We hit each other a couple more times and then made our way to the wings. Behind the curtain, the stage was dim. Crew members were zooming around, getting everything ready. Ethan and Jude were center stage, backs to the closed curtain, as Mrs. Sorenson gave them a pep talk and fixed their bow ties. Margot went to get her cigarette holder prop from the closet, and I stepped onto the stage.

As soon as I did, Jude’s eyes went right to mine. His expression, serious a moment ago, completely changed. His eyebrows went up and his mouth opened slightly, like he was surprised to see me. I felt a jolt of surprise, too. Surprise that I hadn’t made the whole thing up, that he was right here in front of me.

After all the kissing last night, Jude and I sat in the car and talked about everything. Ballet, Winter Formal, the ice rink, Jude’s dad. Jude said his father could make him feel like he was the most important person in the world one day, and like a total disappointment the next. He said it scared him that he still found himself wanting his dad’s approval, and it made him not trust his own instincts. But he didn’t want to deny himself the things he wanted because he was afraid he’d mess them up somehow.

I told him I’d been scared, too. That I’d wanted to protect us both from getting hurt, and that was why I said the stuff about ditching him like Diya did. He made it clear that he would want me to do something I was passionate about, even if it meant missing something like Winter Formal. He made me promise I wouldn’t compromise for his sake on something I really wanted. In my heart, I already knew that I wouldn’t, but it was good to hear all the same.

I watched Ms. Langford hurry to talk to Mrs. Sorenson, and as soon as they were both distracted, Jude ran over to me. “I want to show you something.” He took my hand and led me to the middle of the stage, right behind the curtain. Beyond it, I could hear the familiar sound of an audience rustling, finding seats, chatting.

Jude opened the curtain a tiny bit, gesturing for me to peep out. “Look at the back wall,” he whispered. I looked out at the wooden acoustic panels in the back of the auditorium. There, in the crack between two panels, was a shoddy smiley face—two misshapen eyes and a crooked mouth—made out of faded red construction paper.

I squinted. “What is—oh my God. That’s the Happy Crack?”

“That’s the Happy Crack. Someone a long time ago made it to remind everyone to smile during the show, and we find it in Mrs. Sorenson’s office every year and put it up.”