Free Hello, I Love You by Katie M. Stout Page A

springs up in the room.
    Jason shakes his head in dismissal. “He’s being respectful. It means ‘older sister.’”
    “Korean thing?” I venture, but neither responds.
    “Why did you need help with your part?” Jason asks, ignoring what might have been misconstrued between me and Yoon Jae. “I showed it to you yesterday.”
    “I know, but it didn’t sound right. And she fixed it! Did you know her father is Stephen Wilde?”
    Jason cuts his eyes to me, and I fight the instinct to shrink back from his scrutiny. Instead, I take the moment to look him up and down. He’s got on another pair of brightly colored sneakers and jeans that hug his thin legs. Heat stretches up my neck, and I force my eyes up to his face, though my mind doesn’t find solace there, either.
    “I’ve met Stephen Wilde,” he finally says, “and you don’t look like him.”
    I scoff. What, he doesn’t believe it? “You’re right. I look like my mom,” I say.
    Praise God. Dad has a terribly unfortunate nose that poor Nathan inherited.
    “Why didn’t you say anything about this earlier?” he asks.
    “Because it didn’t come up. I’m not in the habit of talking about my parents wherever I go.”
    I’ve had enough hangers-on that I’m sick of the attention. Though I feel sure Jason would never stoop to using his connection to me to get ahead. That would require him to admit he needs me.
    “Would you like a complete family tree?” I add.
    I hope not. Neither of them has put it together that Nathan’s my brother. Most people don’t know Dad’s best client is actually his son, since Nathan adopted his stage name from Momma’s maiden name—Nathan Cross. Dad decided it wasn’t good business for everyone to know he produced his own kid’s music.
    “She could help with the new song,” Yoon Jae cuts in. “You said you were having a difficult time with it.”
    The edges of Jason’s eyes tighten. “I don’t need any help.”
    I hold up my hands in surrender. “Look, I didn’t mean to cut into anything. If you don’t want me here, I can leave.”
    Breezing past him, I catch a whiff of fresh-smelling cologne that sends my head reeling. I reach for the doorknob to make a quick exit before I have to face my conflicting emotions, when Jason stops me with, “Let me hear what you did to the drum section.”
    I point to the sheet music in Yoon Jae’s hands. “I wrote it down.”
    He takes it from the drummer and studies the changes. “Do you play drums?”
    “She doesn’t play any instrument,” Yoon Jae provides. “She just knows everything about music.”
    “That’s not true,” I say. But I can’t help smiling at his blind confidence in me. “I only know a few things.”
    “Would you be interested in helping me with a new song?” Jason asks, a grudging calmness sharpening his voice, like it physically hurts him to ask for help. “I need it finished and sent to the producers to approve before November, so a little less than two months.”
    I shrug, but my pulse accelerates at the idea—piecing together music like I used to do with Nathan when Dad wasn’t around. “Maybe.”
    “I would tutor you in Korean,” he offers. “I don’t take anything for free.”
    “ Hyung knows a lot of Korean,” Yoon Jae speaks up for him. “He just can’t read it, which is why he’s in the class.”
    Jason shoots the other boy a sharp look but quickly shifts his attention back to me. We face off, and I find myself seriously considering the offer. It could be fun, even though it would mean spending a lot of time with him. But maybe Yoon Jae and Tae Hwa would stop by to break the tension. Or, I would sit alone with him, maybe in his room.
    My pulse spikes again.
    I suppress a cringe. I really need to rethink my priorities. Being alone with Jason anywhere means bad news. We already argue, no matter if we’ve had a few civil conversations. We are not friends. Period.
    Still …
    “Fine,” I say, “but only because I need a