My face burned red, and Phoebe knew instantly. It was worse than the time Touchstone—in fifth grade!—had pityingly informed me the tooth fairy wasn’t real.

“Oh! I’m sorry—I didn’t—”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“Sorry, that’s me putting my foot in my mouth.”

“I know Power Jam is ridiculous,” I said. “That’s part of its charm.”

“Maybe I’ll give it another shot,” said Phoebe. “I shouldn’t be so dismissive. I’ve barely given it a try. Maybe it would help me understand Oliver’s acting more if I watched an episode.”

“Skip the first one,” I said. “Maybe the second one, too, honestly. Start with three. You’ll figure it all out, and the third episode is really where they find their groove.”

“Okay,” said Phoebe. “Thanks. Research! Anyway—what was I saying? He’s going to go with you. I had this plan that Oliver and I would go over together and see what spoke to him. But now with the Cinderella, Benna’s asked me to do some alterations.…”

“No, no. It’s great,” I said. Besides the fact that every time I saw Oliver Teller, I seemed to find some new and interesting way to humiliate myself.

“Thanks so much,” said Phoebe.

“Of course,” I said.

Oliver was waiting for me in the foyer.

“We meet again, Celia Gilbert,” he said.

“Hello, Oliver Teller,” I said. In an effort to be Celia Gilbert, Star Costume Assistant, I’d worn my measuring tape again and fussed with it around my neck. We walked to my car chatting idly about the weather. Normal. Good. Yes. I was a Young Career Woman; he was a Young Actor; we were both in control and could be Professional together.

Of course, that illusion was totally shattered when he saw my car.