Page 62 of Everything's Coming Up Rosie

Arthur harrumphs. I glare at him, hoping to communicate,“I’m not scared of you, buddy,”even though I totally am.

“He’ll be your stage manager.” Next, Connie motions toward Booker, who is dressed in track pants and a Sunset Hills sweatshirt.“And, of course, Booker is here to help with the sets.”

I look at him, shaking my head slightly. “So you’re on my team now.”

He shrugs. “I can’t come to auditions tomorrow, but”—and then he meets my eyes—“Yeah, I’m on your team.”

“So that means you have to do what I tell you,” I playfully jab.

He smiles and looks at Ginny. “Yeah, looks like it.”

At that moment, the back door to the auditorium opens. Everyone turns, and their expectant expressions turn to confusion. Because standing there, backlit by the natural light in the lobby, is a dark-haired teenager with chipping black nail polish, wearing ripped jeans and Converse high-top sneakers.

“Is that... Dylan?” Connie asks.

“What is she doing here?” Ginny practically shouts.

I smile. “She came.”

“But why?” Ginny asks.

I glance at them. “Because I asked her to be on the team.”

There’s a pause, and then Ginny plops down in her chair. “Well, she’s not doing costumes.”

I hear the confused murmurs as I step out into the aisle, passing Booker on the way. He gives me a wink of approval. Dylan has stopped moving and is now standing at the back of the auditorium.

I walk up to her and make sure I don’t look happy as I say, “You came,” as nonchalantly as possible.

Dylan rolls her eyes. “Whatever. I didn’t have anything else to do today.”

I nod. “Okay, but you came.”

Dylan glares at me. “Are you going to make it weird?”

“Do I look like the kind of person who would make it weird?”

A beat. And then, “Yes.”

I do my best not to crack a smile. “Listen, you should know, if you’re joining the team, you’rejoiningthe team.”

She scowls. “Duh.”

“I mean, you can’t bail on us.” I turn and look at the others. “The show has to be a priority this summer. There’s a lot riding on this.”

She crosses her arms over her chest and huffs out a sigh. “A lot riding on a performance ofCinderellaput on by a bunch of old people?”

I put an arm on Dylan’s shoulder and turn back to the group. “Everyone, this is Dylan.”

They all stare at her as if they’re waiting for a punch line that isn’t coming.

“She’s, uh”—I’m just spitballing now—“She’s going to be in charge of hair and makeup.”

“A senior Cinderella with black lipstick,” Ginny coos.

I give the others a nervous smile. Booker steps out into the aisle and extends a hand toward Dylan. She looks at his hand suspiciously, and then, after a beat, she reaches out and shakes it.

“Welcome to the team,” he says.

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