Emma Kate once dared me to google a picture of Maddox's parents' multimillion-dollar mansion. While Parker's family didn't appear to be as rich as the Maddox family, his father's house still should have belonged on the cover of a magazine.

The house was a combination of white stone and stunning brown brick. Each window was molded in white and had dark blue shutters to match the roof. Based on the outside, I guessed it had at least four if not more bedrooms, and I could see a pool beyond a perfect picket fence.

We pulled into a massive driveway that could have held a dozen cars, except there was only a BMW parked outside a closed triple garage. The grass was so green I wondered if it was AstroTurf.

Parker didn't seem to hold the same awe I did. He climbed out of his truck and slammed the door with a hard thump. I got down from the cab and gaped up at the picturesque trees and the violets planted in the front flower bed.

We walked up the driveway together. Parker punched a code into the front door, and the lock clicked. Then he led me into the largest house I'd ever been in.

"Lizzie?" Parker removed his shoes and left them on a rack.

"Kitchen, sweetie," chirped a distant voice.

Parker looked mildly alarmed. I took my shoes off quickly and left them beside Parker's Nikes. I followed Parker through a formal living room and back into a massive kitchen. A petite woman in her late twenties stood in front of a chrome-finished microwave waiting on a TV dinner to heat.

She beamed at Parker and raised an eyebrow when she saw me. "Parker, who's our guest?"

"Lizzie, this is Lexi," Parker said. "Lexi, meet Lizzie, my stepmother."

Based on her age, I expected him to introduce her as the housekeeper or babysitter. She was maybe ten years older than Parker. Based on the way that Parker had introduced her with a tone of formality rather than cheer, I supposed that Parker didn't really approve of Lizzie.

"Nice to meet you," I said.

"We're going upstairs to work on my monologue," Parker said.

"Go on right ahead," Lizzie said. "I don't need to ask you to leave any doors open, do I?"

"Lizzie," Parker looked embarrassed. "We'll be using the playroom."

"Sorry, sorry," Lizzie held up her hands. "I'll get out of your way. Snacks are in the cupboard, and there's juice in the fridge."

"Thank you, Lizzie," Parker said, opening a cabinet and pulling out a pack of Oreos and a bag of chips.

Parker pulled two Cokes from the fridge and led me through the massive house and up the stairs into what I guessed had to be the playroom. It was an open area in the center of the floor littered with toy boxes, Legos, and dolls.

A hallway stretched on either side of the playroom leading to what I guessed were bedrooms. The hallway to the right was littered with toys, and daisies were painted on the walls, while the hallway to the left was painted a somber gray.

"The kids' rooms are that way," Parker pointed down the daisy hallway. "And my sister and I have our rooms down there with the home theater," he pointed down the other hallway. "My sister and I don't live here full time, so it's nice to have rooms dedicated to us even if Lizzie tried to decorate them."

"The house is lovely," I said. "Surely your room isn't that bad."

Parker laughed. "Come on. You'll have to see it to believe it."

We walked down the somber gray hallway, and Parker pushed open the first door on the right. I frowned into the dark room, not quite believing what I saw even after he flipped the light switch.

"It's... Jurassic Park themed," I said, utterly nonplussed.

The logo was painted on the wall behind the bed. Dinosaur skeletons hung from the ceiling. Movie posters hung on the wall. A row of dinosaur plushies sat on top of a bookcase, holding books on dinosaurs.

The only remotely college guy thing about the room was a camo bean bag in front of a flatscreen TV. The room looked like it belonged to a tween except for the queen-sized bed in the center of the good-sized room covered in a Jurassic Park duvet.

"Apparently, my dad told Lizzie it was my favorite movie when I was a kid," Parker said. "It was when I was ten for about six months after I saw it for the first time. I've never had the heart to tell her that it's the worst theme imaginable."

"At least you know she tried," I said, pointing to a signed movie poster.

Parker groaned. "Shayna's room is worse. She got Cinderella, and Lizzie didn't see the irony of a stepmother decorating to that theme. Let's just say my sister tore the room to shreds when it was presented to her. Then dutiful Lizzie redecorated it. Now it's a pink fuzzy nightmare. I think Shayna's slept in there a grand total of ten times."

"I'm guessing you normally live with your mother?" I asked.

Parker nodded. "I wasn't really on speaking terms with my father until about a year ago. Took Shayna even longer to offer a semblance of an olive branch. She's not thrilled I'm staying here this summer."

Parker led me back to the playroom, where he sat us down on the leather couch against the back wall. Then he pulled out his phone, and the monologue I assigned him was playing to a syncopated beat with an electric guitar and drums.

"Did you make this?" I asked.

"No," Parker said. "My sister's boyfriend's best friend is a bit of a musician. He loves a challenge. Plus, Carson thinks I'm pretty cool."

"And can you recite it?" I frowned.

"If I sing the song in my head," Parker said. "I thought this would be the fastest way to memorize it."

"Use the resources you have," I said. "Now, let's see you recite it."

Parker stood with his hands in his pockets and shifted uncomfortably as he recited the monologue. There were a few odd pauses where he seemed to be singing the song in his head before he remembered the next line, but he made it through the passage mostly unscathed.

I had him repeat the monologue over two more times before offering any critiques. For only having a monologue about twenty-four hours, he wasn't bad.

"Try to use your hands," I said. "Don't shove them in your pockets. You can walk around, but it should be purposeful. Feel the poetry and the emotion."

"You sound like an English major," Parker said. "I never got that whole load of feel the poetry."

"Poetry is meant to roll off the tongue," I said. "You should listen for a pulse and a rhythm. Don't say the words, feel the emotion in the meaning. Be Prospero."

Parker frowned. "Be Prospero. It sounds so simple."

He opened the pack of Oreos and handed me one. He pulled the Oreo apart, eating the cream first before the cookie and grabbing another.

"What was the first show you were ever in?" He asked.

I wished the answer was cool. He could look up my performing biography on the drama department website, so it was probably better not to lie.

"My high school couldn't afford any production rights my freshman year," I said. "So, we did this jukebox musical the drama teacher wrote about two teens having a summer romance. It wasn't super original."

Parker took another Oreo from the box. "What's a jukebox musical?"

"You know, where they throw a bunch of pop songs around a plot," I said. "Like how Mama Mia is entirely ABBA songs."

"Oh," he said. "It's cool your teacher wrote it."

"I didn't get to do a real musical production until I was a junior," I said. "I played the lead in Annie. Everybody joked I got the casting because I was a redhead."

Parker smiled. "I bet you were an adorable Annie."

There was a rustling on the stairs. Lizzie appeared a moment later, holding a tray with two tall glasses of lemonade. She beamed and set the tray on a side table beside a half-finished Lego structure of Baby Yoda.

"I brought you and your girlfriend some fresh lemonade," she said.

Parker looked absolutely mortified. He scooted away from me, and I just laughed. It was kind of cute to see him so flustered.

"Mrs. Christian," I said. "I'm Parker's Shakespeare tutor." 

"Oh," Lizzie said as realization dawned on her face. "Oh, I'm so sorry. I just assumed you were dating since you're such a pretty girl, I'll... I'll just go."

She fled lemonade forgotten on the side table. Parker sighed and pulled his phone back out. It almost seemed like a reflexive movement.

"Sorry about that," Parker said. "Lizzie tries so hard."

"She's cute," I said. "But I have to ask. Do you like regularly bring girls here?"

"No," Parker said. "I haven't dated since high school. I also generally try to avoid this place, but since I kind of found out late that I'd have to stay for the summer session, I didn't have much choice but to move in."

I found it kind of weird that a guy like Parker hadn't dated anyone since high school. If I was honest, I hadn't dated in a year either, but I had plenty of guys who were friends in the theater.

"You are pretty," Parker said awkwardly. "Like she said. Not that I wouldn't... date you, I mean, but..."

"It's fine," I said, realizing the uncomfortable situation he was in. "I'm sure Lizzie meant well like you said."

"Also, I probably wouldn't touch that lemonade either," Parker said. "Lizzie is not a stellar cook. She tried to follow the recipe on a box of frozen lasagna my first night and set off the smoke detector."

"Guessing your dad didn't marry her for her cooking," I said.

A dark shadow crossed Parker's face, and I realized I'd stepped directly into a hidden landmine. He had mentioned it took him a long time to speak to his father, but I hadn't realized how deep that wound was.

I looked down at the Oreo still in my hand after he placed it there. The cookie was crumbling around the edge leaving black dust on my fingers. For lack of a better thing to do, I shoved the offending cookie in my mouth and chewed.

"I don't know what he was thinking," Parker finally said. "He gave up one perfect suburban fantasy for a younger model."

Looking around at all the toys, I realized what he meant. Parker felt replaced. He had half-siblings who shared their life with his father like he once had.

"I'm sorry," I said. "That can't be easy."

"I'm trying to work through it," he stiffened.

I glanced at my watch, and my eyes nearly bugged out of my head. It was almost four-thirty. How had time passed so quickly?

I got up abruptly. "I'm going to be late for my job. Can you take me back to campus?"

"Better yet, I can drive you straight there," Parker said. "Where do you work?"

My ears heated. Even my friends didn't know that I actually worked at Maddox's favorite post-rehearsal lunch spot. Well, except for Emma Kate, but we shared everything.

I picked at the fraying edge of my shirt. My uniform was in my locker at the café. I could run from campus and make it before five. Probably.

"I can get there from campus," I said.

"You know it's not so embarrassing to have a job," Parker said. "I'll give you a lift, and I won't tell anybody where you work if you want."

"I work at the Cheesy Fatted Café," I said as my entire face turned as red as my hair.

"Oh..." Parker's eyes went wide with understanding before he grinned. "Well, come on. We don't want you to be late."

I followed him back downstairs, study session forgotten. We both pulled on our shoes by the door, and Parker pulled his keys off the peg by the door. Climbing back in his truck Parker programmed the GPS, and he navigated out of his dad's long driveway to take me to work. 

Hey everyone!!! I had a great writing sprint this weekend finishing not one but two chapters. I'd love to hear your thoughts. I laughed a lot while working on this chapter. If you're in the mood for more Shakespeare and drama swing over to my other story "Before the Curtain Opens" staring Shayna, Parker's sister. Until next time.

--Eliana