Emergency Contact(72)

“Wait,” he interrupted. “A musical?”

“Yes,” said Lydia. “A musical.”

“If they turn my documentary about a fourteen-year-old Mexican kid living on the East Side painting pictures with his dirtbag friends into Hamilton or whatever, the department gets all the money?”

“The chance of that is slim to none,” she said. “Lin-Manuel Miranda is a certifiable genius and you . . .” Lydia cleared her throat. “But yes, seeing as you’ve granted the department the copyright.”

“And I don’t have to sign anything,” he said. “Just by turning in my project they get to do this.”

“Well, turning in your project with the accompanying releases. It’s very clear in the course curriculum. And as you know, your project is a large percentage of your grade, as determined by your professor, Dr. Lindstrom. I believe it’s eighty percent,” she said.

“Lydia, have you met Dr. Lindstrom?”

“Actually, no,” she said.

“Well, neither have I,” he said, and hung up.

There was no way Sam was going to risk Luz and Bastian’s future for this. Screw the tuition. Besides which, musicals were the worst.





PENNY.


Penny was anxious about seeing Andy. He’d texted her after asking her out but she didn’t know what to say. She didn’t want to date him—that much she knew—but she realized that for the past week she’d been looking forward to class with nervous anticipation because he’d admitted to liking her. It was on the record and everything. She chose an extra-clean pair of black leggings and showed up ten minutes early.

He came in just before the bell and sat in the seat in front of her. Penny noticed he needed a haircut. A five-o’clock shadow crept south on his tanned neck. He was dressed in a white sweatshirt and matching white sweats and sneakers, and Penny couldn’t believe how pristine it all was. He practically shone.

Penny thought about how next year she might never see him again and how future-her would be pissed off at present-day her for screwing the pooch right now.

She squinted forcefully at the back of Andy’s neck. It was a good neck. His shoulders were killer too. Muscly but nothing that said vain or obsessive. As if he could sense her attention boring a hole at the base of his skull, Andy suddenly turned around.

Shit.

Penny bared her teeth in a rigid smile to indicate everything was perfectly fine. He turned back around and texted her.

Wait for me after class.


“Okay, Penny, am I making things bizarre or is it you?” They were standing on the edge of the quad lawn, though not far enough in that Andy would stain his shoes on the grass. “It’s probably you,” he said.

“It’s probably me,” Penny agreed, and suddenly needed a nap. It was astounding the ways in which her body reacted to confrontation.

“It’s not that big a deal, you know.” Andy pulled a matte black cylinder out of his book bag, twisted the top off, and out slid a pair of sunglasses. He put them on. Penny was immediately struck by the competitive advantage of people not being able to see your eyes in a fight. Not that this was a fight. Or maybe it was. Penny had no idea. She made an awning with her hands and squinted up at him.

“Okay, so what’s the protocol now?” she asked.

“Protocol?” Andy laughed. “Well, I think we still hold value for each other in our roles as cronies. Colleagues. Writerly peers.”

This was news to Penny. Positive news.

“So we can still collaborate and talk about work?”

He nodded. Penny was elated. “Because I need your help on act two,” she said. “It’s a mess logistically and there are certain inconsistencies I can’t reconcile, and I made a spreadsheet the way you told me except then I read this thing about how your narrative should be a snowflake and I’m not that good at math.”

“Ugh, loser. Okay, send it to me,” he said. “I’ll have it back to you by the weekend, but you have to help me with my dialogue. I’m holding your pages hostage until you get mine back.”

Penny duffed him on the arm as she imagined a pal would. “I love the protocol!” she said.

“Great,” he said, socking her back lightly. “This is probably for the best anyway. You’re so strange.”

Penny practically skipped home.

When she got back to her room from class, she was stoked to find Jude reading a magazine and eating goldfish.

“Suup, slut,” she said before turning back to flip through the pages.

“Do you want to go do something?” Penny said, sitting on Jude’s bed. Penny was still high from her talk with Andy. She was batting a thousand when it came to friendship. “I’ll drive.”

Jude studied her face. “Really?”

Penny nodded and smiled wide.

“What, did you and your secret boyfriend break up or something?” asked Jude.

Penny kept her smile in place and barreled on. “Going once, going twice . . . ,” she said.

“Just kidding, yes.” Jude sprang into action and tossed her magazine aside. “I’m dying of boredom and have to read The Communist Manifesto by tomorrow and yeah, no. Why isn’t there an animated movie version?”

Penny shrugged.