Mom’s chipper voice cuts off Reid as she emerges from her office. She has spent more time there in the last two weeks than she has in years and it feels like writing might be happening. I hope. I’m too nervous to ask. Too nervous to ask about a brainstorming session, too nervous to knock on her door to vent about the band and tell her about HAVE A HE(ART). Growing up, a closed office door meant do not disturb. What if a simple knock bursts whatever creative bubble finally exists again?

“Is everything all right, Reid?” Mom asks, crossing the kitchen threshold for a coffee refill.

“Misplaced music.” Reid’s eyes meet mine, suspicious.

I keep my expression neutral, attempting to hide my surprise.

“Oh! I’m sure you already have it memorized,” Mom says, her tone light.

“I don’t,” Reid says. “It’s an audition piece for the preconservatory program at the Albany Institute for the Arts. I put it in my backpack last night and it’s… not here.”

“I didn’t know you were auditioning for Albany, Reid. That’s a really big deal,” I say.

“I know,” Reid snaps.

“I’m sure it’ll turn up.” Mom plucks a croissant from the bakery box on the counter and heads back to her writing cave before Reid can respond. She, too, can only take so much of Dad and Reid and Their Music.

Reid checks his bag for the millionth time. “Okay. Seriously. Truce?”

The desperation in his voice pulls me out of enjoying his anxiety. I mean, I’m a just prankster. Honestly. Summer Institute at the Albany Institute is intense. You have to apply to apply. It’s, like, Julliard level, in terms of precollege programs.

“How could I have stolen your music if I didn’t know you were applying?” I ask. “Not that it wouldn’t have been deserved.”

“I didn’t think your password would actually be your birthday.”

“So that makes it okay?”

“Identity theft is not a joke, Natalie. You need a more secure password. Shit,” Reid mutters under his breath. “I just received the packet last week. I’ve been so focused on preparing for district auditions and the Harvest Festival, I hadn’t even looked over the pieces yet.”

“Can’t you request a replacement?” I ask. I stand and place my empty plate in the dishwasher before doubling back to pick up my textbook.

Reid shakes his head. “If I do that I might as well scream, I’m not serious about this!”

“No one is—”

Reid cuts me off. “You don’t get it.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Come on, Natalie. Isn’t that your whole thing? Not being serious?”

I step backward. “Not all of us have to make our one interest a personality.”