Cath just wanted a peaceful day.

She'd woken up late, scrambled to get ready, and done her makeup on the bus while some middle schoolers in the next seat fought over Pokémon cards. All she wanted was to survive school and maybe go with Ana to that overpriced café down the street for whatever Starbucks dupe they were selling that week.

She did not expect to see James Carter leaning against her locker first thing in the morning.

She did not expect him to tell her—with total unbotheredness—that this afternoon was the only time he was free for rehearsal.

And she definitely didn't expect him to ask if they could rehearse at her house, since his mom was hosting a friend reunion at his.

(Nor did she expect to say yes before even fully processing it.)

Saying she was shocked was an understatement.

She slammed her locker shut in the PE dressing room.

"I don't even want to be in the stupid play," she whined to Ana. "Why does it have to be at my house? Why did he have to tell me this morning? Couldn't he have sent a text yesterday? Or caught me after theater class?" She paused—very dramatically—to adjust her socks. "What am I supposed to tell my mom? And the rest of my family?!"

Ana sighed and rolled her eyes. "Cath, you're acting like your family are Victorian nobles who'll rip your eyes out for glancing at a masculine form. They're just going to judge him with their eyes a little and offer him a sandwich."

"Exactly!" —Cath gave her a horrified look, while pulling her brow hair out of the torture that was the PE requiered ponytail+braid— "They'll be polite and sweet and friendly, but the moment he walks out the door, they'll bury me in questions. 'Is he your boyfriend?' 'Did you notice his eyes?' 'You could tell him to cut his hair.' I've barely even spoken to him!"

"Okay, but... have you noticed his eyes?"
Cath gave her a very specific look.

Ana raised her hands. "Okay, okay, sorry. Your family is dramatic and so are you. Let's hope you survive."

"I'm serious, Ana. This will be the death of me. Put it on my grave: Death by family interrogation about a boy."

"And why don't you just go somewhere else?" Ana asked as they walked out of the gym.

"Oh, so you want me dead," Cath said. "Sure. I'll just tell them I'm going to the park with a boy they've never met. They'll assume I'm doing drugs, Ana."

Ana snorted. "Cath, you're literally the model child. They'll think you're awkwardly holding hands like you used to do with L—"

"Shut. Up." Cath snapped. "That's cursed."

"Oh, come on. You two were so sweet. It was like watching preschoolers in love."

Then, with a wicked grin, Ana added, "Or little penguins."

Cath gasped, wide-eyed. "Annalise Sophia Marie Harrington. Take. That. Back."

And just like that, she was chasing Ana down the hallway. Ana had the audacity to giggle while they ran.

They were both panting and laughing by the time they reached the front of the school.

"Okay, okay, hang on," Cath said, breathless as she pulled out her phone. "I'm calling my mom. I didn't have time to tell her about the visitor we'll be hosting this wonderful evening."

Ana was still flushed from the run, hair sticking out of her messy bun and her left sock slouched halfway down her ankle.

"Hi, Mom. Yeah, no—I'm fine, don't worry. So... do you remember the play thing?" She grimaced, as if her mom could see her expression. "Yeah, well, I couldn't tell you yesterday, but we got 'rehearsal partners' assigned, and long story short—there's a classmate coming home with me this afternoon." She started pacing on the curb.

"Yeah, I know, he told me just today that this afternoon was the only time he had free.

Yes, he.

Yes, the same one who took me home the other day.

No, Mom, I'm not stuffing boys in my back pocket.

He's the son of that lady who organizes events—you know, the one Aunt Mari hates.

I know she hates everyone, but she hates her for that specifically.

Yes, exactly, that one.

Okay. Please tell Grandma so she doesn't have a heart attack.

Love you too. Bye. See you later."

Just as she hung up, Cath lifted her gaze only to see the upper half of Ana's body sticking out of a beat-up blue car speeding off down the street.

She gawked. "Traitor!"

"You got a ride too!" Ana yelled, already disappearing into traffic.

Cath turned around, confused—only to find a very specific white car parked by the curb, and a boy with a very bright smile leaning across the passenger seat.

"I'd open the door for you," James said, "but I'm technically not allowed to park here. So—shall we?"

"Of course it was you," she muttered with a sigh as she climbed in.

"Glad to see you, too" he mumbled, already shifting into drive. "You gotta tell me where you live today, as cool as it'd be, the car can't magically guess it."

Cath rolled her eyes. "It's the big house behind the park—the one next to the bakery."

James blinked. "Wait. The one that's always ridiculously overly-decorated for Christmas?"

"That's the one," she said, half-laughing, her exasperation gone.

"Man, my brother lives for that house. We always swing by at least once a week in December. I never would've guessed you lived there."

Cath ducked to grab a CD from the pile on the floor—David Bowie this time: The Rise and Fall of Ziggy Stardust and the Spiders from Mars—and slipped it in.

"Wow, you already know the deal with the CDs?" James said, mock-impressed. "It's like we've been doing this forever."

"It's like the whole 70s and 80s got dumped in here," she muttered. Then, after a pause:
"Also, I've been meaning to ask—hope it's not too personal—but... what happened to your dad? You said the CDs were his, last time."

James laughed. "Oh, nothing. He's just boring now. Says digital music is a 'lifesaver' and CDs belong to cool people. I guess that means he thinks I'm cool."

He glanced at her. "Wait—did you think he was dead?"

"Well, it kinda sounded like that," she admitted. "I'm glad he's not."

A pause. Then he grinned. "Cath—can I call you Cath? This is like the seventh time we've talked in our lives. And you thought it was appropriate to ask if my dad was dead?"

Cath turned beet red. "Well, it would've been worse if I'd just assumed it, wouldn't it?"
James burst out laughing. "Yeah, yeah, it would've been worse."

They pulled up to her house just as the first bridge of "Star" started but James didn't move from his seat.

"...Are you getting out of the car or not?" Cath asked with a tone that suggested both confusion and curiosity.

"Oh, no. Not till the song ends." James replied with a shrug, as if she should have known that.
Cath narrowed her eyes. "Okay... but I should warn you, my family is a lot. Like, a lot a lot.
They're loud, nosy, and mathematically speaking, way too many people."

"Oh, it's fine. I've been told I contain multitudes," he said, raising one eyebrow that immediately got lost in the loose curls falling over his forehead.

Cath huffed and gave him a look so flat it could've ironed said curls. "If you say so."

They walked to the front door, but just as Cath was taking out her keys, a little kid in a Spider-Man costume—clutching a very fluffy grey cat—swung it open.

"Matteo, put Bruma down!" Cath exclaimed.

"She wants to say hi!" Matteo replied, dragging out the last word.

Bruma did not look amused.

"Aunt Jessica said you were bringing a boy over. Is that him? Is he your boyfriend?" Matteo blurted as they stepped inside.

"He's not—" Cath glanced around, as if making sure no one else had heard. "We'll be in my room."

She scooped Bruma from Matteo's arms, only to realize it was already too late; her two aunts had cornered James in the kitchen and sat him down with a bowl of soup. He shot her a look that screamed send help.

"Míralo, alto, bonito, tiene buen gusto la niña" (look at him, tall, pretty, she has good taste) one aunt murmured to the other, shamelessly, in front of James—who looked utterly lost.

"Podría tener el pelo más corto sí, parece delincuente" (his hair could be shorter, he looks like a criminal) the other aunt —Jessica— disapproved.

"Se podría haber buscado uno rubio" (she could have looked for a blonde one) the first aunt —Mari— agreed.

Cath took one hand to her head while Bruma jumped off her arms with a disapproving huff.

"Oh my god, he's just my rehearsal partner, okay? I didn't pick him out from a store."

"Hmm, that's what they call them these days." Aunt Jessica replied.

"We'll be in my room, okay? Stop trying to feed him like he's a stray dog."

The aunts shared a look. "A boy? In your room? You two are not being left alone there. Take Luciana's monitor with you."

Cath gave them her most exasperated look and sighed. "Fine." She snatched a baby monitor from the kitchen counter.

"Come with me," she told James, already heading upstairs.

James got up as fast as physically possible and hurried after her while Bruma trailed behind like royalty.

"You weren't exaggerating about your family," he said when they reached her room, still looking slightly traumatized.

"Nuh-uh. They're crazy—no amount of exaggeration could do them justice, good thing you can 'contain multitudes'" she said with a grin while kicking off her shoes and flopping onto her bed.

James grimaced but stood by the door, taking in her room: small but cozy, with a double bed that took up most of the space, a wooden desk and rolling chair by the window, a mismatched closet and dresser, a full-length mirror covered in stickers, and worn-down books stacked on every surface. The walls were plastered with posters, fairy lights, and fake ivy chains. A slightly stained green rug sat in the middle of the floor beside a crowded shoe rack.

"You live on a Pinterest board," he announced.

Cath laughed. "Yeah, well, most things are hand-me-downs. It's an accidental aesthetic. Could you take off your shoes? The rug is stained enough already."

He obeyed —only to reveal space-themed socks— and sat on the desk chair. Bruma immediately hopped onto his lap and started purring.

"Hey, she likes me."

"Traitor," Cath groaned. "She never likes anyone—she still hisses at Ana sometimes."

"I have a gift," he said with a shrug.

Cath rolled her eyes. "Yeah, well, let's start rehearsing before my grandma sends someone to spy on us."

"Your grandma sounds like quite a character" he said as they sat on the rug with their scripts.

"You have no idea" Cath replied, flipping through her script.

Most of the dialogue fell on James since their characters only shared one scene. And the thing is that... he was surprisingly good at the whole acting thing.

They paused after twenty minutes when Aunt Mari came upstairs with sandwiches. As they ate, Cath said, "I still don't understand why we have to rehearse together. Our characters share, like, one scene."

"I don't know either. I guess it's to 'work the chemistry,' you know—tragic lovers and all that." He shrugged. "Wanna do that one scene now?"
It was the final scene—the big ending—the long-awaited reunion after twenty years apart.

Cath opened the scene; she had to look at him longingly but with suspicion. She took a deep breath, eyes locking on his.

And for just a fraction of a second, she couldn't help but notice how good he looked with the afternoon sun spilling through her window, casting warm light across his face. Her breath caught—unexpected and sharp—

—and then, she laughed.

A loud, involuntary sound that startled them both.

James blinked at her, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "What's so funny?"

"Okay, sorry—sorry." She pressed a hand to her face, still laughing, still flushed. "I just... this whole situation is ridiculous."

James laughed too. "Yeah, it kinda is."

They continued reading their lines after that. Cath managed to say hers without laughing, and James continued to be strangely good on the whole Greek tragedy hero thing.

Her family didn't interrupt them anymore, and the walk to the front door was suspiciously quiet when he left, which wasn't a good sign for Cath at all.

"So, see you tomorrow at school?" he asked, standing beside his car once they were outside.

"Yeah, sure." She added awkwardly.

James got in his car, and Cath was already running upstairs before her family could start attacking her with questions.

Half an hour later, when she was hunched over her desk pretending to study for a test (more like using it as an excuse to avoid her family), her phone buzzed once.

It was a photo of a medium-sized black dog who looked very offended, from an unregistered number, captioned:

"Just letting you know that my dog smelled Bruma on my clothes and is now giving me the silent treatment."

Cath stared at it for a second before a laugh escaped her, quiet and warm. She didn't even have to ask who it was from.

And she hated—just a little—how it left her smiling like an idiot at her notes.