Scarlett didn’t hear the rest, because she hurried off after him. He was taking huge, quick strides, and had gotten about halfway down the block.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“Where do you think I’m going?”

“You just walked away! We were still talking!”

“I wasn’t talking. I’m done.”

“Why are you so angry?” she said. “What did I even do?”

Max stopped and faced her. He was doing strange things with his mouth—sucking his lips in, shifting it to the left and right. There was something so intense coming off of him that it caused Scarlett’s pulse to jump and quicken.

“Fine,” she said, holding up her hands. “Don’t tell me.”

“You should go,” he replied. “Sounds like your actor boyfriend is waiting for you. Go on. Run.”

He made a brushing motion with his hand, as if scooting her along. It was so absurd and childish that Scarlett accidentally laughed. He turned and continued toward the subway.

“See you tomorrow,” she said as he walked away. There was no acknowledgment that she had spoken. Max’s back was a wall.

She walked back to Chelsea, who was standing there, waiting patiently.

“Don’t worry about him,” she said. “I’ll make him miserable at home for you. I can’t believe he did that. Well, actually, I can believe it.”

Scarlett started walking numbly in the direction of the meet up. Chelsea was still talking, telling her all the things Eric had said about her. The account seemed a little embellished, but the underlying message was clear: Eric wanted to get together with her. For real. Dating with a capital D. That’s all she had wanted for so long, and there it was. And yet, some part of her just wanted to run back and grab Max and shake him until all his teeth fell out. All her impulses toward Max were so—violent.

When she turned the corner, she saw them a block or so ahead. Her parents were talking to the actors, whom they hadn’t seen in a few weeks. They had gotten to know everyone during the show, and wanted to know how they were doing. Mrs. Amberson was talking excitedly on the phone. Spencer was rubbing one of his arms, but he was laughing. Eric held up a shy hand of greeting.

“See!” Chelsea said. “Please. Just talk to him.”

Even from across the street, Scarlett could hear every word Mrs. Amberson was saying on the phone: “…I think if you check the coverage tomorrow…Oh! Have we tinkled? Yes, it’s a standpipe, darling, I know. They can be very scary…No, not you, Carmine. But I think we should talk again in the morning, because this is a window of opportunity…Get away from that disgusting pizza! No, no. No dairy for you!…No, not you, Carmine. Let’s just meet for coffee at ten and discuss the future…”