He turns back around and stares at the bumper of the car in front. “I need to send my application by Wednesday.”
An entire Maroon 5 song plays before Nev says, “You know I’d miss you like crazy.”
That seems to thaw Ten out. His stiff jaw softens, and his fingers loosen on the steering wheel. “Imagine all the time you’ll get to spend with Angie singing and talking about singing if I’m not around.”
“We can still do that.” Nev leans over the console again. “Did you hear Taylor Swift’s new song, Angie? It doesn’t sound like her. I’m not sure I like it.” Then: “Ooh. Louder.”
I turn the volume dial.
“Ilovethis guy’s voice,” Nev gushes.
I tap the rhythm out on my bare knee, listen to the distinctive, slightly nasally, falsetto voice. “It’s catchy.”
“He sounds like a girl,” Ten says.
“No, he doesn’t,” Nev counters.
“Yeah, he does.”
“And I sound like a boy,” Nev says.
“What?” Ten’s eyes flick to the rearview mirror. “No, you don’t.”
“When I sing, I do.”
“But not when you speak,” he says.
“You should hear Angie sing.”
My body temperature rises so fast I check that I didn’t accidentally bump the dial of the seat warmer.
“I heard her yesterday,” Ten says. “While I was waiting.”
I didn’t think I could get any hotter, but here I am, getting hotter. A couple of degrees from evaporation.
“She wrote the song you heard.” Nev’s words are laced with such pride that it lessens the sting of Ten not commenting on what he thought of my singing.
Mannered people don’t comment about things they don’t like. Since Ten is mannered, his silence tells me he doesn’t think very highly of my singing.
“All those hours of calculus finally paying off,” Ten says.
“What?” I croak, while Nev frowns.
“You spend the entire period composing music,” he says.
Nev sighs. “I wish I could compose music.” I’m about to suggest she take music theory when she asks, “Ten, what time’s your track meet this afternoon?”
“Three.”
“You really like running, huh?” I say.
“It’s a good stress reliever,” he says. “Like singing is for you.”
Singing usually relaxes me, but these days, it’s been winding me up tight. Between keeping my desire to enter the contest from Mom and—
“We’re here!” Nev shrieks, cutting off my musings and ridding me of a decibel of hearing. After we park, she skips all the way to the mall.
“Did you make her marshmallow pancakes this morning?” I ask Ten, who’s lumbering alongside me.
