CHAPTER 26 (1)

“How nervous are you?” Andie asks me on the way out of Entertainment Management Friday. “It’s going to be great. I didn’t even know Frank was on the faculty list until the fall,” I admit as we start down the hall. “He wasn’t when I auditioned.” “Frank Harvey?” I look up to see Jorge, the guy from the library, fall into step with us. “Lucky,” he goes on. “The guy’s a rising star. But I don’t know anyone else who got Frank. It’ll be cool to work with someone who knows how to bust in.” Excitement works through me. “Exactly.” Andie jerks her head toward the dining hall. “I’m this way. Emily, I’ll catch you tonight?” Her eyebrows wiggle. “For sure.” “What’s tonight?” Jorge prompts as she leaves. “A bunch of us are going out to this club. You should come.” I give him the details, and he nods. “You give any thought to the showcase?” he prompts. “Yeah. I’m auditioning for sure.” Last night I watched some video from past events. The talent level is off the charts, particularly from the people who close. But the faculty who preside over the auditions have to choose someone. I’m already strategizing how to make sure that someone is me. “It’ll be a first-year uprising.” Jorge pumps a fist in the air giddily. I wave goodbye, then head for the stairs to the practice rooms on the second floor. I’m five minutes early, and my swipe card doesn’t let me in. I wait in the hallway, watching people flow by. Classes have been tough the first week, but deciding to focus on the showcase has given me an anchor, a reminder of why I’m here. I’ll do whatever it takes to be that good. No excuses, no distractions. Timothy coming to my room yesterday was a distraction. Not only walking in to find him there, studying my things as if he had every right to be in my space, but the things he said… “You taught me to want things I never let myself want. You taught me to dream.” And the look on his face—like I was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. It doesn’t matter that he sounds torn up about what happened between us. He’s the one who walked away. My hand finds my necklace under my shirt. After The Little Mermaid, I took the rose Tyler had handed me in the garden and had it preserved in order to remember what happened, to remind myself I’m not fragile and that my dreams matter more than a broken heart. Now, every time I look at it, I think of him. I’m not letting him in again. We can coexist, we can even be civil, but we’re not going to be friends. We’re definitely not going to be more than that. I’ll have my chance to practice keeping him out because we’re all going out to a club tonight for Jacob’s birthday. “You ready?” My gaze snaps up as a guy maybe ten years older than me appears down the hall dressed in jeans and a denim jacket over a dark T-shirt. His hair is dirty blond and unruly, as if the wind had its way with it. “Frank. Mr. Harvey? I’m Emily. It’s nice to meet you.” “Frank’s good.” He retrieves something from his pocket and waves it in front of the door. The door unlocks, and I follow him inside. I set my bag on the floor. “How did you end up at Vanier?” I ask. “They’ve got a push on recruiting people with industry experience for the contemporary program. An old friend twisted my arm.” The room is about half the size of my dorm room upstairs, and it contains a piano with a bench, three stools, a white board, and two music stands. Finn says, “So, the next semester of lessons is supposed to improve your technique and performance, blah, blah, blah. But none of that can happen unless I know why you’re doing this. So, tell me what you want.” His bluntness has me leaning in. “I want to be on a stage.” “Why?” I blink. “Because I love creating music. I love when I’m in it.” “What else?” I dig deeper, thinking of what drove me to work my ass off these past couple of years. “Because I want the world to see me.” Satisfaction works across his expression. “Show me.” I take a seat at the piano and play my audition piece, singing overtop. He cuts me off three bars in. “No.” I try something else. And another. And another. Each time, he stops me. “Any kind in a talent contest could sing that.” “Then tell me what you want me to sing,” I say eventually, frustrated. I rise from the piano bench and turn to face him. “I have some classical training, but I can’t give you Puccini or Strauss. Maybe someone in the next room can”—I hitch a thumb at the wall—“but this is what I am.” He’s standing in the corner, smirking. “I wouldn’t be wasting my time here for Puccini or Strauss. I saw your audition tape. You grabbed me. You want to be seen, make me see you.” My chest tightens. Moments before the audition, I’d run into Timothy. It was a kick in the gut. It took everything I had to make it through my piece. I was raw and desperate and earnest. I don’t know how to be that girl again. My fingers find my necklace again, twisting the chain between my fingers. Under Frank’s stare, I think of the pictures Timothy found in my room, the words I wrote when I was coming apart. I reach for the fallboard and tug it down over the piano keys. Then I shift back onto it, perched on the edge, resting my feet on the bench. “A heart breaking has multiple acts. It doesn’t break in a moment; it breaks over years. “It tears, not in half, not perfectly. But in layers. Like flower petals. “Pieces, one at a time. Peeling away. “And you can put it back together. Collect the pieces. Sew them back. “It might even look the same, from the outside.” I lift my gaze to see Frank leaning against the opposite wall, his face impassive. My throat tightens, and I force myself to take a breath that fills my lungs even though it’s hard. He’s going to tell me it’s not a song. He’s going to kick me out, say this was all a mistake, that he doesn’t want to supervise me. He doesn’t.