“Why does everyone have to get married?” I said. “I mean, everyone! Even Sir Toby and Maria!”

“Everyone except Antonio,” said Willow, shaking her head sadly. “Poor Antonio.”

“I know. I secretly hope Fabian is gay, and they hook up in the after-credits scene.”

“It would be kind of tragic to have a name like Fabian and not be gay.”

“Everything about this play is kind of tragic. Duke Orsino’s been stalking Olivia forever, even after she’s said no a hundred times, and suddenly, she’s married, and he’s like, ‘That’s it. Put on your girl clothes, Cesario. We’re getting hitched.’”

“Yeah, because he’s definitely not rebounding.”

“Absolutely not.” I chuckled and gave a sad sigh. “I literally question everyone’s judgment in this play.”

“Do you want to have a sleepover tonight?” said Willow.

She blurted it out so fast—so sudden—I blinked and did a double take, just to make sure I hadn’t hallucinated the question.

“Sorry,” she said. “That was random. Just… between this play and prom, I’m a bundle of nerves, and my parents are never home, and I thought it would be nice to… but I understand if you can’t. Sorry. You know what? Forget I—”

“I’d love to,” I said.

“Oh!” said Willow. Her entire crabby-old-butler face lit up. “Okay! Yeah! Great!”

It had become impossible for her to speak in anything but one-word exclamations.

“Lemme just tell Ezra,” Willow said finally when all the glowing seemed to be making her face hurt. She turned, and then jumped with a start.

Wynezra was standing right behind us.

“Whoa, hey!” said Willow, clutching her chest. “Didn’t see you there. Is it okay if Wynonna—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” said Wynezra dismissively. And somewhat urgently. “Can I have a word with Wynonna?”

Willow looked at me, as if to confirm that that was okay. I gave her a subtle nod.

Wynezra put a hand in the center of my back and directed me to the far, far, far corner of the theater—well out of earshot of anyone.

“What’s going on?” I said.

“I’m going to show you something,” said Wynezra, “only because you would have already seen it if you were you, and I want you to know that it’s real, and it’s serious.”

“Okay?”

Wynezra handed me her—my—phone, opened to a picture.

It was a nude of Willow.

A very private—very intimate—nude. One that was clearly never meant to see the light of day.

“JESUS FUCK,” I said, pushing the phone away. “What the fuck? Why the fuck?”

“There’s more.”