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“And here I thought you couldn’t act, Miss Robin,” Sparkle drawled. “Not that you didn’t want to. Don’t famous singers only slum it in theatre when they’ve got something to prove?”
Robin was seated at the piano when Sparkle slipped into the rehearsal room, posture perfect even alone. She smiled, cautiously. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Your meeting with the director, genius,” said Sparkle. “You’ve got him wrapped around your pretty little pinky.”
She was trying to sound bored and failing. Failing, because for all her quicksilver talent on stage, she couldn't hide her curiosity to save her life, and Robin had finally awakened it. Her sweet, smiling co-star, who with a few polite conversations had convinced the director to defang her character beyond recognition.
“I suppose it’s a matter of creative differences,” murmured Robin. Her eyes went back to the piano keys. “Restraint can be as powerful as passion—”
“Restraint? Any more restraint and you’ll put the damn audience to sleep.” Sparkle put her hands on her hips. “No, I get it. You just think it’ll hurt your perfect idol brand to let yourself weep and curse a little. That’s what you’re trying to protect, yeah?”
A flicker in Robin’s face—there, then gone. When she looked up, her gaze was unexpectedly luminous.
“I admire your performance, Sparkle. The way you become someone else entirely. But I can’t be like you.”
“Maybe not. But you could be more, if you let yourself go,” Sparkle scoffed. “A shame you won’t play it right, little bird.”
All that brilliance, wasted on building her own cage. Something shifted in Sparkle’s mind as she backed toward the door. This was someone worth watching, even if Sparkle hadn’t pinned her down just yet.
She paused at the threshold, lips curving.
“Think about it.”