Her berry lips part to say something before she falters. She rubs them together and glances down at her similarly painted toenails, trying to subdue the smile that starts to bloom.
“I mean, you always look nice. It’s just…” I wave my hand at her, compliments a foreign concept outside my wheelhouse. “I don’t know. I like your dress.”
“Thank you.” Only her eyes lift as she curls her toes into the carpet. “My sister is helping me become a real girl.”
“A real girl?”
“Something like that. I’ve always been more of a tomboy.”
I scratch at the back of my neck. “Nothing wrong with that.”
“I know.” Her shoulders pop with an endearing shrug. “But I figure I’ll be going off to college soon, in pursuit of an acting career. I should probably attempt to look presentable. I want to have my own style. Something unique…memorable.”
Fashion isn’t really my forte, so I latch on to the subject change. “Acting, huh?”
She takes a seat at the edge of her bed. “You sound surprised.”
“Do you want to stick with stage acting or something more commercial?”
“Commercial,” she says without hesitation, like there are no other options for her. “I want movie sets and bright lights and cameras capturing every detail. I want to walk red carpets and see my name in big letters on posters and marquees. I want to work with directors who push me to my limits and costars who inspire me. I want to provide for my family in the same way they’ve struggled, saved, and sacrificed for me. I want to be part of stories that reach millions, that make people laugh, cry, and dream.” Her eyes glaze over with star-studded galaxies. “That’s what I want. That’s my dream.”
The warm feeling in my chest turns on me. It morphs into an angry hot poker, burning cavities through my brittle bones.
My jaw tenses, my grip on the coffee mug tightening. “You don’t want that, Nicks.”
Her eyes dim as she blinks up at me, shaking off the daze. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t want that.” Setting the mug down, I start pacing the room, regarding the posters on her walls, the knickknacks on her shelves. “Hollywood would eat you alive. Then it would gag on you and spit you out on the concrete until you’re a chewed-up, stomped-on pile of broken dreams.”
Silence infects the space between us as a shiver tiptoes down my spine. I watch her brows dip, her smile wilting.
“That’s really bleak,” she says.
“You asked what I meant.”
“I’m sorry I did.”
I graze my fingertips along the keys of her piano as a few bum notes echo through the room. “That’s what they do to nice girls in that city. That’s what they do to everybody, but the nicer you are, the harder it hurts.”
“Did…someone hurt you?” She picks at her fingernails, cautiously eyeing me from the bed.
Dark waves crash over me as I blink away the storm front. “We should practice.”
“Lex…”
I flop down on the piano bench, more discordant notes ringing out as I lean back against the keys. “Or you can play me a song.”
Stevie hesitates, rubbing her matte lips together as she studies me, debating her next move. I’m relieved when she sends me a quick nod and lifts off the bed, smoothing down the lace skirt of her dress that grips her thighs.
“I can do that,” she says. “Then we can practice.”
We swap places. I shuffle past her, breathing in her sweet scent. Sugarplums and flower petals. Then I collapse backward on the bed, blocking out the squeaky sounds the mattress makes and tracking her movements as she situates herself on the wood bench.
“What do you want to hear?”
“Whatever you want to play.”
She peeks at me over her shoulder, a playful glint in her eyes. “Maybe you should try playing sometime. If you can learn to play piano as well as you sing, I bet you’d become the next big musical prodigy.”
