Page 106 of Friends with Benefits

But it’s not Naomi.

It’s Pep.

genny being a STAR. can’t wait to see u shine too, sweets xx!!

Attached is a photo of Imogen, a blur in motion on a lacrosse field. Inspired by Regina George, her sister channeled her Naomi Rage into a contact sport. Evie sends Pep a heart emoji. After Imogen’s game, her grandparents will drive from Tarzana to Anaheim on a Saturday. Pep and Mo attend every lacrosse game. Every dance competition. Naomi might not show up, but her grandparents do, and shouldn’t she focus on that?

Evie locks her phone, then presses her cheek against the window, and because there’s nothing to see on I-5, she closes her eyes and drifts to sleep.

“Evelyn?” She’s woken by the sound of Theo’s voice and a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Hey. We’re here.”

She blinks. “Sorry.”

He laughs. “Why are you apologizing?”

Together they enter some convention center in Anaheim, carrying everything they need in their arms. People pass them rolling garment racks, suitcases, makeup cases. Dance Parents are intense. Evie doesn’t have that. She has Miss Stella, who embraces her when they enter the conference room that their studio has been assigned as a backstage holding area. She has Caro, her sort-of-friend, Theo’s more-than-friend, who pins the band of her bra to her costume, a simple jade leotard with a flowy skirt. She has Pep and Mo and Imogen, who are on their way. And she has Theo, who French braids her hair because Imogen isn’t here to.

In return, Evie does Theo’s makeup.

Holds his chin in her hand as she applies charcoal on his waterline.

Ignores how stupid beautiful his face is.

Pops another pain reliever.

Theo’s eyebrows crinkle. “Are you okay?”

“Period cramps.”

“Do you need the heating pad?”

She shakes her head. “We should warm up and run it.”

Evie stands and retreats to an empty corner of the conference room to stretch out her limbs. Holds in her wince and releases it as an exhale in forward fold, then sits on the floor. It’s fine. She isfine. Evie has danced through an entire recital in worse condition. Eleven numbers. Three quick changes. Today, she only has two dances. First, a contemporary number to her favorite Sara Bareilles song, “Gravity.” Then a high-octane Broadway tap routine. Just two and then it’s over.

“Evelyn?”

She ignores the concern in his voice.

Stands.

Refuses to cry, to ruin her makeup. “Let’s run it.”

“Ev—”

“I’m fine.”

Theo nods, trusting her. At first, sheisfine. Dance is a salve that mitigates her pain, that reminds her she’s strong, that story-telling through movement is her purpose. Confident after the second pass, as if the choreography hasn’t been absorbed into their bloodstream, Evie takes some time alone to get into character, to become the girl in the song who’s falling for someone she absolutely shouldn’tunder any circumstancefall in love with. Because to dance well is to act, to emote, to evoke a response from the audience.

Toact.

She lets the song loop on her iPod.

Paces.

Her phone vibrates in her hand.

Naomi.

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