Mrs. Anderson hands Bowie a white envelope, one of the big nine-by-twelve ones, stuffed with papers. It’s got the UT logo stamped across one side.
“Thanks.” Bowie tucks it under their arm and turns to lead me upstairs, where I sprawl on the floor and they flop onto their bed and we fight through our AP Chem homework.
As I rip into another Twizzler, my phone buzzes with a text from a strange number.
Is there anything I should know before Monday?
Who is this?
Oh sorry.
It’s Liam.
I got your number off the board?
I always put my number on the crew signups in case anyone has questions, but I can’t believe someone actually looked at them. I can’t believe Liam actually bothered.
We’ve been friends for a while, but nottextingfriends. I add him to my contacts.
Oh hey!
Nothing much. Monday will be a read through
Bring a water bottle!
You probably have one for swimming anyway
Or you can refill the shmoodie bottle
I hope you know you don’t really have to make me shmoodies
I was only joking
You don’t want them?
No I do!
I really like t
them*
Okay
I don’t mind
You earned them
You were awesome at auditions
It’s safe for me to tell him that now.
Bowie scoots toward the end of their bed. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing. Liam had some questions about the show.”
“Tell him hi.”
Bowie says hi
