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helped. Timeline is finished. Walker sent it out this morning.” Taylor points to a woman sitting next to him.
    “Sunset?” Selah says without looking up.
    Is that a question or a statement?
    Man, I wish I understood this lingo!
    “Seven thirteen,” Taylor answers, so apparently it was a question.
    “We’re going to have to see what we can get away with there.” Selah looks up. “Let me see the timeline.”
    She reaches out towards Quade, who’s already handing her the iPad, but instead of grabbing the tablet she seizes one of Quade’s hands.
    “Is this the new metallic polish from OPI?” She looks closer at Quade’s manicure.
    “It is,” Quade answers, a little unsure. “But just on the fringe; they call it an inverted French tip.”
    Selah takes another half second to inspect the nails while the room holds its breath.
    “It’s fabulous, Q!” she finally decrees, and Quade’s gaunt frame literally ripples as she preens under the compliment.
    “I saw it on someone’s Latergram,” she tells Selah and, evidently, the room at large, because she’s raised her voice confidently.
    “It looks a lot like what Prabal’s models had on at the last show. You’re so on trend, Q. Let’s do something like this at the Riverton party . . . Maybe on the servers?” Selah’s voice is sweet and playful, and she suddenly seems exactly like I thought she would be, like the coolest girl in school. If you can just impress her, she’ll make you cool too.
    “Definitely,” Quade answers, and hands off the iPad.
    It’s about now that I remember I was told to take notes. I don’t know which part of this conversation is important, so I just start writing down everything I hear. The room is quiet again as Selah contemplates the screen in front of her.
    “It’s really tight.” She looks down the table at the production team, seeming annoyed, and her cool-girl moment is over.
    “There’s two bands, a party host, and the kid’s performing a violin solo. The dinner is six courses, we have four food trucks for the teenagers, and there’s a Venetian dessert table.” Taylor throws an irked look at the culinary arts team. Revere responds with a dramatic shrug, as if to say , Not my fault. “And the klezmer band during cocktail hour. There was no other option with the timing.”
    “What time is strike?” Selah asks, looking back down at the screen.
    “Midnight,” Taylor says.
    My head volleys back and forth between them like I’m at a tennis match. I have no idea what they’re saying at all, but it’s obviously a hot topic because Selah is radiating annoyance.
    “It’s tight,” Selah says again.
    “We’ll get it all in,” Taylor says, cool as a cucumber.
    Selah looks back down at the screen, dismissing the conversation. I know now where McKenna learned that little trick.
    “Floral?” Quade looks to an older woman three seats down from her. The woman has bright-red hair and a petite build. I’m a shorty, but she’s so small I feel like she might fit inside my pocket. When she speaks she’s got a thick British accent, and I immediately imagine her as some sort of spritely garden gnome.
    “We lost the lady slippers. We’re still unsure they’ll make it out of customs, and even if they do, I don’t trust the quality after so much time. We’ve reworked it with phalaenopsis.”
    “It’ll feel too tropical. That’s not the aesthetic at all,” Selah snaps, glaring at the older woman. It seems like too harsh a response for a conversation about flowers.
    Before the Gnome can defend herself, Miko chimes in.
    “Not at all.” She stands up from her chair and pulls her headphones back until they hang around her neck like a yoke. She walks over to Selah, opening the cover of her sketchpad. I’m already nervous for Miko because she’s the only person in the room who hasn’t waited to be spoken to before speaking herself. Selah doesn’t seem to question it, though, and just looks at the sketch in front of