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“So in addition to fighting off frostbite, you’re going to be writing musicals? At Michigan?”
Russell nodded, his whole face lighting up. “Yeah. They actually have one of the best programs in the country. The top ones are USC, Tisch at NYU, Temple University, and Michigan. You have to compose an original musical to get in, and…” He stopped and turned to me, his brows drawing together. “Wait, why were we talking about musicals?”
“… because you’re studying them?”
“No, before,” he said, the furrow between his eyes deepening. “I brought it up for some reason, and then discovered you’d seen zero musicals—”
“Three,” I countered. “At least. Probably more. Um…” I tried to think back. I secretly liked that there was enough of our conversation to sort through—tangents and information and puns about his friends’ names—that the answer wasn’t immediately apparent.
“Sorry. I know this is annoying.”
“No, I’m used to it. My dad is always doing this—he says that his train of thought jumps the tracks, never to be seen again. We spend a lot of time tracing it back, especially when he’s working on a campaign.” I stopped walking and concentrated, trying to find our way back. “Was it about that guy—the one who played Alexander Graham Bell?”
“Ameche!” Russell’s expression cleared, like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Yes! That’s it. Darcy, you’re a genius. I brought up musicals because I was talking about The Game of Telephone. That’s a musical,” he added helpfully.
“Thanks for that.”
“Anyway, it was all about how the telephone came to be invented, and Don Ameche basically functioned as the narrator.”
“Huh.” I was trying to be polite, in case this was Russell’s favorite musical, but I was having trouble imagining something I’d want to see less.
“It only ran for a few performances in the West End, but I always had a soft spot for it. And, clearly, the Ameche fact stuck with me.”
“So you’re all about the facts, huh?”
He nodded. “And like your dad with puns, my dad is to blame for it. He’s obsessed with Jeopardy!. He never misses an episode. When he’s on the road—”
“Wait, what does your dad do?”
“Oh—he’s a structural engineer.”
“Got it.”
“Building bridges, mostly. So he travels a lot. And when he’s on the road he always makes sure to have Jeopardy! recorded. He’s obsessed. He was even on it once—” Russell stopped talking quickly and looked away.
“He was? That’s so cool! Did he win?”
“Yeah. But it’s not that impressive.”
“I think it is. I haven’t seen it that much, but it always seems really hard to me.”
“I promise it’s not a big deal. The other people he was up against were kind of terrible at it. And he gave all the money to charity anyway.”
“Wow. That’s so nice of him.” The picture of Russell and his family that was taking shape in my head—the cozy cottage, the happy family unit—suddenly added another dimension. Now I also knew they were super generous, too.
I mean, maybe. Maybe he only won, like, a hundred dollars, Didi pointed out.
We had reached the end of the street—a lone stop sign and a discarded Snickers wrapper. “I think our Ameches are out of luck.”
“I think you’re right.”
I twisted my hands together. I wasn’t sure what happened now. I didn’t care that my phone wasn’t going to get charged—I just didn’t want this to be over.
“Wait.” Russell turned his head, his eyebrows drawing together. He smiled at me. “Do you smell that?”
I turned where he had been looking and breathed in—the faint smell of meat cooking. “What are… tacos?”
He grinned at me. “Exactly.”
