“Deeper!”
Blowing it out in her face, I wiggle out of her viselike hold and turn to face the mirror. My hands curl around the rim of the chipped porcelain sink, my chest heaving. “I can do this.”
“Of course you can. You’re Stevie St. James, the next big superstar.”
I glance at my reflection, loathing the pink flush on my cheeks. “Yeah, right. A high school musical is peanuts in the grand scheme of stardom.” My parents have been putting every penny they can into a savings account that will help me obtain a theater degree. If I drop the ball now, their generosity will be in vain. I need to prove that I’m capable. Worthy. “What time is it?”
“Quarter after four.”
“Okay. Fifteen more minutes.”
Misty sidles up beside me, fiddling with her giant topknot. “Will you find out if you make it today?”
“We perform a small musical bit first. Then we wait and see if they want us to read lines,” I explain, splashing cool water on my face. “The official list will be posted tomorrow.”
“Oof. I don’t know how you deal with the nerves. I’m a ball of anxiety just thinking about it. When I was seven, I had a clarinet recital. The moment it was time to play, I peed my pants, had a subsequent panic attack, and to this day, I can’t look at a woodwind instrument without traumatic flashbacks.”She parks a hip against the sink and peers over at me. “How will you handle possibly performing with Lexington Hall, by the way? You know he’s going to get the part, no matter if he’s actually good or not. God, it’ll be so…intimate.”
My stomach pitches, Lex’s assessment of me funneling through my achy chest.
Underwhelming.
“I’ll manage. He’s nothing special.”
“Are you kidding? He’s gorgeous and famous. I still see that juice box commercial every now and then.” She sighs dreamily. “How cute was he slurping from that twisty straw?”
“He was eight then. All eight-year-olds are cute.”
“Well, look at him now.”
“I do, every day in English class. I don’t know what the fuss is all about.”
“I meant look at him with your eyes. You have those, right?”
Snorting out a laugh, I shake my head at her. “He hardly ever talks to anybody. I can’t imagine him wowing a captivated audience, singing and dancing in front of hundreds of people.”
I suppose there’s always a chance he could be great, considering his prestigious résumé. But that was just a cheesy sitcom when he was a kid, and it doesn’t automatically mean he has a strong stage presence or musical skill.
His retired-actress mother helped get him this far, and his parents’ money will take him all the way to wherever he wants to go. What else does he really need? Schools run on politics and word of mouth. It’s not always about genuine talent.
“Besides, this is high school,” I continue. “The show has been watered down for the age group. Nothing too obscene in terms of intimacy.”
“But there’s a kiss.”
I look up, blinking into the mirror. My pupils dilate, swallowing my pale-green irises. Gulping, I pan my gaze to my taut fingers still gripping the sink. “Two, actually. But they’re small kisses. And maybe he’s a terrible kisser.”
“Sure. That’s realistic.” She nudges my ankle with the toe of her shoe. “Have you kissed anyone before?”
I turn off the faucet until the water runs dry. “Does Danny Meblick in seventh grade count?”
“Oh God, the ferret guy? Yeah, he counts. Barely.” She laughs, plucking her backpack off the floor and slinging a strap over her shoulder. “Maybe you two can practice kissing before the big show.”
“Danny and me?”
“Eww, no, with Lex. Channel the method-acting thing. Kiss him beneath a glimmering full moon and fall deeply in love with him.”
My nose crinkles when she swoons. “I don’t think my talents have peaked to that level yet.”
“Whatever. He’s delicious, and I’ll never forgive you if you don’t take advantage of it.”
