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“The Ameche?”
“Yeah. The actor Don Ameche had played Alexander Graham Bell in a biopic, and so it became what people said instead of phone.”
“So what you’re saying is that we’re looking for an Ameche charger?”
He looked over at me, a smile forming on his face. “Exactly.”
“That is a fun fact. How does one even come to be in possession of a fact like that?”
“There was this musical about ten years ago—The Game of Telephone. Do you know it?”
“No. But that’s not saying all that much. I only know, like, three.” I meant this as a kind-of joke, but Russell had gone stock-still, his face grave.
“Seriously?”
“Um. Yes? I saw Hamilton at the Pantages. And I’m pretty sure The Music Man, too…” Russell was still looking shocked by this, so I tried to think of any I’d seen put on at school. “Um… the one with the cats?”
“That’s Cats. And that should not be one of your examples. How is this possible?”
“We weren’t big on musicals in my family, I guess. Do Disney movies count?”
Russell shook his head. “No.”
“Oh. Um—sorry. I didn’t realize this was such an issue.”
“It’s not—I apologize. I know I can get a little… It’s what I want to do. Musicals. To write them, I mean.”
“Oh!” His reaction was making more sense now. “That’s so cool. Like Lin-Manuel Miranda?” I was pulling out literally the only musical composer I knew, but hoping it would still get me some credit.
“Yes! Him, Sondheim, Jeanine Tesori, Pasek and Paul, Michael R. Jackson, the Lopezes… it’s my favorite art form.”
“That’s really great.” I took a breath to ask him if he’d be studying it in college—but then a second later, stopped myself. Because I suddenly realized I didn’t know if he was starting school this year, like me.
I’d assumed he was around my age—but there was a possibility he was already in college. Or not in college at all. Or, more distressing, that he was a really mature-looking high school sophomore. I was all at once aware of the knowledge gulf between us, one that hadn’t seemed to have been there with the fun facts and the puns. I didn’t even know where he was from.
But was it such a big deal? In so many of these stories, it didn’t seem super important. What mattered was how you felt. After all, Maria and Tony didn’t know anything about each other before they were declaring their love and inadvertently starting a gang war. “West Side Story!” I burst out triumphantly. Russell raised an eyebrow. “Sorry. I just thought of another musical I know.”
“That did kind of come out of nowhere.”
“I think it came out of somewhere.”
He just looked at me for a second, and then his face broke open in a smile as he got the joke. “I can’t even believe you just said that.” His eyes were on mine, and his face was full of wonder. “Who are you?”
“Darcy,” I said, my voice coming out a bit strangled. “Like the song.” My thoughts were spinning in every direction, and if I’d been in a musical myself, I had a feeling this would have been the moment I would have burst into song.
Calm down. And maybe get some basic facts about this dude, Didi advised, her tone dry.
Unnecessary, Katy insisted, sounding swoony.
We walked in silence for a few paces, and I tried to think about the best way to do this. I was realizing that most of the time when I’d met someone, there had been context. I was usually meeting someone through school, or through a friend—and either way, I had something of a backstory sketched in. I’d almost never just encountered someone out in the world like this, not tethered to anything. The two of us could have been anyone, from anywhere. And while I liked that idea in theory, it also meant I wasn’t armed with baseline facts. But I wasn’t sure how to go about getting them. I didn’t think I could just demand How old are you and where do you go to school? without building up to it a little.
After a moment of silent deliberation, I finally asked, “Are you—studying musicals in school?”
Russell looked down at the ground for a moment. I was about to ask the question again—maybe he hadn’t heard me, or was still reeling from my lack of composer knowledge—but then he turned to me and took a breath. “I am. I got into the musical theater BFA program at University of Michigan. I start next week.”
“Oh, that’s awesome.” I was secretly relieved that he was clearly around my age, and couldn’t help thinking that it was just one more sign that this was meant to be happening. Out of only five people at the bus station, two of us were the same age and had this kind of connection? It meant something.
It means teenagers are more broke than adults, Didi said skeptically.
