I was two minutes into our first rehearsal when I realized two things:
1. Mateo wasn't kidding about the "no improvising" rule.
2. Nino was absolutely going to test it anyway.
"I'm just saying," Nino said, lazily draping himself across the dorm's tiny common room futon. "My character would absolutely throw in a mic drop moment. It's called artistic license."
Mateo didn't even look up from the clipboard in his lap. "If you deviate from the script, I will cut your scene and deliver your lines myself."
"You wouldn't."
Mateo looked up.
"You would," Nino muttered, sitting up straighter.
I tried not to laugh. "Alright, alright, let's run the opening again. From the top."
We were a week into rehearsals. And for the first time in a long while, we were working as a team. Mateo had taken over direction like he was born for it—script notes, prop budgets, timing to the second. Nino had actually memorized his lines. I had… okay, I was still working on my monologue without pacing like a maniac, but we were making progress. And everything was great.
And then Hana showed up.
It started with little things.
First it was the sign-up sheet mysteriously "going missing" and a new one appearing—with our names wiped off. Mateo caught that one.
Then a random announcement that the performance order had changed… putting us last, when the crowd would be half-asleep or gone. Nino hacked the planning doc and changed it back, obviously.
And then came the envelope.
It was waiting for us in our dorm mailbox. Thick. Expensive paper. Mateo opened it like it might explode.
Inside: a single note, handwritten in looping cursive.
Drop out. You'll thank me later. – H.
Nino whistled low. "Wow. I didn't think she'd make a move this soon."
Mateo folded the paper carefully, like he was going to file it with other evidence.
"Okay but—who does this?" I said. "This is college. Are we living in a movie? Is she going to challenge us to a duel next?"
"She doesn't have to," Nino muttered, already tapping on his phone. "Her daddy owns three buildings on campus. She thinks that means she gets to run the show."
"Can we do anything about it?" I asked.
"Oh, I'm already working on that," Nino said, eyes flicking up. "You remember those bribes you owe me?"
"…Yeah?"
"I'm cashing them in," he said. "And trust me—you're gonna get your money's worth."
Mateo was already clearing the table. "Rehearsals continue. We ignore the distractions."
"Wow," I said, watching them both. "You two are weirdly terrifying when you're serious."
"Focus," Mateo snapped, clapping once.
I stood up and saluted. "Sir, yes sir!"
Nino smirked. "You're gonna regret hyping us up, Hana."
And I couldn't help but grin, because for once, we weren't just playing roles—we were in this for real. And Hana? She had no idea who she was messing with.