Kari, Beth, and I used to talk about guys, but we weren't totally into them. Miranda was —she'd had more boyfriends than she could name. So when she started hanging with us, it suddenly became really important to have a guy we liked. I worried enough about being immature, and it didn't help that she'd burst out laughing when I'd admitted I'd never been on a real date. So I invented a crush. Brent.

I figured I could just name a guy I liked and that would be enough. Not a chance. Miranda had outed me —telling him I liked him. I'd been horrified. Well, mostly. There'd also been a little part of me that hoped he'd go "Cool. I really like Chloe, too." Not a chance. Before, we used to talk in Spanish class sometimes. Now he sat two rows away, like I'd suddenly developed the world's worst case of BO.

We'd just reached the cafeteria when someone called my name. I turned to see Nate Bozian jogging toward me, his red hair like a beacon in the crowded hall. He bumped into a senior, grinned an apology, and kept coming.

"Hey," I said as he drew near.

"Hey yourself. Did you forget Petrie rescheduled film club for lunchtime this week? We're discussing avant-garde. I know you love art films."

I fake gagged.

"I'll send your regrets, then. And I'll tell Petrie you aren't interested in directing that short either."

"We're deciding that today?"

Nate started walking backward. "Maybe. Maybe not. So I'll tell Petrie —"

"Gotta run," I said to my friends and hurried to catch up with him.

* * *

The film club meeting started backstage as always, where we'd go through business stuff and eat lunch. Food wasn't allowed in the auditorium.

We discussed the short, and I was on the list for directors —the only freshman who'd made the cut. After, as everyone else watched scenes from avant-garde films, I mulled through my options for an audition tape. I snuck out before it ended and headed back to my locker.