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    â€œReally? Cotillions?” he asked after Bree told him about their school traditions. “That’s so old-fashioned.”
    â€œNot really,” Bree began, but before she could explain how fun and bizarre the debutante thing actually was, he had gone back to describing an Oscar party where he met Halle Berry. This was a bit annoying, but Bree was used to other people dominating the conversation. Sutton did it all the time. Maybe it has something to do with having lawyers for parents, Bree wondered as Justin went on and on.
    â€œWe’re going to be late for the play,” he said, suddenly interrupting himself. “It’s so nice talking to you, I completely lost track of time.”
    Bree and Justin had to speed-walk through the icy air to reach the theater on time, arm in arm for warmth, going too fast to talk about anything. Bree’s mild annoyance with Justin faded to wonder once the play actually began. The stage was awash with colors as seven women began to speak about different aspects of the life of a woman of color. Bree didn’t even think about Justin until the final curtain fell, even though he had been holding her hand almost the entire time.
    â€œSo what did you think?” he asked, though Bree had already climbed to her feet for a standing ovation.
    The fact that I’m clapping should be a hint, she thought, but she said, “I thought it was brilliant. What about you?”
    â€œI liked it,” he agreed. “Of course, the director is my brother.”
    â€œReally?” They had been too late to grab programs on their way into the crowded theater—they were lucky enough to sneak in while the announcer was still explaining to the audience how to escape in case of fire. “You didn’t mention that your brother went to Columbia too.”
    â€œYeah, Jason’s here. In fact, he invited me to the cast party tonight, if you want to go. But it’s far awaysomewhere . . . at NYU,” Justin said rather slowly. Bree picked up on his reluctance immediately—Justin did not want to go to this party. Unfortunately for him, that was not true for Bree.
    â€œI’d love to!” she gushed happily. There was an off chance that she would wind up at Columbia, and with her professional goals, she knew that it was always wise to network with actors and directors. “Why is it at NYU?”
    â€œIt’s part of the Collaborative Black Theater Project,” he explained, taking her by the elbow to lead her out of the theater. “Several colleges are involved, and some professionals too.”
    â€œSounds great,” Bree said.
    Justin did not appear overly excited about the prospect of hanging out with a bunch of theater geeks, but he didn’t try to talk Bree out of going. In fact, he hailed a cab with surprising speed and directed their driver to the cramped downtown apartment just off-campus where the party was being held. Once they arrived, Justin seemed to relax a bit. He and Bree each had a glass or two of warmish, very bad chardonnay, and spoke to more people than Bree would ever recall. The one person who was notably absent was her date’s brother; Jason had apparently stayed at the theater with a few of the techs to fix some subtle problem the lights.
    Bree was a bit disappointed to see that she didn’t recognize anyone at the party. She went to a lot of plays and made a point of putting names with faces. But most of the NYU students seemed to be film majors, not drama, so it wasn’t entirely surprising. She was surprised, though, when the one film major at NYU that she did know walked in the door.
    â€œWow! Bree!” Sean said, immediately bounding over. “I looked you up in IMDb! You really were in Tomorroworld !”
    â€œUm, yes,” she said, sliding a bit closer to Justin. “Sean, this is Justin. Justin, Sean.”
    â€œWhat was it like, working with Thandie?” Sean asked