Here's to Us(What If It's Us #2)(25)

“Happy to do it,” he says, holding his phone up while I gape at him. “Smile!”

I grin like a dumbass, because apparently East Village Avant-Garde Arthur is highly susceptible to commands from cute guys in floral suspenders.

“I’ll text it to you,” he says, already tapping his phone screen. I nod mutely, waiting for the part where he asks for my number. But instead, he just looks back up and smiles, and my phone buzzes in my hand. One new text message, photo attached, from— “Oh, you’re Taj!” I shake my head, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. “God. I’m so sorry. I’m—of course you are. Your hair was—”

“Failed experiment. Though my partner thought I looked like Johnny Bravo.” He laughs, wincing a little.



“Well, I’m Arthur,” I blurt, and then my cheeks burn all over again. “Which you already know. Clearly.” I lift my phone in what I assume is the universal gesture for you just texted me and I’m an actual clown. “Sorry, I’m just, uh—”

“So nice to finally meet you in person,” Taj says. “Should we head in?”

“Yes! Amazing. And me too. Back atcha.”

Back atcha. How do I sew my mouth shut again?

Taj holds the door for me, and I scramble into the Lafayette Rehearsal Studio lobby, which looks just like the virtual tour I took twelve times online. It’s an older building, with velvety green carpet and ornate gold frames—but there are big windows, too, and the air has that just-cleaned citrus smell. Taj heads straight to the bank of elevators in the back, presses the button, and smiles down at me. “How are you feeling?”

I inhale. “Good. I can’t believe I’m here. Jacob’s my favorite director on earth. I feel like I’m dreaming.”

“Jacob’s great,” Taj says. The elevator doors slide open, and he lets me step in first. “The show’s great, too. I’m so psyched.”

“Oh God, I know. I’m so sad I missed the table read. I had a final exam Friday morning. I’m in school. College. Obviously. Hopefully obviously?” I rub my cheek. “I don’t know how much Jacob told you about me.”

“You just finished your freshman year at Wesleyan, right? I graduated from Yale two years ago.”

“Wait, really?” I gasp. “My bubbe lives in New Haven!”

Fucking fantastic, Arthur. Way to name-drop your grandmother before you even step off the elevator. Always a winning career move.

“Very cool. New Haven’s great,” Taj says as we reach the fourth floor. “All right. You ready?”

I nod and shoot him an extremely chill smile.

“Seriously, don’t stress—everyone’s super nice. I’ll introduce you around.”

The studio’s brighter than I expected, and the high ceilings and mirrors make it feel bigger than it is. Only a few people are here so far, bustling around with clipboards and pushing chairs into place. My gaze lands on a Black guy with a pierced septum and a “Trans Rights Are Human Rights” shirt—he’s talking to a tiny retro-femme white woman and a guy with brown skin and huge eighties glasses, who looks barely older than I am. The hipster energy is off the charts.

“He/him, right, for pronouns?” Taj asks, and I nod. “Okay, the actors aren’t getting here until eleven, but I can introduce you to some of the PAs. And Jacob, of course.” He gestures to a group of people chatting near a bank of music stands, one of whom turns suddenly in my direction—and even if I didn’t know him from our Zoom interview, I’d recognize Jacob in a heartbeat: baby-faced, with blond hair and big blue eyes, just like his pictures. He lights up when he sees me, and jogs over. “Arthur, hi! I see you’ve met Taj. Excellent. He’ll take good care of you.” He turns to Taj. “Oh, you know what? Stacy needed backup on the props inventory. Maybe get Arthur started on a spreadsheet?”

“No problem.”

“Oh! And if you can catch Justin, ask them if we can move more toward a green palette for Amelia. But I’m liking that vermilion for Em.”

I nod along with Taj, even though I have literally no clue who Justin, Amelia, and Em are. Or what vermilion is. Also I’m dressed like Pete Buttigieg. Am I nailing this yet?

“So, good news.” Jacob turns back to me. “We’re officially confirmed at the Shumaker Blackbox Theater. Fifty seats, and it’s this accessible, amazing space. You’ll love it. I’ll give you the tour at some point. But feel free to ask me anything now. We’re so glad you’re here!”

My heart pounds. “Thank you—so much.” I take a deep breath. “I’m kind of freaking out right now. It’s such an honor to meet you.”

“You’re so sweet.” Jacob pats my arm. “Okay, so today, maybe just try to get acclimated. Taj will get you started on the prop chart, and then we’ll introduce you to Stacy when she gets back. Oh! And do you have a hard copy of the script?”

“Yes!” I hold up my binder.

“Great! So, why don’t we—” He stops short, gaze drifting past me. “Oh dear God.”

I whirl around to find the pierced septum guy holding what appears to be a bald Chucky doll.

“Oof,” murmurs Taj.

“If I ever write another show involving a baby,” says Jacob, “please kill me.”