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Nat groaned. “The one who sings your song, so you better learn the name or I’m gonna fuck that shit up on purpose.”

The scene flickered in Bren’s memory. A confident strut, red and black hair sticking out at every angle. Nat would kill it if she didn’t mess it up out of spite.

“Well, gotta celebrate. Poutine over at the Co-Op?” Bren asked. The crinkle cut chips and cheesy brown gravy had been haunting his dreams since Arlo had taken him there on his first week.

Arlo nodded and Nat shrugged.

“As long as you’re paying.”

Dustin looked like he didn’t know if he was invited or not, but before Bren could drag him along, a wall of a guy on the other side of the hall waved a hand.

“Yo, Richards! You figure out which pussy you are?”

Dustin looked between the four of them and the guy in the letterman jacket, then broke away from the group.

“The one that banged your mom last night.”

The other guy put on an offended face and punched Dustin in the arm. Then they headed down the hall where Morgan Clark was chatting with some girl Bren hadn’t seen before. The guy in the letterman wrapped his arm around her waist as they walked away. Dustin said something that must have been a joke because everyone laughed, Morgan’s voice louder than everyone else’s. Bren wasn’t sure if he was imagining it, but it looked like she was leaning close to Dustin.

“Alright. Poutine? Gotta celebrate the cutest star in Canada, don’t we?” Bren asked, trying to skirt around whatever hell he’d just witnessed.

Arlo glanced at Dustin before sharing a look with Nat. He nodded. “If I pass out in the gravy, don’t let me drown.”

“It’s a good thing we’ve been practicing all that mouth to mouth,” Bren said, wrapping his arm around Arlo’s hip. “I got you covered.”

18

“OK, you’re way too happy for someone goin’ back to school at seven.”

Arlo gave a dreamy sigh and slipped out the driver’s side door without answering. By the time Bren got out, he was already at the heavy orange doors that led to the drama stairwell.

Even though practice wasn’t supposed to start until seven, Arlo had insisted on getting there by six-thirty. Judging by the spattering of cars occupying the teacher’s parking lot, he hadn’t been the only one.

“Don’t you think it’s kinda cool, though?” Arlo asked as the door clanked shut behind them. “It’s all twilight-y and the school’s empty and quiet. Like, it’s a totally different place just for the drama nerds.”

Bren sighed. The lad was cute when he was excited like this, but that didn’t mean Bren got how he could romanticize empty buildings—or a clump of trees too small to count as a forest.

“Think if we came here earlier you could show me the fly gallery next time?” Bren asked, taking the steps two at a time until he was ahead of Arlo. He pulled down the back of his jeans enough to show the top of his pasty cheeks, which got the reaction he’d been looking for.

“D-don’t want to spoil the magic by going too often, right?” Arlo said. “Plus, with the musical starting up, the crew’s gonna be in and out of there all the time. You really want Yu walking in on that?”

“I dunno. Might spice things up.”

He waited for him at the doors to the auditorium. The idea of going up the last flight and fooling around rattled in his head as Arlo caught up to him. He didn’t want to think about what might happen to his poor shy lad if that happened, so he settled on pulling him in for a kiss.

To Bren’s surprise, Arlo’s tongue flicked forward, pushing the kiss past where he’d expected it to go. He’d thought he’d been worried about the risks of getting caught, but maybe there was something to it after all.

Bren shivered as Arlo’s head came to rest in the crook of his neck, his breath tickling his collarbone. “Thanks for doing this. I know theater’s not really your thing.”

“If it gets you to kiss me like that, let’s do all the plays.”

Arlo gave his hand a squeeze and pulled the heavy metal door open.

“Can we get through this one first, Tree Number Two?”

Their footsteps echoed across the empty auditorium as they went to the front of the stage. It was the first time Bren had seen it lit up, and it was impressive. Thirty lights were suspended by metal rods above their heads. They were turned off, but the stage was illuminated from a catwalk along the towering ceiling at the head of the audience.

He’d figured out that Peacock took its trades seriously, but this was on a whole other level. This wasn’t “There’s no room at the inn!” with Mam’s best tea-towel on your head.