My face burns hotter. “Right. Sorry.” The empathy dissolves into dust as I turn away.
“Nicks, right?”
I falter again, my back to him. “It’s Stevie.”
“Mm.”
As I swivel around to face him, a few feet from where he leans sprawled against the taupe lockers, I skim my eyes down his well-dressed form: another white button-down paired with expensive-looking blue jeans, a leather belt, and familiar black boots. They look freshly polished, as if they’ve never stomped through a muddy barnyard or trudged across a dusty field. There’s a coffee cup attached to his hand, reminding me of the drive-thru coffee I never got to fully enjoy, courtesy of his flashy blue car.
“How was your first day?” I ask.
Instantly, I feel like an idiot.
I watch his light-brown eyebrows bend, almost like the ordinary question has thrown him off-balance somehow. He slowly cants his head in my direction, his gaze rolling over my denim overalls, wrinkled sea-blue T-shirt, and sheaves of long brown hair, all the way down to my ratty white sneakers. “Why do you care?”
“Just making conversation.”
“I heard you live in that barn off Madison Street. The red one.”
I’m not sure what that has to do with anything. “It’s a farm, but yes. I do.”
“Also heard I might get to hear you sing.”
I frown. “What?”
“The musical,” he says. “Auditions are coming up.”
Oh my God—Jameson was right. “Are you…trying out?”
He shrugs and turns to fully face me, wedging a shoulder against the locker. “Thinking about it.”
I blink at him half a dozen times, his words oozing into my psyche like thick sludge. I can’t make it make sense. “Really?”
“What? You don’t think I’ll be any good?”
“I never said that. You just don’t strike me as—”
“Any good.”
“A stage performer,” I correct. “It’s different from your Hollywood stuff.”
He huffs out a bitter-sounding breath. “Hollywood stuff,” he echoes.
“Well, yeah.”
“You watch my TV show, Nicks?”
“Maybe. I found some commercials too.” I straighten my stance, clear my throat, and press both hands to my chest. “Sooo flaky!” I singsong, mimicking his frozen pizza performance.
“So you do have a TV.”
“I also have YouTube.”
It’s possible a sparkle inhabits his eyes, but it could be a trick of the light. “Bet I made you go out and buy those pizzas.”
My sister did. But I’m not going to tell him that.
I shake my head.
