“Thank you, Ezra. You have no idea how much that means to me.”

I was smiling so much, my face ached. I didn’t even need to look at myself to know I was glowing.

Imogen blinked the emotion away, then glanced eagerly down at her phone. “Can we watch another one?”

“As many as you can stomach,” I said.

“Oh, goody,” said Imogen. She patted her stomach ravenously, and said, “Get in mah bellay!”

We watched all of them. Every single video I had ever created. All in one sitting.

The dinner-roll “dance scene” with Sam from Benny and Joon got the biggest reaction. It was literally just a pair of dinner rolls, stabbed with forks, tap-dancing. It was the picture of absurdity. And Imogen laughed so hard, she cried.

She laughed so hard, her stomach started hurting.

She laughed so hard, she thought she was going to be sick.

“Should I call nine-one-one?” I said, only halfway joking.

“It’s too… it’s too late!” she said, curled into the fetal position on the concrete, still laughing. “I’m already dead! Call my mom. Tell her I love her.”

By the time we finished, Imogen was experiencing something of an existential crisis.

“That’s it?” she said. “That’s all of them?”

“Johnny Depp only has so many movies,” I said.

Imogen leaned forward, grabbed me by my bare shoulders, and shook me. “You have to let me make one with you.”

“What?” I said.

It wasn’t a bad “what.” I was just completely shocked.

But Imogen seemed to read it like a bad “what.”

She backtracked. “I mean… I’m not asking to be in it, of course. I know this is something really special to you. I just… I would love to see your MO, your modus operandi. I would be honored. But, like, I understand if you don’t want me to—”

“I would love that,” I said.

Imogen looked like she had suddenly gone weightless, suspended in zero-g. “Really?”

“So much. Seriously.”

And that’s when I told her about my passion project: Ed Wood.

I explained to her that this was my favorite Johnny Depp movie, my favorite Tim Burton movie, and probably just my favorite movie in general. And that was going up against the likes of Inception!

I explained to her that it had to be perfect.

I explained that—

Flash.

Okay, so I didn’t get through with the explanation, because suddenly, I was me, and I was in a dark classroom, on top of some poor teacher’s desk, and Holden was beneath me, and I was making out with his face. Actually, that was putting it lightly because his tongue was all the way down my throat. I gagged on it.

“Sorry, sorry,” said Holden. “Too much tongue?”

I was still gagging. I was pretty sure he licked my uvula.

“Oh no,” said Holden, clutching his face. “Please don’t tell me—”