My shoulders relax. “Nah. It’s actually pretty chill now.” I pause. “Well, I’m not, obviously, but the whole vibe is.” I point a finger at her. “Except our stage manager, Oliver Yang. Best piece of advice I can give? Get on his good side.”
“Because he’s mean?”
A few weeks ago I would have said that’s exactly why. As well as Oliver and I have been getting along these days, it doesn’t magically erase the last few years of him pulling the strings against me with casting. But that had everything to do with our dynamic, and nothing to do with the way he is with everyone else.
“Nah. He’ll look out for you,” I tell her. That much I know is true.
Chloe scrambles to open the Notes app in her phone. “Oliver … good side,” she mutters to herself. “I looked at the school website, but it hasn’t been updated with what next year’s play and musical are going to be. Have they told you?”
I lean in, cutting a glance at the window as if Oliver’s going to overhear me from two blocks away and Hulk in through the glass. “Well, officially I don’t know,” I tell her with a smile. “But unofficially my friend has been doing the costuming, and based on the absurd number of overalls she added to a Pinterest board I’m assuming it’s Mamma Mia.”
Her eyes light up like I just told her she won a game show. “Holy crap. That’s one of my favorites.” She deflates. “But they’ve probably already cast for it, right?”
Oh, shit. I hadn’t thought of that. We get transfers at Cornelia Arts & Science, but I’ve never really dealt with the logistics of it.
“They did auditions, but they don’t announce the cast or anything until we’re all back at school,” I tell her.
“So I probably can’t be in it.”
I munch on my croissant, trying to think of some way to cushion the blow more effectively than filling her up with more dessert. The costuming team would probably welcome the help, and we always need extra hands with publicity. If she couldn’t be in the show, she could at least be adjacent to it.
Unless …
“Well—make a video.” I say it before I can overthink it or the light groveling I may have to do. “We’ll give it to Oliver, and he’ll give it to our teacher.”
Chloe blinks at me. “Make a video?”
“Yeah. Just pick a thirty-two-bar cut.”
Her voice is so quiet it nearly gets swallowed up by the sound of the coffee grinder. “Of what?”
I shrug, trying to keep the conversation casual. By virtue of being a dramatic person myself, I have discovered that if you rise to someone’s level of panic then it’ll just keep bouncing between you both like a feedback loop and nobody will get anywhere.
“You sound great doing ‘Watch What Happens,’” I remind her.
“I…” She shakes her head. “No, I don’t.”
I lower my chin and stare her down. “Yes, you do,” I say firmly. “You have a beautiful voice.”
It’s the truth—her voice is distinctively hers, sweet and quiet with a fast vibrato like a little bird. I’d say so, but her chin goes wobbly enough that I know it already sank in and I’ll only embarrass her if I press the point.
“I wouldn’t even know how to film it,” she says.
That part, at least, is easy. “Teddy’ll do it. He tapes for me all the time,” I say, pulling out my phone.
Chloe leans forward so fast the chair makes a skidding noise from under her. “Oh—no, you don’t have to bother him—”
“Trust me, he has nothing to do today except create a Teddy-size hole in his parents’ couch and chase after things on his GeoTeens app.”
I tap out the text asking him before Chloe can talk me out of it.
“But then I’d have to sing in front of him.”
“You already did, remember? No pressure.” I reach out and pat her hand, the one she was no doubt extending to try to take the phone from me. “Besides, Teddy listened to me screltch all through puberty. Even if you mess up a take, I promise he’s seen eighteen thousand times worse.”
Chloe swallows hard. “Okay. Well. Even if I did do it … what should I wear?”
I wave a hand at her. “You’re fine with what you have on,” I tell her. She glances down at her floral tee and jeans, and then back at me uncertainly. I pull a hair tie off my wrist and hand it to her. “Just make sure to pull your hair back so we can see your face.”
She accepts it so preciously that I might have just handed her a diamond. Then she looks back up at me. “Do you think I’ll get cast?”
Thanks to our efforts to make the department double-cast all the shows, there’s no chance she won’t be. But I figure there’s no point in stealing the magic from her when she makes the list. I reach out and grab her hand, squeezing it.
“I’m absolutely positive.”
She holds my eyes there for a moment like she’s waiting for me to qualify it with something. When I don’t, she starts yanking her hair back into a ponytail, using my hair tie to secure it. “Thanks, Millie,” she says with a shy smile.
“No problem.” I glance at my phone. “I gotta go. But sit tight, Teddy says he can meet you here with his camera.” I pull my purse off the chair and brush the crumbs off my dress, pausing to look down at the table. “And eat that croissant before Teddy gets here, or he’ll eat it for you.”
I sweep out of the bakery with my drink in one hand and Steph’s in the other, positioning myself to nudge the door open with my hip, but someone reaches over my head and opens it for me.
“Oh, yikes,” I say before I can stop myself. In my defense, Georgie was basically conjured in midair. “Uh—I mean—good morning.”
Georgie juts her chin out to the sidewalk to remind me to keep moving. I do, but not before shooting a glance back at the bakery, wondering how I missed her when I was the one sitting facing the door. Was she chilling at one of the other tables the entire time?
We start walking down the street and I take a very long sip of my coffee to do something to fill up the silence. For once, Georgie fills it herself.
“Was that your … mentee?”
The subject of “What Chloe Is to Me” is such a gray area at this point that I just go ahead and nod, falling into step with her. “She’s going to my school next year, so kind of.”
Georgie nods back solemnly. “Mentoring is important. It’s why I do this internship.”
Huh. A hot take for someone who thinks my first name is “My lunch order is ready for pickup” and Oliver’s is “Go ask Steph,” but I guess this is technically the first job I’ve had where I wasn’t reporting directly to my aunt.
Off my look, she says, “The second part of the summer is more hands-on.”
Our strides are almost completely matched, neither of us lagging or pulling ahead. “So you’re hazing us.”
She raises an eyebrow at me. “A healthy work ethic is important.” She turns her gaze forward again, but she says out of the corner of her mouth, “As is the ability to collaborate with your peers.”
After a split second of debating whether or not to, I say, “Oliver and I have stopped trying to kill each other, if that’s what you’re getting at.”