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Sweeney Todd ? Did he tell you your movements were too stiff, your delivery inaudible?”
    â€œHe acted really normal. But his car was shitty.” I described the garbage on the floor and having to lift my butt up. I went ahead and claimed that Barbra Streisand had blared briefly from the stereo. It was satisfying to share even these exaggerated details about our director.
    After a while, Charlie redirected the conversation. “So how many swimsuits are you bringing to the Shining Stars Summer Camp for Performing Arts? I don’t want to suffer from that problem wherein I’m ready for a swim, but my shorts are already wet.”
    â€œIt’s theater camp,” I said. “I don’t know how much time we’ll have for swimming.”
    â€œLittle kids have short attention spans,” argued Charlie. “I strongly advise you to bring, at minimum, your least conservative swimsuit. It will dry fast.”
    Speechless, I pressed my forehead against the window. An ice-cream truck was stopped on the shoulder of Elliott Avenue.
    â€œAre you worried about the pact getting broken?” asked Charlie casually.
    â€œExcuse me?” I was alone in my room, but I felt my cheeks flare.
    â€œDo you trust the three of them unsupervised all summer? If Liane doesn’t wear down Tim, you-know-who will.”
    In the street, kids were lined up for Mister Softee, waving their money in the air. “Right,” I managed, hope deflated. The idea of Liane needing to wear down anyone was laughable.
    â€œDid you think I was talking about you and me?” Charlie asked innocently.
    My heart was still pounding. “Nuh-uh.”
    â€œI guess I’ll see you on the bus,” said Charlie.
    After we hung up, I watched Mister Softee serve the last ice-cream cone and shift into gear. I lowered myself to the floor and let my imagination slip briefly into dangerous territory: a lake at night, Charlie shirtless, me in my least conservative swimsuit. It took that stupid song crackling through Mister Softee’s speakers to bring me back to reality.
    Admittedly, I adored Charlie. Touching his skin—even by accident—was the best thing that happened on a regular basis. But most likely he only flirted with me because he knew he would never have to follow through.
    The pact might have been Charlie’s idea, but the rest of us had signed our names for a reason.

CHAPTER 6

    A fter closing
The Crucible
in December , we had suffered two months of tenth grade without theater. Mr. McFadden had told us that the break between the fall and spring plays was a chance for us to catch up on schoolwork, which was nonsense. We spent half our nights that winter at the hotcake house, longing for new scripts. Finally we got to audition for The Seagull and Charlie and I were cast as Nina and Trigorin: Russian lovers. By then I was so crazy about Charlie, I didn’t know if I wanted to rejoice or vomit at the prospect of kissing him onstage.
    For the record, the kiss didn’t break the pact. We had realized a long time ago that we would sometimes have to act out certain intimacies. Preserving the integrity of our performance was what the pact was all about. Kissing Charlie couldn’t be wrong when I was Nina Mikhailovna Zarechnaya and he was Boris Alexeyevich Trigorin. Like how movie stars can be married but still have sex on camera—because the lights are so hot and there are so many people looming over you that it’s more akin to being at the dentist.
    Progressive as our school was, Mr. McFadden probably would have gotten in trouble for directing daily make-out scenes between students. Apparently there’s a fine line between Chekov and pornography—at least when everyone involved is sixteen and fairly desperate. Which is why we didn’t rehearse the kiss until a week before opening night.
    Backstage, Liane was helping me with my English paper. I had begged Mr. Walker for an extension