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"Thanks for the lift, Beth," I call out as I slide open the door of Kennedy's mum's minivan.

I wave goodbye to Kennedy's brothers and sisters as I step out, but they're too busy arguing over who should get the iPad currently in rotation to acknowledge me.

Walking up to the open passenger-side window, I adjust my guitar strap. "Bye, Ken, see you tomorrow." I smile at Beth. "Thanks again for the lift."

"Anytime, Lilah. It's the least I can do considering all the time Kennedy spends at your house."

"We love having her over."

"See?" Kennedy nudges her mother. "They know they're lucky to have me around."

Beth sighs and I step back, laughing at the dynamic between mother and daughter. As soon as they've reversed down the driveway, I head towards the mansion, my guitar feeling like a hundred kilos on my back.

"Hello!" I call out after letting myself into the house.

Silence greets me and I sigh, not exactly unhappy, merely surprised I can't see or hear anyone. I didn't see Ethan after school, which means there's a good chance he's with Ainsley, possibly even helping her with her songs for the showcase. I grimace internally before reminding myself I'm getting over Ethan.

I have no idea where Mum and Jesse are, and I don't know where Asher is. I'm just grateful he's not here to annoy me or distract me.

With this much quiet, I can get some homework done and start working on composing my audition piece. Before I do that, though, I'm going to take advantage of living in a mansion that has a king size pool. After hiking up the steps with my guitar, I change into a turquoise bikini that Ethan once told me brings out the colour in my eyes. I grab one of the pool towels from the large storage area under the stairs, then slide the back door open.

I step out onto the giant patio, kicking myself straight away for assuming Asher isn't around.

The soundproofing in this mansion is exceptional. Jesse made sure of that when he built the recording studio beneath the house. From inside, I couldn't hear the heavy rock and rap pouring out of the outside speaker system.

My gaze skips over to the pool, where my wicked stepbrother is swimming laps. His freestyle is solid, and he seems like he's in the zone. I don't think he's ever going to stop, but halfway through a lap, he stands up, breathing heavily, as if he's been swimming for hours instead of the short time after school.

Droplets of water slide over his tattooed torso. His dark hair is plastered over his forehead, but with one easy move, he slicks it back. That one small move makes me forget Asher is the spawn of Satan, and I stand there and just gawk at him. It isn't as if Ethan isn't built and gorgeous, but Asher is... magnificent like this.

With his wet hair slicked back, his sharp cheekbones, prominent nose and strong jawline are even more pronounced, making him look like a supermodel. If supermodels were needed to advertise Hell.

I want to believe this wet, tattooed, built Greek god has sneaked into the mansion and is using our pool – that it's not my evil stepbrother. Then his dark eyes focus on me, and I can no longer forget I'm perving on my number one enemy, especially when his expression changes from relaxed to pissed off in the blink of an eye.

Asher is often fierce when he faces me down, but right now, he looks like he wants to kill me. My heart thunders in my chest, and I swear lightning crackles around us, moisture and heat in the air, even though there were no clouds in the sky last time I checked. I'm tempted to walk back into the house and leave him and his dark mood outside, but why should I? This is my house too, whether Asher likes it or not. If I want to swim, I will.

Asher moves to the side of the pool and pulls himself out of the water with a grace I can't help but envy. Then he stalks towards me, his eyes hard on mine. Everything about him screams he is a predator – one who wants to tear me apart.

"What are you doing?" he growls once he stands in front of me.

I hold up my towel, swallowing back the stupid trickle of fear sliding down my spine. "Isn't it obvious?"

"I swim every day after school."

"So?"

"So," he says, drawing out the word. "That means you don't."

"This is my house, too, Asher."

He glares down at me, heat pouring off his near-naked and wet body. "Isn't it bad enough we have to see each other at school? Every time I see you at the dinner table, every time I see you in the corridor, or chatting to your friends, I'm reminded that my dad lost his mind and married your gold-"

"Stop!" I shout, holding my hands up. I want to scream at him, but the emotion clogging my throat stops me as his eyes burn into mine.

I'm so tired of his hatred of me and my mother. It's as if he thinks that if he doesn't constantly remind me that he hates me and hates that his dad married my mum I'll forget. Well, I'm not going to forget. Even when he doesn't say it, his hatred is in his eyes every time he looks at me. We're enemies and we'll never be anything but enemies. I get that. I've accepted that. But I don't want to have this argument. I don't want to engage with him. Arguing with him never gets me anywhere.

Asher crosses his arms, as if waiting for a reason he shouldn't continue to trash my mum and me. I shake my head, hating him for not giving my mum a chance. For not giving me a chance when I started dating Ethan. For always assuming the worst about me.

For misunderstanding me.

For hating me.

For calling Mum and me both users.

For ruining what I had with Ethan, and then encouraging Ethan to be with Ainsley.

For his constant cruelty.

I hate Asher Cassidy with every fibre of my being and piece of my soul. A soul that feels black and blue, bruised from all the verbal punches he throws at me.

Nothing will ever change between us. Jesse and my mum's marriage might last a lifetime, but it will be a miracle if Asher and I can survive this year without killing each other. Avoiding each other as much as possible is essential.

"I won't swim if you're here," I tell him reluctantly.

This is supposed to be my home and I want to stand my ground, but let's be serious; how much am I going to enjoy swimming if I have to share the pool with Asher?

"Good," he says, crossing his arms instead of stepping back.

I need him to move. "So, are you done using the pool?"

He shrugs. "I guess. For now. Since you interrupted me."

"Good."

Without waiting for him to change his mind, I throw my towel on the closest lounge chair, then squeeze past him, making sure I don't touch him.

Asher's gaze burns my skin as I dive into the cool water. Pretending he isn't there, I start swimming laps.

I lose track of time, pulling my body through the water from one end of the pool to the other. If I had a coach, I'm sure they would tell me I'm breaking a personal record. My muscles burn as fatigue sets in. I'm trying to exhaust myself into forgetting my interaction with Asher. It's impossible, though.

With every lap I swim, anger hits me harder. Why does he have to be so cold? So cruel? Why does he say such horrible things about me? Why didn't he give me a chance when I started dating Ethan? Why didn't he care that Ethan and I were happy together?

By the time I climb out of the water, I don't feel cool or relaxed. Anger burns in my gut, and after drying myself off, I go inside and walk up to my room, taking a seat at my desk without changing. Since assembly this morning, I've been mentally trying to compose a song for the auditions next week, one about Ethan and heartbreak, and sorrow. But all I feel right now is anger.

I pick up my guitar, strum it and close my eyes. When I open them, I pick up my pen and notepad, then I give voice to the anger raging inside of me.

***

I put my guitar back down on the bed and look at Kennedy, who looks back at me blankly.

After a moment, she says slowly, "Okay."

My heart sinks, as does my stomach. Obviously, I haven't wowed her with my first song.

"Why don't you play me the other song you're thinking about auditioning with?"

I'm performing tomorrow. I've worked hard on two different songs, but the song I just played Kennedy is the safer song choice. Just the thought of sharing the second song I wrote with anyone, even with Kennedy, makes adrenaline rush through my veins. Maybe I'm finally learning what it means to bleed all over the page, because I poured out every bit of anger and resentment I feel towards Asher onto a bit of paper and then wrote the notes to go with it.

It felt damn good at the time.

Cathartic.

But the song is raw, rough, and awfully exposing.

"I'm not sure it's ready," I tell my friend.

"Let me be the judge."

As I search for the song, my hands tremble and my heart lodges itself in my throat. I know the song off by heart, but I want the sheet in front of me, and I'm procrastinating. At the time I wrote the song, I was flooded with emotions. I felt everything I wrote and wrote everything I felt. I can't tell if that means the song is really good, or really bad. Kennedy will tell me, though. We don't lie to each other, not about music.

Laying my hands on my sheet music, I look towards the open door. Kennedy, reading my mind, gets up and shuts it before sitting down beside me on my bed. I'm grateful that both Ethan and Asher are in the basement practicing with M.O.D, so at least I don't have to worry about them overhearing me play. Even if Kennedy tells me this song is good – that it's ready – I'm not sure I'll be able to perform it at school. Not when it's so honest.

"Stop procrastinating," Kennedy orders.

Sighing, I pick up my guitar again, strumming it, hearing my heartbeat roaring in my ears. Then I close my eyes and sing the song I wrote about the stepbrother who loathes me.

When I finish, I put the guitar down, and Kennedy stares at me, her eyes wide.

"Wow, Lilah. That was...I've never heard you sing like that before, and none of your songs have been that...intense."

"Intense?"

She nods animatedly.

"I could feel everything: your anger and your resentment towards this guy who believes you're this person that you aren't. I could feel how his actions indirectly broke your heart through Ethan. It was all there. But the best part was, I could feel the hurt beneath the anger. And that got to me." She puts her fingers against her chest, tapping them gently against her sternum. "I felt it here."

I swallow hard as I take in what she's saying.

My song made her feel something, which fills me with an indescribable sense of accomplishment. It's always my goal when I write music. I love how music makes me feel so much, and I want people to feel the same way when they listen to my music.

As happy as I am that Kennedy is having that reaction, however, I'm worried I know what Kennedy is going to say next.

"That's the one," she says. "That's the one you have to sing tomorrow."

Pouring my heart out to Kennedy is one thing. Doing it in front of our entire senior year? The thought makes me feel like my dinner is about to make a reappearance. Every senior will know who I'm singing about.

As if she can sense what I'm thinking, Kennedy says softly, "This is art, and you have to take risks with art. Only a risk will get you into that showcase. You want a good partner or your own solo, you should perform the song about Asher. All of the emotions are there."

"I just don't know what Asher is going to say, or even what Ethan will say."

Kennedy frowns. "Fuck them. Who cares what they say? The song is brilliant. Forget everyone else's opinions. What the teachers think about your music is what matters most. Remember, this is your career. You need to put your best piece forward, and I'm sorry to say it, but the song about Ethan wasn't your best."

Her words are brutal. Even though I know she's right, and she's trying to help me by telling me the truth, her words scrape across every insecurity I've acquired since starting at the Academy. Maybe she didn't feel much while listening to the song I wrote about Ethan, but I still spent hours crafting it. I tried to pour my heart into it.

Obviously, I didn't succeed.

"The song about Ethan really isn't great?"

Kennedy's eyes fill with empathy. "It's okay."

"You can't feel the heartbreak?"

"I can, but..."

"But?"

"The song about Asher was stronger. The song about Ethan felt like something I'd heard before – something I'd hear on the radio. It was-"

"Generic," I sigh.

She shoots me an apologetic smile even as she nods.

It's just more proof that my default setting is writing bubble-gum pop. The sort of music that doesn't stand out, according to my teachers.

"The song about Asher will make a much bigger impression. Have a go. Be bold."

That's easier said than done.

"I'll think about it."

Kennedy taps my shoulder. "Good."

"Are you going to play your songs for me now?" I ask, motioning to her violin, needing to focus on something other than tomorrow.

Kennedy nods and grabs her instrument.

As she starts to play, I let her music carry me away to someplace else. Once she finishes, I tell her both songs she played were amazing. Because they were. Kennedy will nail the audition. She's brilliant. Arguably the best violinist at the Academy.

I need to nail my audition too if I want a spot at A.U.O.M; I must give this year everything I have. Thinking about singing my song about Asher sends shot after shot of adrenaline through me and makes my stomach churn. It will be like reading my diary to the entire senior year.

Still, I owe it to myself to go with my best piece and damn the consequences, right?