Opheliac by J. F. Jenkins Page A

smile, so she decided to not read too much into it. “Yeah, like I said, it’s a whole lot of drama. I’m glad JD never got into music like that, because if he went on those trips…hoo-boy, it would be nuts.”
    â€œI don’t think he’d survive. Someone would get fed up with his hyperactivity and strap him to the roof of the bus eventually.”
    She laughed. “I know, right?”
    â€œSo, you play the piccolo.”
    â€œYou got a thing against piccolo players?” She pursed her lips, setting her drink down on the table again. The goal was to come across as mildly intimidating, but he saw right through her. His blue eyes sparkled a little as they made eye contact and his smile widened. A smile that caused her heart to pound just a little harder.
    As casual as ever, Orlando leaned back in his chair, like they hadn’t just shared some kind of magical moment. “Not when they’re played correctly. I’m just trying to figure out if it’s a suitable instrument for your personality. You can tell a lot about a person based on their musical talents. For example, I, personally, played the piano for a little while, but gave that up because I was too lazy and not any good at it so it felt like a waste of time. My brain hates being creative.”
    â€œThat’s too bad, but I guess not everyone can be an artistic genius,” she said.
    â€œNope, so I just enjoy what other people can do. You know, it doesn’t surprise me that JD doesn’t play one. Guy doesn’t have the patience for practice.”
    â€œHe dabbled in the trumpet for a little while, actually.” She shrugged. “It’s hard to practice at home because of the twins. When they were born, that hobby of his kind of got the ax since it’s loud and annoying.”
    â€œHow fitting,” he deadpanned. “And if JD does anything, he doesn’t do it halfway.”
    â€œRight,” she said. “He does choir for his music credits. Bare minimum, but I think he enjoys it. You didn’t hear that from me ,though.”
    Orlando stretched out his arms slowly. “Who am I going to tell?”
    â€œHim?”
    â€œYeah…no. We’re not that close,” he mumbled, and she briefly wondered if that was a fact that bothered him. Did Orlando want to be better friends with her brother? Sometimes she wished she could read minds instead of start fires. Then there would be a lot fewer mysteries in her life.
    After a moment of quiet, she shrugged. “So what does a piccolo say about a person?”
    â€œThere aren’t a lot of them, so you like to stand out from the crowd. It’s also not an easy instrument to play, so you’re ambitious. Flute players in general are all a little cocky.” He tossed his cup into the trash can from where he was sitting. The way his hand arched and ended in a perfect forty-five-degree angle suggested that he’d been athletically trained. When the cup fell into the hole with a quiet swoosh, she applauded. Orlando only rolled his eyes.
    She stuck her tongue out at him. “Last time I ever try to pat your ego. You make a lot of interesting observations about people and the things they do. What if you’re wrong? What if I’m not those things?”
    â€œThen I’m wrong. I observe because I don’t have anything better to do with my time. People watching is my hobby.” He stood.
    Standing as well, Angela tilted her head to the side, curiously. “No other favorite ways to pass the time?”
    â€œFavorite is a strong word. I don’t like to have a favorite anything. It makes me feel like I can’t change my mind.”
    â€œLet me rephrase that: any other ways you enjoy passing the time.”
    When Orlando didn’t respond right away, she’d worried if perhaps she’d offended him. He had a tendency to get worked up over small things. What might not be rude to the average