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“Hm?”

“Morse code?”

A.J. was surprised to find his fingers tapping on the small of Bren’s back. The kissing was nice, but he wanted so much more than just the physical with Bren O’Shea.

The chorus to “Remains of the Day” left A.J. before he could stop himself.

Bren groaned and buried his face into the pillow.

“You really wanna go back to the movie right now?”

“The next song’s really cute!”

Bren kissed him like he was gathering the energy to make it through the upcoming drought, then pushed himself upright and flipped around as A.J. joined him. They’d switched sides, but after rolling to the edge of his bed, they now sat with the laptop between them.

“You’re so lucky you’re fit, Arlo.”

“Hey, you knew I was like this when you told me we were boyfriends.”

Bren grumbled something about cruelty to gingers as A.J. started the movie again. He was sure they’d make it to the end of it with the melodies rattling around in his head like they were. But his parents were supposed to be over in Regina for at least another four hours. Plenty of time to make some music of their own.

23

Bren groaned as he collapsed onto the splintery benches that lined the boys’ dressing room beneath Peacock’s auditorium. With a little over two weeks of practice left, all three directors were determined to grind their cast into dust before the curtain rose on their first performance.

Mrs. Dénommée had been especially picky tonight, hell-bent on running through every piece of patchy choreography enough that the entire four-hour practice had passed without making it through the full show once.

Bren was barely on stage and he was seriously considering filing a complaint with whoever was in charge of Canada’s child labour laws.

“You almost done in there?” he called through the cubicle that Arlo had insisted on changing in, even though Dustin was the only other guy in the room by the time they got there.

The curtain opened and Arlo trudged out with his shoulders slumped and his backpack desperately trying not to ride the slope of death.

“Remind me why I love musical theater.”

Bren wrapped his arms around his adorably floppy boyfriend. The poor lad was on stage more than anyone else and hadn’t had a break from Mrs. Dénommée’s mantra of “OK, let’s try that again.”

Dustin thudded next to Bren in a pair of jeans and an oversized hoodie. “Nah, bro, that was straight-up brutal.” He heaved a sweaty arm around Bren’s shoulder, “Good thing it’s not leg day tomorrow.”

“Keep your pit-sweat to yourself, mate—”

A burst of noise rang out from down the hall. It was impossible to hear what was being said above the blaring music from the girls changing room, but it hadn’t sounded happy.

“What was that?”

They had barely moved when the music stopped and Nat’s voice punched through the cinderblock walls dividing them.

“Come on. Say that again so everyone can hear!”

Arlo threw a wide-eyed look at the guys before dashing out of the room.

By the time Bren and Dustin had caught up, Arlo was standing between Morgan and Nat in the girls’ dressing room—a replica of the boys’ room, although this one looked like it had been taken better care of over the years. From the look on Nat’s face, the arrival of her best friend was the only thing keeping her from launching herself teeth first into Morgan’s jugular.

“What the hell?” Dustin stepped towards Morgan but stopped short.

“Dude, I’m so fucking sorry you have to deal with this,” Nat said, her voice shaking like she was holding back her rage.

“Nat?” Arlo asked but she shook her head.