I slid into the passenger seat and had closed the door before it occurred to me I was being unbelievably stupid. I'd known this guy for 2 weeks and had merrily hopped into his car. He could be a psychopath, famous or not. And he was a boy, weren't there rules about this kind of thing? Dating rules.

I pushed the thought away. I'd actually have to be attracted to Ezra to worry about my dating James. But I wasn't remotely attracted to him, not at all. Plus James and I were in a great place, this was just a job. Nothing more nothing less.

I'd just started to buckle my seat belt when Ezra tore out of the parking space, cutting across several lanes just to get stopped by a red light.

"Has anyone ever told you you're an awful driver? Because someone needs to." I released my grip on the ends of the seat, calming my heart. Did all famous people drive like this? If so I should really get out of the business.

"I prefer impatient," He glanced over at me. "Damn New York traffic drives me insane."

Easing up on the gas pedal, he grunted as a cab squeezed in front of him.

After accusing me of being a crazed fan, I thought he'd want nothing to do with me outside of the lessons. Ezra did seem like the type of person to hate being proved wrong(or have someone openly admit they're not completely in love with him).

"Why are you doing all of this?" I asked after a few moments of silence. "You don't even know me."

Ezra shrugged. "Maybe I want to know you."

I stiffened. Alert! Alert! Alert! My brain was screaming. I had to get out of this situation, find an exit, find James. I swallowed the lump in my throat. "But why - "

"You ask a lot of questions. Has anyone ever told you that? Relax."

"Relaxing really isn't in my vocabulary."

"I've noticed." The car made another abrupt turn, throwing me against the window.

"Ow!" I hissed, rubbing my head where it'd slammed against the glass.

"Sorry. Blame the taxi!"

Suddenly, the inside of the car felt smaller. Chatting and getting a ride seemed extremely intimate in comparison to our super formal, all business piano arrangements. I relaxed a tiny bit.

Soon, we were cruising down an empty street towards a gigantic music hall. The entire outside was made up of huge, dazzling glass window panes; you could see straight inside to the stage. A camera crew was hustling equipment in from trucks and a bunch of people dressed in shimmering gowns and suits - extras, probably - were mulling around inside. The memory of performing in concert halls just like this one twisted my stomach into knots.

"Here we are." Ezra killed the engine and hopped out of the car. It took a beat for me to convince myself to get out and then I was walking across the street after him.

The concert hall was bursting with activity. People wearing black t-shirts and headsets rushed around shouting orders over the drone of conversation; some of the extras were being fussed over by makeup artists; cameras were being adjusted here and there and huge screens of light were angled towards the stage.

"Welcome to the jungle," Ezra said, as a woman swooped up from behind and took his green hoodie. Another man detached himself from a conversation to come over and fix Ezra's already perfect hair. All I could do was stare in awe. It all seemed so disorganized but I knew there was method to this madness. Minutes before performances, the backrooms of concerts were just as disorienting and busy.

"You'll get used to it." He assured me. I was about to say that I wouldn't be sticking around long enough to get used to anything when yet another whirlwind of people deposited themselves in front of us. One of them was a guy who looked about Ezra's age with brown hair that fell over his forehead and he wore a t-shirt with the words, Fight Me, printed across the chest. He was markedly shorter than Ezra and had a nervous energy about him, like he could never sit still. The other was a dark skinned girl with wild, curly hair and a manic grin; she was wearing a silver gown with a slit down one leg and shimmering heels. She must've been an actress or an extra for the scene.

"Hey bro," The boy said. "I was thinking we could drop by the - " His eyes zeroed in on me, a smile falling on his lips. "Hello there. You're extremely pretty and I don't believe we've ever met. Ezra, introduce me."

Silver Gown Girl rolled her eyes at the exact same time Ezra did.

"This is Eli; idiot, video game enthusiast, terrible at flirting but virtually harmless," Ezra said. "He is also, unfortunately, my best friend."

Eli made a noise of protest. "I am not terrible at flirting!"

"Out of all the the things he said, that's your biggest concern?" Silver Gown Girl looked like she was about to roll her eyes again. She turned to me and smiled. "I'm Caroline."

"Evelyn." I held out a hand, which she shook. "I'm teaching Ezra how to play the piano."

Eli's eyes bulged out of his head. "Evelyn-Devlyn! So you're the piano girl Ezra's been talking about. All good things, obviously."

"You'll have to forgive him, he comes up with stupid nicknames for everyone." Caroline amended.

"She's right," Eli said sagely. "Her nickname's bitch."

They turned on each other like rabid dogs and I looked at Ezra, who had closed his eyes and tipped his head towards the ceiling like he was about to start praying.

"Let's go, before they remember we're still here," Ezra said after a moment. I laughed nervously. So he had friends, I didn't know why it was such a weird concept to me. If I ever imagined him with friends, I thought of other celebrities - like Justin Bieber or something. You know, the kind of people who ran in his publicity circles; but Eli and Caroline seemed pretty normal.

Ezra was a good tour guide, he'd introduced me to practically everyone - even some of the camera crew - before his Dad arrived to tell him break time was over.

"Already? Okay," Ezra grinned. "Prepare to be amazed, Evelyn Augustine."

I was already fairly amazed so I said, "Break a leg."

He allowed Donovan to drag him away, looking back over his shoulder once before disappearing into the throng of people. A blur of sparkling fabric and suits started towards the seats and I spotted Miranda among them. I retreated behind the line of cameras and stood next to Eli, who was slouching in one of those black director's chairs - this one had Ezra's name on it.

"Evelyn-Devlyn," Eli said. He was tapping on the arm of the chair with his fingers. "How was the VIP tour?"

"Overwhelming."

"Always is. Wait 'til you meet Juliette. Overwhelming would be an understatement."

"She's playing Emilia." He added. "Total Hollywood basket case."

I nodded like I understood, though I didn't recognize the name.

"So how long have you two been friends?" I asked. "You guys seem really close."

"Since 3rd Grade. And yes, the bastard's always been that pretty."

I couldn't help but smile. "And Caroline? Is she your girlfriend or...?"

Eli barked out a laugh. "I wish. Caroline fucking hates me. I met her in a club the last time I was here in New York with Ezra. She dumped ice down my pants," He grimaced. "I was never the same again."

"She hates you but you still hang out and talk?"

"All the time," Eli admitted. "It's complicated."

"Quiet on the set!" The director yelled and the conversation in the gigantic room cut off like a switch. "Action!"

The silence was enveloping. For a moment, I thought nothing was going to happen and then Ezra walked out from the left wing of the stage. A surprised murmur swept over the crowd, I caught snippets of their lines,

"Is that Simon Valdez?"

"He's supposed to be a genius."

"His father played the violin, you know. Best violinist of his time."

Ezra - Simon - turned to the crowd, bowed, and settled in at the white piano. There was something fundamentally different about Ezra's demeanor. There was a quiet strength radiating from his erect posture, even the way he carefully glided his fingers along the stark white keys seemed controlled and calculated. This was Simon.

And then he began to play.