Artist.The word conjured a starving mime in a beret. AJ scrunched her nose. “I’m not an artist.”
It was Noah’s turn to gape. “AJ, I hate to tellyouthis, but you practically live at a video store. You spend every spare second you have writing. And you’re obsessed with the inner workings of an improvised show. You are an artist.”
“I—” AJ closed her mouth. It was strange to have someone draw a line between these aspects of herself.That’s not really who I am,she wanted to say. She was an athlete and a star student—at least, according to her family.
Still. He had a point aboutAstronauticals.It would be incredible to learn its secrets from the source.
AJ squinted. “What would the recommendation be for? Theater?”
Noah nodded, and a single white square began to illuminate on the board in front of AJ—not a full strategy, but a move. A path forward.
AJ looked at him uncertainly. “I’m not a performer.”
Noah’s eyes danced. “Oh come on, Pippi, I think we both know that’s not true.”
AJ thought she had misheard him. Then it hit her. “You?” she gasped. “YouwereJason?”
Noah flashed her that grin, which was unnecessarily lovely given how flustered AJ already felt. Her mind skipped back to their first interaction at Reel World.You.
He’d known this whole time.
“I don’t believe this,” said AJ, aghast. “It took meyearsto live that down.”
“Hey, I’m the victim here,” said Noah, laughing. “My aunt gets stage fright at the last second, so I go on in her place and this little girl screams her head off in my face.”
AJ was laughing despite herself. “So then you agree I can’t act.”
Noah held her gaze. “You did just fine as Juliet.”
AJ bit her lip, her mind slowly integrating this information. “Her offer was to train us both,” she reminded him. “So what, you’re saying you would take acting lessons with me?”
Noah shrugged.
AJ’s eyebrows shot up. “Really? Why?”
He was studying her now, his eyes intent. They were sitting very close.
“It’s fascinating,” he said with almost academic detachment. “Improv operates out of the collective unconscious. Connections between actors can be extremely psychic. My aunt and uncle claimed they could feel each other’s emotions—it’s trippy stuff. With us, I’ve noticed a sort of…pull. I’d be interested to see if…it could be worth exploring.”
A shadow passed over his features. “And for what it’s worth, playing Romeo the other day is the only time in the past three months I’ve been able to…forget.”
AJ’s mouth went dry. “Noah,” she said softly. Without thinking, she placed her hand on his arm. “You’re going to get through this. I know everything sucks right now, but they’re going to figure out what’s wrong with your mom, and you’re going to get back to school.”
He covered her hand with his. “Yeah, I hope so. I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” AJ repeated, masking the thrill she felt at his touch.
Noah’s eyes creased sadly. “To be honest, the whole time I was at the Academy, part of me was waiting for the other shoe to drop. When I had to leave it seemed almost…inevitable. That sense of belonging didn’t really feel like my life. I never had it before.” He looked at their hands. “I think you know, I never really fit in Gladstone.”
AJ watched a golden ray of sun hit his profile. “Maybe you just don’t belong in Gladstone.”
Noah turned to her. “No, I don’t,” he said. “And neither do you.”
It was the best thing he could have said, and AJ smiled at him. She couldn’t help it. Noah seemed momentarily thrown by this. He blinked.
Then he was on his feet, stepping back. As he ran a hand through his hair, his attention shifted to Emily. “There are five of you, right?”
“Right,” said AJ, trying to keep her expression as detached as his, jarred by his sudden movement. She watched him circle his shoulders, stretching one, then the other.
