When we get to H&M, Anam sticks weirdly close to me, trailing me as I wander through the store. I falter, giving her a cursory look. “Do you need help picking something out? I thought we were going to do what we usually do, and you’d let me choose from options you picked out.”

“I think I’ll just walk with you for a while,” Anam says quietly.

I furrow my brows. “If that’s what you want.”

We wander through the store, and I stop in front of the swimwear section, reaching out and picking through different options.

“It’s February,” Anam says, her tone a little sharp.

I glance to the side, but her attention is fixed on a sun-hat display. I turn back to a rack of shorts, looking for my waist size. “I know, but I figure I might as well start shopping for California. Plus, these are priced cheaper right now.”

“Ma’s not going to be happy if you buy those,” Anam mutters.

I laugh under my breath. “Since when do you care what Ma thinks?”

My sister is silent for an odd amount of time, but then she finally says, “You’re right. You might as well buy the whole store in preparation for USC.”

I wiggle my brows at her. “I’m thinking about it.”

Anam doesn’t react, her gaze focused firmly on a rack of sunglasses. My smile slips, and I consider her more earnestly. Maybe she’s more nervous about this date than I realized.

“Hey,” I say, laying a hand on her shoulder. “It’ll be okay.”

She starts under my touch, looking at me with wide eyes. “What?”

“Your date,” I say, tucking a strand of blue hair behind her ear. “It’ll be great, and if it’s not, I’ll be home waiting for you with a pint of ice cream.”

Anam stares at me. “You’ll be home,” she echoes.

I nod. “I’ll be home, and we can have a movie night. We’ll get through it together, like always.”

“Together, like always,” Anam says and looks away, a hoarse laugh escaping her throat. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.”

“No apology necessary,” I say, booping her nose. “I love you, Anam.”

She offers me an unsteady smile. “I love you, too, Apu.”

Though the words sound true, there’s something off about them—but I can’t put my finger on what. I settle for throwing an arm around Anam’s shoulders and leading her away from the swimwear section.

As I do, I ignore the pit forming in my stomach. It’s nothing. Anam is just having an off day.

I shouldn’t overthink it.

17

Auditions on Friday aren’t as intense—I nearly beat Grant’s ass when I saw him enter the auditorium with more sparklers—but I still sit on the edge of my seat, nervous that I’m going to say something wrong to Rosie again.