My throat tightens. “It’s just… everything else feels like it’s crumbling. The PTA sabotaged the costume order, Delacourt all but told me I was a failure in front of the kids, and I’m terrified that all anyone’s going to remember is me messing this up.”
Zoe slams her hands on the table. “Theydid what?”
“I think they’re about to screw with the programs, too. I spent hours on a design and sent them the file, and they’re insisting they’ll handle printing, but I—”
“No.” She drags her phone out of her bag with the fury of a woman about to launch a PR campaign and a nuclear strike. “Absolutely not. Those pearl-clutching harpies don’t get to play games with kids. Consider the programs handled—I’ll have our Pulse designer mock them up, and I’ll print the damn things myself. We’ll make them so glossy, they’ll need sunglasses to read them.”
My mouth falls open. “Zoe—”
“Don’t thank me yet.” She waggles her phone like a sword. “Because when this show slays—and it will—you’re going to stand there and take every ounce of credit. And if Pamela or any of her cronies so much as breathe sideways, I’ll eviscerate them on the PTA Facebook group.”
A laugh breaks out of me, shaky but real, and relief punches a hole in my panic.
Zoe grins, satisfied, then points at me with a manicured finger. “Now, back to the important part. Logan Miller, Lulu.Details.”
I hesitate, chewing my lip. “We nearly got caught once.”
Zoe’s eyes gleam. “Where?”
“My place. One afternoon after work. Eli has a spare key and—”
“Don’t youdare!” Her grin is already feral.
“—and he and Tamara bowled straight in while Logan and I were…” My face flames. “…finishing a sixty-nine.”
The sound Zoe makes cannot be classified as human. She slaps the table, wheezing, tears streaming. “Oh mygod. I’m dead. I am deceased. They nearly walked in on yousixty-nining! I can’t—oh my god, the funeral program writes itself!”
“Zoe!” I bury my face in my hands, laughing so hard it hurts.
She cackles for another full minute before she finally pulls herself together, eyes still wet. “Okay, okay. I’m fine. Totally fine. Just… holyshit, Lulu.”
I peek at her through my fingers, my smile wobbling. “There’s more.”
Her grin sharpens. “Spill.”
I swallow once, the words terrifying but inevitable. “I think I love him.”
Zoe slaps both hands over her mouth, muffling another shriek, then lowers her voice to a hoarse whisper. “Oh mygod.You’re in love with Logan Miller.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, wishing I could disappear into the mug in my hands. “Don’t say it like that.”
“I’m sorry, how else am I supposed to say it? You just dropped the biggest bomb of all time.”
I laugh and shake my head, watery and panicked all at once.
She leans across the table, grabbing both my hands. Her expression softens, fierce in its intensity. “Hey. Breathe, babe. Loving him doesn’t make you weak. It makes you brave. Trust me, I’ve been through it. And if that bastard doesn’t already love you back, I’ll personally go down to the locker room and shake it out of him.”
My chest caves, relief and terror crashing together. “I don’t know what to do. Eli’s going to lose his mind. Tamara—God, I can’t put her in the middle. And the team—”
“Stop.” Zoe squeezes hard. “You don’t have to have it figured out tonight. All you have to know is this: you love him, he’s clearly crazy about you, and you’re not alone in this. You’ve got me, you’ve got us. And when the time comes? We’ll handle Eli together.”
A tear slides hot down my cheek, but for the first time in weeks, I don’t feel like I’m drowning in it. Zoe sees me, and she’s not horrified or judgmental. She’s just there.
I sniff and laugh weakly. “You’re gonna dine out on this forever, aren’t you?”
“Oh, babe.” Her grin is wicked again. “Until the day I die. But first, finish that chai and start talking. I want every filthy detail, and I don’t care if it takes all night.”
The weight in my chest finally shifts. Her certainty threads through my panic, steady and grounding and much less terrifying. And for the first time, I believe it.
