I laugh despite myself, which clearly only encourages him.

“So you can smile!” he says triumphantly. “Okay, name that musical: ‘You’re Never Fully Dressed Without a Smile.’ ”

“Annie.”

Asad sits back in his chair with a grin.

“I’m impressed. My repertoire of Broadway lines usually goes unnoticed—and most certainly unappreciated—by the high school masses. We need more people like you around here.”

I sink into my seat.

“People like me?”

Asad keeps talking nonchalantly, like he doesn’t realize I’m waiting for some gut-wrenching definition of exactly what kind of “people” he means.

“You know, people who actually appreciate the theater.”

I allow myself to unclench when I realize his comment had nothing to do with my face.

“Well, sometimes Real Housewives is a repeat,” I say.

Asad smiles.

“I’m glad you’re here, Ava.”

I glance at the empty seats stretching out on the other side of me.

“Well, that makes exactly one of you. Besides Piper, you’re basically the first person in this whole school to talk to me, unless talking about me counts. Which, FYI, it doesn’t.”

“You do give off a pretty intense ‘don’t talk to me’ vibe. Even in the hall with Piper, your eyes are always on the floor.”

I force myself to look at him, suddenly aware that I have, in fact, been staring at my shoes. Asad’s shocking, almost-black irises are so dark I can see myself in them.

“That is so not true.”

He smirks. “Okay, do you remember when I tried to talk to you on your first day?”

“Yeah.”

“You totally ignored me.”

“I thought you were just being nice. Throwing a pity conversation to the new, burned girl.”

Asad rolls his eyes. “I was being nice. And you shut me down.”

Clueless. That’s what I called him. A hastily scribbled description in the corner of a lined page. The flip-flop of my stomach tells me I may not be able to write him off as easily I did in that notebook.

“I’m just saying maybe look up once in a while,” he says. “Who knows what you’re missing.”

I stammer for words. I’d think Asad was a total jerk if he weren’t sitting there with a smile on his face, totally free of malice as he tells me I’m to blame for having only one friend in this whole place.

I’d probably be more offended if that smile didn’t make me feel like this boy with no filter might be number two.

A lanky boy dressed in black strides onto stage barefoot and claps, scattering the actor and actress wannabes to their seats. Asad snaps to attention as the boy in black paces on the stage, his chin cradled in his palm thoughtfully, as if he’s about to deliver a Hamlet-worthy soliloquy.