Margot shook her head, already typing on her phone. “I get one skip a year. Looks like I’m using it now. Can Colleen come over tonight?”

I smiled and dug out my phone to text her. I spent the rest of the afternoon with Margot. We talked. We watched YouTube clips of other high schools’ Singin’ in the Rain performances, comparing them to ours. We ate a tremendous amount of Burger King chicken tenders.

At seven thirty, Colleen came over with Ferdinand because Margot said “Oh my God yes” when I asked if it was okay for Colleen to bring her dog. Right after I introduced Colleen and Margot, Margot dropped to her knees, said, “Hello, Ferdinand!” in a goofy voice, and started scratching his butt. So obviously Ferdinand fell in love with her. I never thought of Margot as a dog person. Then again, there was a lot about Margot that surprised me.

“How is he this cute?” Margot screeched.

“How does he love you so much already?” Colleen asked. “He usually takes at least ten minutes.”

“I’ve got the touch.” Margot wiggled her fingers.

“You want to give him a cheese peanut butter treat?” Colleen asked, digging around in her bag. “I’ll warn you, though: If you give this to him, he won’t leave your lap all evening. And he will have very bad breath.”

I watched Margot giggle uncontrollably as he slurped it from her hand, her emerald Monroe piercing flashing in the light. Colleen snort-laughed in the dorky way I’d missed, raising her hand to her mouth in a gesture so graceful it almost looked choreographed. My heart swelled, and I marveled at how familiar and surprising and fascinating and beautiful people could be. Like works of art, all in themselves.

After Ferdinand set up shop on Margot’s lap, we broke out some snacks and watched Singin’ in the Rain. Our eyes bugged out when Cosmo Brown did his spectacular acrobatics in “Make ’Em Laugh.” We cheered when Kathy Selden threw a pie in Lina Lamont’s face. We hooted as Cyd Charisse danced with Gene Kelly. We didn’t come to any conclusions about the Jude situation, but that was okay.

When the movie ended, Margot gasped. “Oh my God, how have we not talked about what you said to Paul?”

“Did Ethan tell you?” I asked, pushing the Doritos away from me because I was so full I was about to burst.

“What did you say to Paul? Who’s Paul?” Colleen asked, daintily popping a chip into her mouth.

“Paul is trash,” Margot said. “And no, I heard some rando talking about it in the hallway, and then Ethan confirmed.” Margot turned to Colleen. “She basically told this guy that because he says racist, sexist things, people think his dick is small. I mean, it was more poetic than that, but that was the gist.”