I was running late to school the next morning, due to restless dreams and a malfunctioning phone alarm. When I finally arrive at our hallway, Felix and Bridget—usually the late-comers—are already there and comforting a sobbing Colleen.

“What’s going on?” I say when I come upon the spectacle. It’s a gory sight. Colleen’s nose is red and runny, and her hands are twisting her t-shirt in an ancient, anguished way. “Colleen, are you okay?”

“No!” she says, and bursts into fresh tears. Bridget strokes her hair, and Felix gently pats her shoulder.

“Will somebody please tell me what’s happening?” I say, already frustrated by the lack of information.

“I’m Jean Valjean,” Felix says brightly. Bridget slaps his chest.

“Not the time!” She looks at me. “Colleen didn’t get Fantine.”

“Oh no,” I say, my blood freezing. I know how much that role meant to her. Especially for her senior year showcase. “Did she get anything else?”

“Chorus,” Bridget says grimly. Not even another speaking part or bit role. I go over and hug the crying Colleen.

“I’m Jean Valjean,” Felix says again.

“Yes,” Bridget says, annoyed, “Felix got Valjean, and I’m Cosette. But honestly, I might drop out in solidarity. This is unacceptable.”

“I’m so sorry, Colleen,” I say. “That sucks. Ms. Featherworth is an insane person.”

Colleen sniffs up a line of snot. “No, she’s right. I suck.”

“Colleen!” I say. “You don’t suck.”

“There’s no other explanation.”

I have a hard time with this wallowing, but I suck it up and hug Colleen tighter. It may be annoying, but I know how much Colleen cares about this.

“I promise whoever is Fantine—”

“Susie Pritchard,” Felix says. “A solid voice.”

“Not compared to you,” I say to Colleen. “She’s going to flop.”

We all take turns with words of assurance—except for Felix, who still seems very pleased with his role as Jean Valjean—and slowly calm Colleen down.

“Whatever,” she finally says. “Maybe it’s for the best. I’ll get over it.”

But the stung way she says those words makes me doubt it.

We’re so busy with Colleen that I don’t notice someone coming down our hallway. I’m only alerted to the presence when Bridget turns and literally shrieks.

“A wrestler!” she yelps. “There’s a wrestler in our hallway!”

It’s Conner, who jumps back at Bridget’s noise. He looks startled and out-of-sorts.

“Uh, is this a good time?” he says.

“Bridget, for god’s sakes,” I say. “Be cool. You’re fine, Conner.”

“Conner?” Felix says. “You know this guy?”

Fuck. I haven’t told my friends about…any of this. At this point, it’s too complicated a story to get into. And besides, based on Bridget’s reaction to this “wrestler” infiltrating our territory, I don’t think they’d react well to the developments.

“Yeah,” I say. “He’s in my biology class. We got partnered up for an assignment. Conner knows so much about sea anemones.”

Conner blinks, catches up to the lie. “That’s right. They live in the ocean. Mostly.”

“We won’t bore you with the details,” I say. “C’mon, Conner.”

I lead him away from everybody, even as Bridget and Felix give me an especially suspicious look.

“What are you doing here?” I say once we’re sufficiently distanced from my friends. “Do you not know the rules? Wrestlers and theater kids do not hang out. It’s like West Side Story or movies about 50s gangs.”

“Sorry, sorry,” he says. “This is all new to me. The guys never mentioned it to me.”

“Of course they wouldn’t,” I say. “They probably just assumed you’d be cool enough to avoid losers like me.”

“I don’t think you’re a loser,” Conner says.

“Thanks, Conner,” I say. “But I’d trust that opinion more from someone who doesn’t get their head beaten into a mat every day.”

I can already tell from his look that I cut too deep.

“That’s really not a super nice thing to say,” Conner says. “Especially when I’m here because I need your help.”

Fuck. I try to pivot.

“My help?”

“Yeah,” he says, then looks around. “None of the wrestlers come by here?”

Of course he’s worried. He can lie and say to my face I’m not a loser, but I’m still clearly radioactive.

“You’re safe,” I say. “What do you need help with?”

“Nothing major,” Conner says. “I’m just in Honors Bio—don’t look so surprised—and I haven’t had a chance to buy the textbook yet. Could I borrow your copy? Just for next period? I promise I won’t dog-ear it, or spit on it, or anything.”

For a second, I hope he does spit on it.

“Yeah, yeah,” I say. “That’s easy.”

I reach into my bag and pull out my biology book, then stop to think.

“What?” Conner says.

“The textbook is just so expensive,” I say. “Your money could be much better spent on tighter wrestling singlets or something.”

Conner gives me an amused look. “Okay, so?” he says. “How am I supposed to get through class without buying the textbook?”

“I have a plan,” I say. “Here. Let me see your class schedule.”