Of course you got the lead. Of course. You're talented, and Cate's always known that—Performing Arts was your domain, and you lived and breathed it like no other. She'd been perfectly content to leave it that way, to admire your talent from the rows.

Except; Romeo and Juliet? Fucking Romeo and Juliet? If it had to be Shakespeare, couldn't it have been Macbeth or some shit? More blood and less—macking.

Fuck, she really doesn't need to see you and Alyssa make out on stage. And in practice. Over, and over, and over. She's always known that girl had the hots for you—no wonder he'd jumped at the opportunity to play the second lead, of course he had.

(Well, Cate's kind of a hypocrite. But whatever. The sting of only getting understudy is nothing compared to having to watch from the sidelines as you and her lock lips, again and again—for 'practice's' sake. Like, come on. Nobody wants to see that.

Also, that amount of tongue is just unclassy.)

Do you need to know the reason why Alyssa is out-of-commission for the next, foreseeable rehearsals? No. Will Alyssa ever know why she locked herself in the cold-room of the local café (flu), and then also tried skateboarding on ice despite never touching a skateboard or an ice rink ever in her life? (Sprained ankle, just to be sure.) Thank God the girl doesn't have a healing factor. Which is probably the cruelest thing Cate's ever thought but she's done much worse to people she actually cares about. Let alone caustic bitches who audition for roles just so they can make out with you.

Yeah, she's kind of a bitch. The irony isn't lost on her, but what nobody knows won't hurt them.

"Should we run through the scene, again?" Cate suggests sweetly, leg dangling from her position perched on a drama block, finger running along the script like she hasn't got it memorised back to front. (Oh, yeah, she compelled the showrunner to add an extra scene. You certainly didn't complain, did you?)