Something about those two things made a whole lot of words come out of my mouth. “Yes, actually. I do. I observed that you’re the best guy singer here. And I also observed that you dance with a kind of loose, aristocratic elegance. More like Fred Astaire than Gene Kelly. And yes, I do know who they are. I just didn’t say anything at auditions because I didn’t feel like it. So I assumed that you would want, like really want, the part that gives you a chance to do what you’re good at.”

Jude blinked at me, his expression shifting from confused to really, really pleased. Proving I had good observational skills somehow turned into me complimenting him a million times.

“Wow, thanks,” he said. I glanced at him, taking in his eyeliner lashes, his coffee-brown hair that fell to the side in a gentle swoop, the pink flush spreading across his cheeks—all of which I hated to admit was kind of adorable.

I looked away. “Don’t let it go to your head,” I said sharply. “Arrogance kills elegance. It, like, murders it in cold blood.”

“Good to know.” The corner of Jude’s mouth lifted as he reached an old white SUV and pulled out his keys. “And don’t worry, I won’t let it go to my head.”

“I’ll be able to tell if you do. Observational skills, remember?” I said, tapping a finger on my temple as I walked to my car, a few spaces down from his.

“Nothing gets past you.” He gave me a small wave.

Driving home, I felt… surprisingly okay. Yeah, I was tired, and the idea of Colleen contending with two new Jodys without me stung a little, and I still didn’t know how I felt about the whole Vamp thing. But suddenly, I wondered what it would be like if Jude and I got the parts and we got to dance together. If I could make myself stay after school for rehearsals instead of retreating to my room. And if the musical didn’t keep reminding me that what I really wanted—everything I’d worked for—was impossible now.

All of a sudden, I felt less okay. I slammed the brakes a little too hard at a red light, and an ache radiated up my leg. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, something my physical therapist, Birdie, used to tell me to do whenever I felt like curling up into a ball and disappearing. Or crying. Or screaming obscenities. Deep breaths were pretty much Birdie’s go-to solution for any publicly inconvenient emotion, and I was kind of shocked to realize how decently they worked in a pinch.