“Well, getting a recording contract doesn’t guarantee you’ll be some ultra-mega-famous singer with millions of stans who stalk you on Twitter.”

“Yeah, I know. But there’s the unpredictability, you know? Honestly, I think I’d rather bomb than be ultra famous.”

“I can understand that.” My few experiences with the paparazzi and tabloids writing about me haven’t been fun. You wouldn’t even think the child of a hotel mogul would be that interesting, but the world loves to watch a fuckup.

“I’m just trying to do what I can to help my parents,” Wyatt tells me.

“Okay, but what do you want to do?”

“I don’t really know; I haven’t thought much about it.”

“Kind of sick that we’re expected to know what we want to do with the next sixty years when we’re sixteen, huh?”

“No kidding. I’ve already had to start submitting college applications, drafting scholarship essays, making sure I’ve got enough extracurriculars and volunteer hours for the admissions people to even give me a second glance.”

He really has to do all of that? Like I’ve heard of kids in, like, TV shows and movies having to work themselves to death just to get into a decent college, but I didn’t think that it was real.

Mom never really talked about college before, but it’s sort of an inside joke at Steerfield that a graduate has enough money to go to whatever college they want.

I guess not for Wyatt, though.

“Oh, ten o’clock.”

“What?” I glance at my watch. “It’s eight.”

“No.” Wyatt chuckles. “My ten, your four.”

“What?”

“Like a clock face?”

“What the hell are you talking about, Fowler?”

“Just look over your right shoulder!” he whispers.

I turn slowly, trying not to attract attention to myself, and I see Josh sitting at a table, another boy seated across from him. I don’t recognize the guy, but he’s conventionally attractive, with black hair and light brown skin. Josh looks head over heels for him; he’s totally got that puppy-dog look in his eyes while the guy is telling some story.

I don’t want to feel jealous; that’s not what this is, the heat in my stomach is nothing, the bitterness I feel doesn’t have anything to do with this. It’s just—well, I’d like to just blame it on my period, but I don’t get those much anymore.

Who even is this guy? And what’s he saying that’s got Josh so hooked on his every word?

“Do you know who that is?” Wyatt asks.

“No, why would I?”

“I didn’t know if they might be a mutual friend or something.”

“No. Never seen him before in my life.”

There’s a beat of silence while I stare at the two of them.

“You’re going to burn a hole in the back of his head,” Wyatt cuts in.

I turn back quickly toward Wyatt, confused by whatever the hell he just said. “What?”

“You’ve never heard that expression? Staring at someone so hard you’ll burn a hole in their head.”