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mouth says one thing: disappointment.
    As the spotlight dims, Adelaide must see it too. She flips him the bird. Then it’s back to smiles and honest to God giggles I can hear over the applause.
    “Yes, she’s very good,” he says, almost too quietly to hear. “But she’s a pain in the ass.”
    He turns to me and stares outright. I’m caught again. Lost again. His eyes are stormy and bright with emotion. With doubt? Hope?
    Yeah, right.
    “She’s wild and takes everything for granted. Even what you just saw. Are you up to dealing with her?” He shakes his head in that gesture I don’t like. Pity? Doubt? “Frankly, you’re not the most resilient girl I’ve ever met.”
    Oh, how wrong you are.
    “Is that why you’re sitting with me? Checking me out?”
    “Among other things,” he says with a sharp grin.
    “Does she practice?”
    His eyes lose that scary intensity. He’s about to tease me. How do I know that so quickly? I thought he was Fort Knox with me carrying only a tourist map. No way in.
    “I bet you practice every day,” he replies, dodging my question.
    It comes across as an accusation. “Yes.”
    “Like you did this morning?”
    I look away, embarrassed all over again. He catches my chin, and our gazes smash together like speeding cars. He keeps doing that. Colliding with me. I can’t tell if it’s the best thing ever, or a force that’ll bust me into a thousand pieces. All I know is that I can’t stand how he’s using all this magnetic, irresistible bullshit on me when his girlfriend is center stage.
    He tightens his fingers in a silent prompt for an answer. “Yes,” I say. “Like I did this morning.”
    “Can you do it again, or was that a onetime deal?”
    “Of course I can do it again.”
    “Prove it,” he says bluntly. “It’s an open mic, Keeley. The next person up onstage is the next person to perform. Simple.”
    I start to tremble. “Do you mean me ?”
    “Why not?”
    I can’t answer. I blink past a surprising rush of tears. Suddenly I’m back in that damn courtroom, with a hundred pairs of eyes on me, hanging on every word. Some were sympathetic, like Ursula’s and even the judge’s. The reporters’ were avaricious. The defense attorney may as well have been made of ice.
    And Jude wants me to go through that again? Center of attention? It burned a scar onto my soul. How mortifying would it be to get onstage in front of all these people and just . . . freeze ?
    I don’t duck in time to avoid a clue-by-four. The courtroom . . . and the stage . . . and all eyes on me. I can’t go through that again. It’s only taken me, what, six years to figure that out, with this guy Jude watching me so expectantly?
    “Keeley?”
    “No way,” I say. “And don’t try the crap you pulled on that guy. I won’t be bullied about this. You can’t dare me.”
    “How can I resist? Hearing you through sound dampening walls wasn’t enough. I want to see you too.” He lets go of my chin, but doesn’t let go of me—not emotionally, anyway. He strokes the backs of his knuckles against my cheek. “And a dare won’t be necessary.”
    Jude says it with complete confidence. Oh, to have a tenth of his assurance. I’d be the one playing at the Met, wowing crowds with my own compositions. But I haven’t played for anyone other than Clair and John, tutors, and profs. It’s been years since I took the witness stand, but I can’t imagine getting up in front of a crowd again. Little recitals and how I’d performed for a small panel of music administrators to earn my fellowship—those were low-key and necessary. This is huge and completely un necessary.
    That doesn’t keep me from wanting Jude to keep pushing. He stared at Adelaide with such entertained delight—until that confusing moment at the end when he seemed disappointed. I don’t want to disappoint him. I won’t .
    Keep going. Don’t stop. I want to play for you, but I don’t know how.
    I burn beneath the return of