“Little heathen,” he fired back, but a grin played around his lips.
The bastard thought that he’d won somehow, because I was wearing a Sinclair-approved outfit. He’d soon see that wasn’t the case.
I wet my lips, and Brody’s eyes tracked the movement.
“I’m going now,” I said.
“Break a leg and all that,” he murmured.
I stepped back, dizzy from the close proximity to him. While I was arguing with him, it was easy to forget how overwhelming he was. Strong and broad and so much more powerful than me, he dwarfed me. It should scare me. For over a year, men like that had scared me. All men had scared me, actually. But Brody pissed me off so much, I found myself forgetting my fear. It was a strange and novel sensation. I’d started to think I’d always be afraid around all men. That there was no alternative. But then here was my new stepbrother, bigger and burlier than anyone else I knew, and I kept forgetting our power imbalance. He was just that annoying.
I glanced down at the smoothie he’d been drinking. It was nearly finished. The guy was a fanatic about his health. All this “my body is a temple” crap.
A grin toyed around my lips; I couldn’t help it.
“Enjoy your smoothie,” I said sweetly, then turned on my heel and left.
Selena
Aisha waitedfor me outside the drama department. She jumped up from a bench when I rounded the corner, a flurry of nervous energy.
“Oh my God, I was starting to think you bailed on me.”
“I’m not promising to try anything myself, but I’m here for you. You’re going to be amazing.”
“You’ve never seen me act! Maybe I’m awful,” she laughed.
We walked into the building.
I shrugged. “Yeah, okay, then you’re awful… but you won’t have any regrets.”
We entered the main room and stopped.
“Wow, I had no idea it would be this… crowded,” Aisha trailed off.
The room was huge, but so was the number of people who had assembled.
“I guess HHU productions are pretty prestigious,” I mumbled, doubling down inside myself that I wasn’t going to audition. This was a nightmare.
Aisha nodded, going a little pale.
I grabbed her arm before she could chicken out and ushered her to the small check-in desk beside the door.
“She’s registering to audition,” I told them.
“And so is she,” Aisha said quickly.
I turned an exasperated look at her.
“I’m serious, you wanted to and you’re here now, you might as well. You can always back out at the last second, but you might not, so you need to register.”
She started to fill in her information on a card and shoved a pen at me.
“Hurry, you’re holding up the line,” she muttered.
“Geez, you’re persistent.”
“I come from a long line of persistent Indian mothers… ‘no’ doesn’t exist in my vocab. Do or do not, remember?”
