Teri nodded. “We’d practiced and everything. But then Bryce jumped up and just started talking.…”

“You should have told Bryce to knock it off! And also that he might want to try, you know, reading the book,” I said, and Stevie snort-laughed, my favorite kind of her laughs, since it meant that she’d been caught by surprise. “Did you?” I asked, looking at my best friend, who just shook her head.

I wasn’t surprised. Stevie didn’t like drama, or arguments, or yelling—at least, not offstage. It had shocked me to see she was always the one volunteering for any scene where you got to scream and cry and rage—her hand was always the first in the air in Scene Study when we were doing Mamet. Offstage, though, she liked things quiet and calm, everyone getting along, whereas I never minded a little volume.

But even as I would nudge her about it, I understood that was just who she was—it was who her whole family was. Stevie had grown up as an only child in a house filled with priceless art, with thick woven carpets on the floor that seemed to muffle everything. Whenever I was in Stevie’s house, I automatically started speaking more quietly. You couldn’t imagine anyone yelling in her house—not in front of the Rothkos.

“Want me to have a word with him?”

“No,” said Stevie and Teri together, and I tried not to be insulted by that as we took the four steps down to the north exit together, three sets of feet falling at the same time.

We pushed open the door and walked outside, heading across campus, past the faculty parking lot and the dumpsters people were always vaping behind. The theater building was separate from the rest of the school, and big—two stories, with a main stage, a black box theater, a tech shop, a costume shop, and classrooms.

I drew in a breath—there was a dampness in the air that meant snow later, I was sure of it. “It’s going to be cold tonight,” I said, glancing at Stevie. “Might be even colder in the city, since you’ll be walking around.”

Stanwich was forty-five minutes outside Manhattan by train, an hour by car. It was a commuter town, which meant you never ever needed to specify which city you meant. You always meant New York—nobody was ever talking about Hartford or Boston or New Haven.

Stevie pulled her coat on without breaking her stride, switching her purse expertly from shoulder to shoulder as she did. “I don’t think I’m going to be spending a lot of time walking, but thanks for the tip.”

I pulled my coat over my shoulders without actually putting it on and turned to Teri. “Are you busy tonight? Stevie’s going into the city and abandoning me.”