Me: We’re just friends, and even that might be an elaboration.
Misty: Lies upon lies. I’ve seen your practices. You’ve bewitched the Hollywood movie star with your awkward grace and choir-girl charm.
Me: It’s called acting. That’s what actors do. He doesn’t like me like that.
Misty: Good thing you read your lines better than you read people.??
Flustered, I close out her messages and shove the phone into the pocket of my blue jeans.
Misty is wrong.
Lex and I have had some bonding moments, sure, but that’s inevitable when you’re working in close proximity with somebody for months. Especially in an intimate environment like ours, performing a live-action love story. If I ever score a real acting gig one day, it’ll be no different with my future costars.
Besides, Lex truly doesn’t seem interested in me like that. He doesn’t seem interested in…well, anybody. Girls flirt and bat their eyes, eager for attention, flaunting their boobs and asses for him when he saunters down the hallway. He’s a beacon of disinterest and detachment, and he pays them no mind. On the contrary, he almost seems repulsed by their hair flips and sultry smiles.
He could be gay.
But then, he doesn’t show interest in any of the guys either.
Lost to my thoughts, I almost don’t notice my parents outside in the yard, standing around like they’re waiting for me.
“Hey,” I greet, cutting through the grass tipped with rainfall, then shuffling up the gravel drive.
“Stevie, honey,” Mom says, ushering me forward. “Come look.”
That’s when I notice it.
There’s a car in our driveway. A silver sedan.
Mom and Dad start pacing around the unfamiliar vehicle, inspecting it like it’s a glimmering pot of gold.
I frown, confusion racing through me as I move in beside my parents. “Do we have guests?”
“Nope,” Dad says.
“Then whose car is that?”
My father looks like he might cry as he presses a hand to my shoulder and squeezes. “It’s yours.”
“What?” My heart kicks up speed. That doesn’t make any sense. The modest insurance payout wasn’t nearly enough to cover a new car, especially this one. It doesn’t even look that old. “But I thought—”
My mother claps her hands together, moisture twinkling in her eyes. “Look inside.”
Swallowing, I falter beside the vehicle, trailing my eyes over the rain-glazed siding and smudge-free tires. It takes a moment for me to process what’s happening before I finally reach for the door handle and tug it open.
It smells clean. New.
And resting on the driver’s seat is a folded-up paper note. My chest contracts with a sharp breath.
I reach for it and skim over the handwriting.
Sorry about your car. The light was definitely red.
–Lex
My lungs tighten, shock jolting through my veins. Tears puddle in my eyes.
I can hardly breathe.
