“Yeah.” A tense silence fell over us. This was my opening. Now. But then “Singin’ in the Rain” came on the Broadway channel. So we had to talk about how weird that was, how it was a sign that our opening night tomorrow was going to be awesome, blah, blah, blah. I kept searching for a way to pivot out of safe conversation territory, but I couldn’t find one.

And then I was pulling into my driveway. It was quiet for a moment as I came to a slow stop and shifted into park. I barreled in before I could lose my nerve. “Can we talk—”

“Wait, can I say something first?” Jude turned in his seat so he was facing me.

It was hard to stop midbarrel, especially because we’d stopped so many times before. But he seemed a bit on edge, so I nodded.

“It’s about the Robobitch thing. I should have asked them to stop calling Diya that. It sucks to admit, but I thought the name had some truth to it when I first heard it. I was sad and hurting and angry, and I blamed a lot of what I was feeling about my dad on her. But then I realized how unfair that was. I mean, of course she went to the singing contest instead of the dance. That’s her passion, her future. I just never asked Ethan or Margot or anyone to stop calling her that because… it sounds terrible, but I think I got so used to it that it became kind of easy to ignore? I shouldn’t have let that happen.”

I fidgeted with my coat sleeves. “It’s weirdly easy to ignore the bad stuff sometimes,” I said.

“Yeah. Anyway, after you mentioned it, I felt horrible and started beating myself up about it. But then I thought about the question you asked me, about why I don’t give myself room to mess up, why I judge myself when I don’t judge other people. And I think… I think it’s because of my dad. Judging myself really harshly is something I learned from him. And I don’t want to do that anymore. When I mess up, I want to do something about it. So I apologized to Diya, and she accepted. I know it’s not as easy as that, but it’s a start.”

My heart swelled. “It’s definitely a start,” I said.

Jude looked down at his hands and let out a quick breath. He glanced up at me. The sad look in his eyes, the crease in his forehead, the mouth that wasn’t on mine. I couldn’t stand it any longer.

“I don’t want to be just friends with you!” I blurted. Jude’s eyebrows shot up, but I kept going. “I want more than that, I’ve wanted more than that for a while, I just didn’t know if—”