“It’s not entirely out of nowhere,” I admit. “Molly made it quite clear weeks ago she didn’t want to continue our friendship. I suppose this is her … not continuing it.”

Eleanor raises an eyebrow. “Molly spoke to you?”

“She did.”

“You didn’t tell me that.”

Well, no, I didn’t. I do my best to forget the conversation happened at all wherever possible. “The details aren’t important. Besides, I thought it was clear this was about me. You’re an unfortunate casualty.”

“I mean, I figured. But what’s Danni got against you?”

“Nothing,” I say. “I hope.”

“Maybe you should apologize to Molly.”

“Wait—that’s genius,” I say with mock excitement.

“Oh. You have already, huh?”

“No, it truly never occurred to me to try saying I’m sorry for killing her best friend. Eleanor, I think you’ve just solved everything.”

Eleanor gives me a sharp look. “You didn’t kill anyone, any more than I did.”

I shrug blithely in response.

“Anyway, if it was about that, she’d be just as mad at me, right?” Eleanor asks. “So, maybe there’s something else.”

I simply can’t tell Eleanor what Molly said about me. I’m not sure why, exactly. Perhaps I’m afraid that if I speak it aloud, Eleanor will notice everything Molly has. What was it Molly said? Once you see it, you can’t unsee it?

Please, don’t let Eleanor see it, whatever “it” is. She’s all I have left.

We reach the auditorium, where a small crowd of students has gathered in the entrance. One girl is in tears, a few others look thrilled, and another is clapping her friend on the back. The list must be up already. We weave our way to the front, and scan the piece of paper stuck to the wall as one.

Santi Moreno—Macduff

Sits many, many lines above:

Eleanor Kowalczyk—Soldier #3

We studied Macbeth in English last year, and I’m fairly certain there’s no character called soldier number three. Which implies the school has created a number of non-speaking background roles to include more students. All that work on the Lady Macbeth audition piece, wasted. I turn to Eleanor, ready to offer my condolences, but realize just in time that she’s lit from within.

She places a hand over her mouth. “I got in,” she says. “I got in! I’m going to hang with Santi twice a week! Four hours a week, Rose!” She throws her arms around me in ecstasy and starts to jump up and down in place. I keep my feet planted firmly on the ground to anchor us and wait for her to calm down. “This is the start of something huge. I can feel it.”

“I’m thrilled for you, Eleanor,” I say. “You’ll be the best soldier number three the theater world’s ever seen.”