“It’ll be a testament to your acting chops. Can you sway an audience into believing you’re hopelessly smitten with me?”
She pulls her bottom lip between her teeth and makes a hissing sound. “Yes.”
My pulse revs.
I eye her, reluctantly intrigued.
I haven’t had a ton of roles yet—just three seasons of that prime-time sitcom when I was nine and two commercials. But nobody I’ve worked with has ever possessed the talent I witnessed when she shined brighter than the stage strobes, practically moving the director to tears. Her skill was its own art form, lighting her up like a masterpiece in motion.
Her audition took my breath away.
Maybe I’ll tell her that.
Someday.
For now, all I say is “Guess we’ll find out.”
“Are you worried?”
My lips twitch as I lean out the window, our faces inching closer together. “Worried about what?”
We’re a hairsbreadth apart. Her eyes glitter every shade of green, a smile hinting on her pillowy lips. “That I’ll outshine you on opening night.”
Our eyes are locked and loaded, and the back of my neck prickles with a shot of exhilaration. An ancient feeling that’s been sealed up and buried under layers of cakey mud.
The car purrs to life.
Looking away, I shove the gear lever into the Drive position, ignoring the way my heartbeats drum like a heavy percussion line. “Right,” I mutter. “Dream on, Nicks.”
I pull back out onto the gravel road and glance at Stevie in the rearviewmirror. She’s standing at the edge of her property line, arms still folded, expression steeped in confusion.
My lips turn up as I gun the engine, pebbles and debris scattering behind me in a flurry of dust and sound.
But it’s not a smirk.
I think it’s a smile.
Chapter 6
Stevie
Our first practice after the initial read-through has my anxiety peaking to a next-level high as I step through the auditorium doors after school the following week. There’s a special kind of energy in the air. The room buzzes with anticipation, the faint hum of nervous whispers floating to my ears. I figured I’d be confident walking into this practice, but I don’t think I fully grasped the gravity of working in close contact with Lexington Hall.
Not then anyway.
Not before I saw his audition and witnessed him coming to life in striking Technicolor, blowing my talent out of the water like an angry wave obliterating a sandcastle.
Now, I have no idea what to think or feel.
And apparently, what to say.
I’m a zoned-out zombie staring dazedly at the stage that looms ahead of me, a beacon of polished wood washed in the soft glow of overhead lighting. It takes a minute for the voice to register, causing me to blink half a dozen times before swiveling right.
“Hello? Is your brain on Airplane Mode?” A classmate, Wren, stands beside me, her auburn hair in pigtails and a lollipop rolling between her teeth.
I clutch the script in both hands, wrinkling the edges. “Sorry. It all kind of hit me just now.”
“You’re very pale. More than usual, I mean.”
