“Do I?”

“You’re balling up your fists so tight in your sweater, I’m worried you might rip it,” she pointed out.

I immediately released my hands. “I guess I am a little nervous. And right now, I’m wishing I hadn’t worn this stupid sweater.”

Rachel shrugged. “I was thinking how jealous I was of your outfit. You look comfortable.”

I stifled a groan. “You are not jealous. I look like I’m headed to the grocery store. Meanwhile, you literally look flawless.” I gestured at her.

“Thanks.” She tugged at the white fabric. “I wasn’t sure what to wear. They gave us no indication of what the first day would entail.”

“I know. I tried to get something out of Brady, but he gave me nothing,” I said as we all leaned forward in our seats. “They tried to get me to change into a dress. Like, for what?”

“Same!” Rachel exclaimed. “I didn’t want to, just in case there was some kind of surprise competition. I need to move.” She gave Sofia’s skintight dress a once-over.

Sofia giggled. “Move? All I cared about was looking as hot as possible.”

Rachel shot me a look with raised eyebrows, and I tilted my head. What kind of writing competition would involve that much movement? I looked over at Trace, who now also appeared perplexed.

“What’s all y’all’s favorite genre?” she asked after a moment of silence.

“Probably romance or fantasy?” I responded quickly.

She gave me a funny look. “I meant music, silly.”

“Oh.” It was a strange question, but I suppose it was nice to get to know these women. We’d be spending the next few weeks together, after all. “I guess I listen to mostly folk, indie-type music.”

“R&B for sure,” Rachel said.

“Pop,” Sofia said. “I’ll listen to anything that’s Top Forty.”

“How fun. We’re all different.” Trace clapped her hands in excitement. “I only sing country.”

“Wow, you sing?” I turned toward her. “I’m totally tone-deaf. I’d love to hear you sometime.”

Trace’s mouth dropped open and she whipped her head around, looking at us all. “What do you mean you’re tone-deaf?”

“Same here,” Rachel agreed. “Can’t carry a tune to save my life.”

“I’m not that bad. I can act a little, too,” Sofia said.

Trace looked between us all “Are you. . . are you not all here to sing? I’m so confused.”

“Sing?” Rachel balked. “I’m a dancer.”

I snorted. “I can’t do either.” Puzzle pieces flew through my mind, but I couldn’t connect them. “Uh, I’m a writer.”

“Then why are you on a singing competition?” Trace asked, bewildered.

“I’m not,” I said, panic rising in my chest. What the hell was going on? “I’m here for a writing competition.”

Rachel snorted. “I don’t know what you’re all talking about, but I’m here to dance.”

We all looked at each other, wild-eyed, before turning to Sofia.

She gave a dismissive flick of her wrist. “What? I’m just here to get famous.”

Ice ran down my spine. Something was seriously wrong.