Page 90 of Loaded

“You—” She sighs. “You have a lot to offer, and you shouldn’t get stuck doing jingles.”

“Yes, you said.”

“And I know that’s not really my decision to make.”

“You should have chosen the best song,” I say. “For Jello and for me.”

“I’ve thought about that a lot.”

“Mhmm.”

Her name’s called, but since I’m in her way, I go grab it.

“You didn’t have to do that.” Her expression’s pained.

“Do what?” I frown. “You’d have had to walk around me.”

“Oh.” She nods.

“Look, I asked to meet with you, because I think you owe me.”

“I’m not sure what I could possibly?—”

“I want a job at your agency, or at least, I want you to recommend my portfolio. Jingles are what I want to do.”

“No way,” she says. “That can’t be true. No little kid’s dream is writing jingles.”

“Why not?” I arch my eyebrow. “Why can’t that be my dream?”

“People want to write songs that touch others. Songs that stick with them. Songs that resonate.”

“I can’t perform my own songs,” I say.

“You could.” She takes a bite, and I wait. “Wow, this is really good.”

“I don’twantto perform my songs,” I say. “It’s not that I’m afraid or I have to get over it. It just sounds like torture to me. I can’t think of anything that I would want to do less than sing my own songs. And besides, there are plenty of people who could do them better than I can.”

“Plenty of people play piano better than you?” She sounds skeptical.

“Well, no, not that part, but the singing, yes. Including you.”

“But your voice?—”

“Is fine,” I say. “I’ve been told. But you’re not listening. I love writing songs. I don’t like singing them. I don’t want to perform them. I just don’t. I’m not the gorgeous yet reserved girl who just needs to come out of her shell.”

Octavia laughs, and even her laugh sounds like bells.

“Look,” I say. “You were born to sing. I’m not sure whether you noticed, but the contest you sent me—the prize is a record deal. I don’t even want that. I want someone else to sing my songs.” I lean closer, but before I can say anything else, my stupid tacos come. “That one is for her.” I point.

“You could negotiate all that with the label,” Octavia says. “My agency could even represent you once you have a deal on the table.”

“I’m negotiating now,” I say. “With you.”

“But I’m not the person at our agency who does this sort of thing.”

“Not your agency,” I say. “Withyou. I wantyouto sing my song.”

“But the rules say?—”

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