But, of course, no one in school cared about that. And it didn’t feel good to have kids make fun of her for practically her whole life. It was the worst! One time, in sixth grade, two boys fought over whether she was “fat” or “chubby,” like her body was a visual presentation in debate class or something. They acted like she couldn’t even hear them, pointing at her the whole time. That infuriated her. And, boy, did she let them know. And when people made jokes on TV about “fat girls” or whatever, she could feel her whole heart burn up in utter rage. She wished she could let those people know how obnoxious they were, too, just like she had to those sixth grade boys.

She could fill a book with the obnoxious things people said.

And, yes, fine, it kind of bothered her that even though she knew that she was super cute, no one else seemed to.

It bothered her a lot, actually.

But she didn’t like to let people know it. Not the kids who said awful things to her, and not even Eve. Eve couldn’t ever understand, anyway. Eve had it a lot easier than she realized.

Nessa’s dad turned the conversation over to her. “How are you feeling about that list?” he asked, clearly pretending not to be worried.

“Whatever,” she said. “You know me. I don’t care about that stuff.”

Her mom shook her head. “So sad,” she muttered. “So cruel.”

“Yeah,” Nessa agreed. “Cruel.”

“You’re all perfect, exactly as you are. Each one of you,” her mom went on, sounding like she could cry.

Nessa looked away.

“Cheers to that,” her dad added.

As they cleared the table and did dishes, her dad started kissing her mom’s neck and Nessa and Delma groaned.

Her mom and dad were disgusting. But kinda sweet. How could two people who were so different be so obsessed with each other? They didn’t even like the same music and movies!

“What’s the problem?” her dad said as he turned to them, grinning. “Your mother happens to be quite kissable.”

“Oh man, it’s getting vomit-worthy.” Delma wiped her hands and went upstairs.

The read-through for The Music Man took place the next day, a Friday. The moment had arrived for her to shine, and to keep an ear and eye out for the holes in Brody Dixon’s mask of innocence.

At the read-through, they just had to speak the lyrics of the songs, not sing, so Brody might actually do okay. Add a melody and he’d flounder on the floor like a fish on land.

And Nessa wasn’t too annoyed with him to admit that his acting was good.

At auditions, when he’d looked at her all googly-eyed during their romance scene and professed, “I can’t go … For the first time in my life, I got my foot caught in the door…,” Nessa almost liked Brody for a second. She peered into his baby blues and felt her insides flutter a bit. Because, like a good actor, he meant it when he said it.