“Yeah,” Mr. Campbell said, running his hand through his hair, clearly trying to get himself back under control, his voice dripping with contempt. “You should.”

I backed away toward the exit, pushed my way outside, then hurried up the stairs and out into the New York night. It was disorienting—after what had just happened, and the terrible play, to suddenly be back in the bustle of it all.

Tears were stinging my eyes, and I brushed my hand across my face as I walked to the curb.

It was now clear to me that at every turn tonight, I’d done absolutely everything wrong. Cary had wanted to hang out with me, and I’d chosen the play instead of him. I could have gone to the Village and tried to make things right with Stevie, but I’d stayed. And now it was too late—even if she was still at Josephine’s, me showing up this late would make everything worse. Which meant I’d missed my chance to try and make things right with her. I had put everything on the line—and for what? For that play? It would have been better if I’d never come here at all. I’d wrecked absolutely everything that mattered to me.

Through my haze of tears, I saw a cab coming. I put out my arm, and thankfully it saw me and pulled over.

I got into the backseat and pressed my lips together hard, trying to get my tears under control. I couldn’t stop thinking about the contempt on Mr. Campbell’s face. About the way those actors hadn’t seemed to like each other at all—and how they’d talked about him. About how wrong I’d been about so much…

“Where to?” the cabbie asked. I was about to say Grand Central. There was no point in staying in the city any longer—I’d wrecked everything here so thoroughly. I knew I should go there and catch a train.

But suddenly the thought of all that was just too much, and I found myself starting to cry for real, pressing my hand over my eyes. More than anything, in that moment, I just wanted to go home. “Hon,” the driver said, a little louder. “I need an address.”

“Right,” I said, blinking as I realized I could give him one. I dug in the pockets of my coat with shaking hands and pulled out the address that Grady’s babysitter had given me. I knew this would lead to me being in trouble, but right now, I no longer cared. “Um—18 Ninth Avenue.”

“Got it,” the cabbie said, swinging into traffic. He looked in the rearview mirror, and his eyes met mine for a second before they returned to the road. “What’s there?”

I took a big, shaky breath before I answered. “My parents.”

CHAPTER 23

Stevie