“Hey, it’s not your fault if you’re getting sick.” JJ pulls me to my feet. “How about I make you some warm tea? Is your throat sore? We have some lemon drops in the—”
“I’m not sick, JJ.” I smile at how sweet he’s being and then instantly remind myself that I don’t deserve it. Not when he’s going to lose the competition because of me.
“You don’t look so good.” He touches my forehead, concern etched on his face.
“I’m fine, JJ.” I tell him, though I suddenly feel a little sick. “I’m just panicking about the competition.”
“You are?” JJ frowns, like the idea’s unfathomable. “But you don’t even have to be on stage with us. You just get to watch.”
“I don’t have stage fright,” I say, then pause, realizing that’s not entirely true. “At least, I don’t think I do. I’ve never really had a chance to find out.”
“You haven’t sung on stage before?”
“Only as a kid.” I smile fondly at the memory of Mom sitting in the audience, her eyes bright as she watched me sing.
“Why’d you stop? You didn’t want to perform? Enter talent shows?”
“Not really.” I mean, who’d want to hear me and my whiny voice on stage? “And I got kicked out of our high school choir before our first performance.”
“You got kicked out of choir?” JJ gasps, and I suddenly feel like kicking myself. Why did I have to tell him about that?
“The teacher said it was because I kept getting distracted,” I quickly explain, even though that wasn’t the real reason I got kicked out. Father later told me that was just an excuse she made up so she wouldn’t hurt my feelings.
“You were too talented for them,” JJ gives my hand a squeeze.
“Thanks,” I whisper, though I know it isn’t true. Because the real reason is that no one in choir could stand my voice, they were just too nice to say so.
“So why are you nervous about the competition?” JJ asks.
I close my eyes and grimace, but there’s no avoiding this truth. “I don’t have a song.”
“But you have an outline, right?”
“I guess. I just can’t seem to write an actual song. My mind keeps drawing a blank, and I’m so scared I’ll let you guys down.”
“You could never let us down.” JJ gives my hand another squeeze. “I heard your other songs. They’re really good, Roonie.”
“If they were really good, why didn’t I get into college?” I blurt out. “Never mind, don’t answer that.”
“Whoever made that decision was an idiot, and Charles is looking into it. He has an appointment with the dean on Saturday.” JJ leans forward. He rests his large hands on my knees, sending my heart racing. “You’re really talented, Roonie. I just wish you’d see that.”
My cheeks flush. It’s so sweet of JJ to believe in me and of Charles to make that appointment with the dean. I know it won’t go anywhere, but it’s the thought that counts.
“You still have two days,” JJ reminds me.
“Two days.” I gulp.
“Just trust in your process.”
“My process?”
“Whatever you usually do when you’re composing.”
“You mean sing until I have a song and then write it down?” I frown, still not following.
“That’s not what I mean.” JJ laughs. “I mean your process. All artists have them. I learned that from my parents.”
“You said your dad draws, right?”
“He’s a cartoonist. Have you heard of Young Mouse?”
“Of course I’ve heard of Young Mouse. Who hasn’t?” It’s literally the most popular cartoon of the decade. “Wait, your dad’s on the art team?”
“Actually, he created it.” JJ shrugs, like it’s no big deal. “And whenever he’s working on a new concept, he goes to the gym.”
“He does?” I ask, suddenly feeling like I’m having a fangirl moment. Not only does JJ know the creator of Young Mouse, but it’s his dad. And now I get to hear about his process first-hand!
“I’d go with him a lot, but I don’t think he’d ever actually work out. He’d start lifting weights and then get distracted. That’s why he always brings his sketch pad with him. He loves drawing on the bench press instead of lifting.”
“Wouldn’t people ask him to move?”
“Hell, no. They’d sneak up behind him and try to get peeks at his work.” JJ grins. “And Mom’s process is just as weird.”
“What did you say she does again?”
“Puts fruit hats on sculptures of prominent political figures,” JJ recites, like she made him memorize that exact line so he wouldn’t get her job wrong. “Want to know what she does to get inspired?”
“What?”
“Makes a mess.” JJ grins. “She can only work when the house is in chaos. I mean, paint splashed everywhere, books and papers lying around. That sort of thing. She only paints to get ideas for her sculptures. And when she’s got a deadline, Dad and I aren’t allowed to touch anything. So we’re often hopping over piles of books and tiptoeing around wet paint.”
“In the house?” I gape.
JJ nods.
“I’d love to see that!”
“Next time she’s on a deadline, we’ll drive down. Just don’t try to talk to her while she’s working,” JJ warns.
“I won’t. Promise.” I grin, imagining what it must have been like for JJ to grow up with such creative parents.
“So, what’s your process, Roonie?” he asks, and my stomach roils, because I’m definitely not as cool or creative as his parents.
“I don’t have a process,” I admit, unable to meet his eyes. “I just come up with songs.”
“While doing what?” JJ presses.
“Mostly cooking or cleaning.”
“Then that’s your process.” JJ grins. “Cooking and cleaning.”
“Oh.” My face falls. I’m definitely not a real artist like his parents. My process is proof that I’m an amateur, just like the fact that I didn’t get into LUV Academy. I’m not a professional songwriter, and I never will be.
“Hey, I think it’s an awesome process,” JJ says. “It’s much better than making a mess of the house or hogging the bench press. Trust me.”
“If you put it like that.” I smile shyly.
“All right, then.” JJ pulls me to my feet. “The fridge is pretty bare, and our next grocery delivery isn’t coming until tonight, so cooking’s out. I guess we start cleaning.”
“What are we going to clean? The apartment’s spotless.” I look from the glistening floor to the sparkling windows to the immaculately clean counters. There isn’t a speck of dust anywhere—the housekeepers have made sure of that—so I have no idea what JJ expects us to clean.
“A process is a process, Roonie.” He shrugs, leading me toward the closet adjacent to the bathroom. It’s filled with extra sheets and towels, plus a whole bunch of cleaning supplies.