Chapter 4 Stevie #2
Gone is the boy I witnessed just moments ago, haunted and intensely focused.
He’s been replaced by the Lex I’m all too familiar with—smug, unbothered, and inherently offensive.
When he spots me sitting in the front row, I quickly look away, pinning my attention on Natalie as she twists her long black hair over her shoulder.
“Can I start?” she asks, clearing her throat.
Mr. Hamlin gestures at her with a hand motion. “Please, begin.”
She sings it beautifully.
She’s bubbly and engaged as she prances around the stage, her pitch perfect.
Instinct has me looking in Lex’s direction as he sits three rows down and to my left, curious to uncover his reaction.
Natalie could easily be the Satine to his Christian.
I wonder if that’s what he wants, what he’ll push for.
He’s the golden boy, and she’s the shining star everyone gravitates toward.
I watch him as he slumps back in his seat. He pulls out his cell phone and moves his thumbs across the keypad, uninterested in her Disney-princess voice and animated eyes. I don’t think he ever looks up. Not once.
Frowning, I twist back to the stage as Natalie belts out the last line, her arms lowering at her sides like a slow-motion waterfall. Everyone claps except for Lex. With a bow, she exits the stage, her raven hair swishing behind her.
“Lexington Hall.” Mr. Hamlin stands off to the side with a clipboard, his focus aimed at Lex.
Lex continues to text on his phone.
Snickers float over to my ears.
“Lexington.”
Finally, his head snaps up. He glances around before pocketing his phone and blinking up at the director. “My turn?”
“Unless it interferes with your groundbreaking digital correspondence, as I’d hate to interrupt.”
More laughter erupts throughout the auditorium, and I squirm in my chair.
Lex shoves a hand through his hair as he pops up from the seat and strolls over to the staircase with borderline indifference.
My heart hammers between my ribs when he takes the stage.
I have no idea how he’ll perform, and the anticipation is making me restless and fidgety.
Lex’s eyes find me from the center of the stage as he takes a minute to compose himself. I’m not sure why. I’m not sure why he looks at me of all people—the underwhelming farm girl in the first row.
But he does, so I stare back at him and watch as he heaves in a deep breath before he begins to sing the song “Nature Boy.”
The room around me evaporates, taking my oxygen with it.
Oh.
Wow.
His voice.
It’s not at all what I imagined.
I want to look away, but the notion feels as excruciating as ripping my heart from my chest with my own hand.
I’m not the only one transfixed. The auditorium transforms into wide-eyed silence as a rich, masculine baritone fills the air, weaving a spell that holds us all captive.
A bewitching elixir of warmth, melancholy, and painful vulnerability.
He moves across the stage. Owns it. Utterly claims it with something I had no idea he was capable of.
To my mortification, tears prick my eyes.
Real, soul-stirring emotion.
I wonder if he can see my gaze glistening all the way from the stage.
God, I hope not.
His focus flicks over to me every now and then, like he’s reveling in this opportunity to prove me wrong. And I’ll admit it—I was wrong. So wrong.
He’s brilliant.
As our gazes tangle and hold, I pretend I’m his counterpart. His costar. My feet itch to dance and twirl. My throat fizzes with the yearning to make music with him.
Swallowing, I close my eyes, then look away, peering down at the floor strewn with a stomped-on piece of pink bubble gum. I keep my attention on the rubbery threads for the rest of the performance, unable to glance back up.
Mr. Hamlin’s voice breaks through when the song ends and the room maintains its awestruck silence. “Well done, Lexington.” He clears his throat, the sound ricocheting between my ribs. “Have a seat.”
Only my eyes lift as Lex saunters back down the stairs, my chin still tucked to my chest. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t smirk. The larger-than-life persona evaporates in a blink, as if that performance drained him of all his magic.
He’s Lex again. Stony and dismissive.
“Stevie St. James,” the director calls out, prompting my shoulders to stiffen, my insides to pinwheel. “You’re next.”
Heads turn to look at me. Whispery chitchat spills into my psyche, blending with my pounding pulse.
I pull to a stand, harnessing a nervous smile as I make my way to the stage.
The lights are blazing, gleaming like a spotlight and making me sweat.
Mr. Hamlin offers me a quick nod and folds his arms, a gesture to begin.
I glance out at the crowd. Twenty or so people watch from their seats, waiting.
Some are hoping I’ll crack under the pressure.
I look over at Lex bent forward in his chair, elbows to his knees, chin propped in tightly folded hands.
He’s watching me too. Apparently I’m more fascinating than his phone.
The opening chords crest, bubbling up in my chest like a symphony. I take a deep breath and close my eyes, blotting everything else out.
Then I sing.
Diamonds: a girl’s best friend. My eyes are alight with them, my movements filled with fluidity and grace.
Each note sparkles with dazzling jewels as I wave my arms, tap my feet, and glide across the stage in time with the music’s crescendo.
Performing is like a beautiful possession.
You’re witness to the events unfolding, but another part of you is behind the wheel, fueling your footing, steeling your voice, creating art.
When it’s over, every piece of you fuses back together, and you feel changed. Whole.
That’s how I feel when the last note plays and the silence settles in, a slew of dazed eyes staring back at me, waiting for my next move.
I begin to smile when I hear slow clapping coming from the audience. My chest heaves with weighty breaths as I tip my chin and glance out at the crowd.
Lex.
His expression is stoic, unreadable, his hands slapping together with lazy, measured claps.
Is he mocking me?
I can’t tell.
My cheeks burn as I fiddle with my hair through a curtsy, smile my thanks to Mr. Hamlin, and book it off the stage.
“Impressive, Stevie,” our director says. “Thank you.”
I plop back down in my seat, my heart still racing.
That was good. I think that was good. I hit all my marks, all my notes, and I truly felt the song, deep in my soul.
I just don’t know if it was enough.
My hands quiver as I glance to my left, eyes meeting with jaded blue. Still no expression. No tilt to his lips, no crease of his brow. He’s a blank canvas as he studies me, his gaze skimming my face like he’s searching for something.
He pulls away sharply, and I release a long breath. If the stars align and I score this role, my biggest dream is about to come true.
But dreams aren’t always rainbows and sunny skies.
Sometimes they clash with your worst nightmare.
***
Everything is a blur.
My pulse is in my ears and in my throat, pumping a steady, shallow drumbeat from temples to toes.
I weave through the masses, apologizing to the numerous people I bump into along the way.
Swinging arms, hard chests, book bags, purses.
The posting draws closer. A bulletin of warped ink.
I can hardly retain a full breath as anticipation carries me forward to the far wall.
The only thing that breaks through the fog and snags my attention is the person leaning against it. He’s propped up beside the list with two well-muscled arms crossed over an unwrinkled button-down—stark white, contrasting with his tanned skin.
His eyes are aimed at me, awaiting my reaction.
My pace slackens as I approach. All my instincts tell me to ignore him, possibly say something scathing, but I can only croak out, “Did I get it?”
Lex’s lips curve up with a smirk.
That’s not a good sign.
He nods his head at the bulletin. “See for yourself.”
Oh God.
This is it. My dreams will once again be pulverized, now with Lexington Hall as my witness. I’ll never live this down. That smirk and those twinkling eyes will haunt me until my dying day.
I offer a slight headshake, my fists curling at my sides. I should get this over with, but I can’t force myself to drink in the confirmation. It’s not real if I don’t know.
Tears gather in my eyes, causing his smile to slip.
He frowns a little, gesturing at the posting again. “Look, Stevie.”
Something tugs at my chest.
He doesn’t call me Stevie—it’s only ever Nicks . Like I’m not worthy enough to be addressed by my given name. I swallow hard, holding his cryptic stare for one more heartbeat.
Then I turn my head and read.
Names come into focus. I hold my breath until my knees wobble.
Christian: Lexington Hall
Satine: Stevie St. James
Oh…
Oh my God.
I let out a sound I don’t recognize. I think it’s my voice. A gasp of absolute disbelief braided with a euphoria I’ve never felt before. Cupping a hand over my mouth, I try to keep the sound from falling out again because everyone is staring at me now.
“Looks like we’ll be seeing a lot of each other over the next few months.”
I blink repeatedly at the two names, bolded and underlined. Just to be sure. Just to be completely sure. Then I glance over at Lex with wide, glazed eyes, hiding the beaming smile with my hand.
The smirk is back.
He’s so impossible to read, I’m not convinced he’s happy for me. Maybe he’s just eager to torment me during all our future practices.
I manage a nod through the heart-twisting emotion.
“We should probably meet up to go over lines some time.” He sniffs, and a trace of vulnerability flickers across his face. A hand slips into his pocket as he glances away. “If you want to.”
A giant coffee cup is clasped in his other hand, accentuating the dark-gray shadows under his eyes. His light irises make them even more noticeable. My palm falls away from my mouth, arm dropping to my side. “Yeah,” I whisper back. “Sure.”
He takes a drawn-out sip from the cup. “Your audition,” he starts, a hitch to his words. A clear of his throat. “It was…”
My heart shrinks, like it’s trying to hide from the impending insult that will cleave it into bits. “What?”
He frowns.
Hesitates.
And I swear his frosty blue eyes melt a fraction.
“It wasn’t underwhelming,” he says. Lex takes another big swig from his coffee and pushes up from the wall. “Not at all.”
I watch as he swivels away, hauling his backpack over his shoulder as he retreats from my sight line.
He was right about one thing: he surprised me.
But the biggest surprise…is that I surprised him too.