is true—seemed more convincing, but since I have actual beads of sweat on my forehead, I’m sure I look like Lying Witness Number Four, sent over here from central casting.

“Well, this is awkward,” says Sibby, grimacing as she looks between me and Lark. “In this case, I can literally say I’ve been there.” She gestures to where I’m standing.

Lark laughs.

Wait . . . she laughs?

“What’s going on here?” I say, my gaze now the one ping-ponging between them. They look like they’re about to put on face masks and watch The Princess Tent. Honestly that’s a pretty good idea, but I still can’t figure out what’s happened here since I left.

“Lark came to check on you,” says Sibby. “She was worried.”

“I read the news and thought I’d come over,” she says. She holds up her planner. “I was showing Sibby what you’d done for me while we waited for you to get back.”

Sibby? It’s Sibby now?

“Why have I never hired you to do a planner?” Sibby says, gesturing to Lark’s. “This one is gorgeous.”

“Because you use an app,” I say.

“Point,” says Sibby, holding up a finger. “How’d it go with Cecelia?”

I rub at my sweaty temples. “You guys, I need a minute. What is—are you two friends now?”

“We had a nice talk while we waited for you,” Lark says. “You didn’t tell me Sibby was auditioning again.”

I gape. “I didn’t know she was.”

Sibby waves a hand. “I’ll tell you about it. A small production. Who knows if I’ll get it.”

“Sib, that’s so great. What’s the—”

Sibby snaps her fingers, as though she’s trying to wake me out of a hypnosis. “Focus, Meg.”

I drop my bag, take a few steps, and sink onto the area rug, sitting across from their spots on the couch. “It went okay with Cecelia. But on the way home I got offered the Make It Happyn gig.”

They both get excited at first, until I fill them in on the details, adding some extra padding to my throw pillow eyes with a few additional tears.

“Ugh,” says Sibby. “You can’t take it.”