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“Dude, move over, I can’t hear anything.”

“He’s my boyfriend. Why do you even care?”

“Well, he’s my weird exchange brother. And I’m nosy as fuck.”

Nat caught the look he threw her and she crouched aside so he could put his ear to the door without twisting his spine into a knot.

There was a click behind him. Yu had snapped another photo.

“If those wind up in the yearbook, I’m going to kill you.”

Unbothered, Yu kept snapping the camera. “You’ll be off in Ireland by the time the yearbooks get delivered.”

“Not if Bren stays here for his career in musical theater,” Nat said.

A.J. mostly managed to stifle his laugh, but then shame gnawed at his stomach. Bren really wasn’t that bad unless you factored in the dancing, but it wasn’t like he or Nat were going to flap their tail-feathers at Swan Lake anytime soon.

“Seriously, when is he going to start?”

Nat’s question was rendered moot as Bren’s booming tenor rang through the door. After days of practice, A.J. had finally gotten him out of head-voice, only for him to settle on something that was closer to rhythmic shouting than actual singing.

“At least he’ll free up a mic for someone else,” Yu said, ever the stage manager.

A.J.’s heart lifted.

No one would have to tell Bren to sing for the back row, that was for sure. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. The no-cut auditions were the same each year: sixteen bars of a song from the musical, chosen by Mrs. Lovell; a dance assessment; a dramatic reading; and as many bars of a second song as she’d let you get through before she told you her ears were bleeding. He’d helped Bren with everything but the second song, which Bren insisted on winging.

After a muffled rendition of a scene Bren had picked from Billy Maddison and a period of silence interrupted only by a ‘Fuck! Ah, sorry, Mrs. Lovell,’ Bren’s second song began.

“Dude. Listen to what you did to that poor straight boy,” Nat said, sounding like she was caught between cooing and laughing.

He gave her a shove, but there wasn’t much conviction behind it. “Just shut up and eavesdrop,” A.J. said, pressing his cheek flat against the door.

His love for her flickered when Mrs. Lovell cut Bren off right at sixteen bars. She’d let Nat get through all of I Can’t Do It Alone. What was the harm in letting Bren dance through life a little longer?

“Shit. Scramble!”

He and Nat fell back on themselves as footsteps jogged towards the door. They had only just managed to settle themselves on the bench across the hall when the door flew open.

“Alright. Am I supposed to pretend like you lot weren’t listening at the door?”

A.J. tried to look indignant as he got to his feet, even if he knew the sheen of sweat on his forehead was giving him away. Nat’s poorly suppressed giggles weren’t helping either. But he hoped Bren might ignore them as he went in for a hug.

“You sounded really good!”

Bren scoffed but hugged him back, letting go before the peanut gallery got going.

“You know you blush when you lie, yeah?” Bren asked, his cheeks turning rosy.

“I’m always blushing about something,” A.J. said.

Bren laughed but locked his eyes on Nat. She considered him, then shrugged.

“Like, a solid six and a half.”

To A.J.’s surprise, Bren looked more assured by her assessment than his. He wasn’t sure how to take that, but at least they were getting along.