A pickup drone-flying tournament had just ended when Delia arrived at the Hot Pocket kiosk. An actual line awaited her. She nodded to Eric, who had an equal number of customers holding drones with clipped propellers and broken camera lenses despite his being a computer repair station. Numb, she was grateful to have something rote to do. If she paused for too long, the scream simmering at the base of her throat threatened to bubble out.

Selling the theater. Selling the theater.

Cassie would never mess with Delia, especially about this, and still some part of Delia clung to the hope that her best friend was pulling a prank.

After her line dwindled and Eric was embroiled in what sounded like a tedious explanation of the forces of gravity, Delia called her parents. This time they answered.

“Dad, put Mom on the line too.”

“I’m here, doll,” her mother said. “We’ve been dying to hear how it’s going. Sorry we missed you, but you know the summer season—”

“Are we really doing this?”

Her dad sighed. “Cassie.”

“No. No sighing over Cassie telling me what you both should have.” Delia took a breath. “It’s not like . . . done, is it?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But we’re close.”

“You can’t!” Delia cried, and Eric looked her way.

“Delia,” her mom said. “We know it’s upsetting—it’s hard for us too.”

Her dad took over. “But sometimes life tosses a ball your way, and you just have to catch it.”

“But I’m here,” Delia said.

“And we’re so very proud of you,” her mom said.

“No, I mean, I’m here, I’m doing okay.” She swallowed and touched her necklace. “Great. Doing great.” Her parents had done so much to keep her dreams alive. And she was here to do the same for them. She just needed time. More time. “So you don’t have to worry about me for college or—”

“Honey, listen,” her mom said. “We’ll talk about this when you get home. All performances suffer when you’re distracted. It’s why we’ve restrained ourselves from calling as much as we’d like.”

“Twice a day,” her dad joked.

“He really means three,” her mom said, and Delia could imagine the smile lighting up her face. “Now, don’t you worry about us. Just break a hard drive, okay?”

“And a keyboard,” her dad said. “Or two.”

“But—” Delia started.

“We love you! Bye-bye!” in simulcast and then click.

And right there, in front of the Hot Pocket microwave, Delia screamed.

*   *   *

Eric set two plates down on the bench outside the student center. A turkey, bean, tomatillo salsa on the right, a vegan cashew cheese on the left.

“Preference?” he asked.

“Cashew cheese.”

He cocked his head.

Delia gave a soft smile. “Kind of addicting.” She broke off a piece and rested it on his plate.