CHAPTER 33 (1)
“You’re quiet for someone who landed a spot closing the showcase,” Andie points out at breakfast. “It’s mind sex, isn’t it?” I blink, ripping off a piece of my untouched bagel. “You mean fantasizing?” “Don’t make it sound pretty. It’s hot and dirty, and you’re doing it.” Rica drops into a seat next to us with her coffee, surprising both of us. “It wasn’t mind sex that kept me out of my room Monday night.” It’s true, and for the last thirty-six hours, all I’ve been able to think about is Timothy. Not the showcase we landed, but the things I want to do with Timothy that have nothing to do with music and everything to do with his hands and mouth and body. Yesterday, we agreed to spend the day catching up on our schoolwork before launching back into rehearsing. Still, we ran into each other accidentally-on-purpose in the halls at school, and he pulled me into a stairwell for a hot and too-short make-out. If we hadn’t both had class to go to, I know we would’ve ended up in my room again. I want that so badly. In some ways, it’s a good thing Timothy and I never sealed the deal in high school. Neither of us would’ve graduated. My phone rings, interrupting my daydream, and I answer without looking. “Emily Carlton?” the warm female voice asks. I straighten, but Andie and Rica don’t seem to be listening. “Yes.” “This is Kelly Fox from Lighthouse Representation. I saw the schedule for the Vanier showcase online.” My mind spins with a million questions at once—how she found me, how she got my number, but most of all, The showcase lineup is posted online? Of course it is. But if it was so easy for her to get it, will my dad see it? My stomach twists as she goes on. “I assume you’re Emily Carlton, daughter of Eddie Carlton. I wanted to talk to you about your options for representation.” “You’re an agent.” My heart thuds. Andie’s and Rica’s gazes snap to me. “Are you calling Timothy Adams too?” I press. I don’t miss the pause before she answers. “Emily, we have to be selective about our clients.” Indignation rises up. “You need to talk to Timothy.” I take a breath. “Whatever you think I can do for you, he can do more. Come to the show. You won’t be disappointed.” I hang up. “Why would you pass on an agent?” Andie demands. “I didn’t pass,” I reply before realizing I sort of did. “She should’ve been interested in Timothy.” “She could’ve been interested in both of you.” I frown. “Maybe. But it didn’t sound like it.” I spot a familiar person heading into the dining hall and wave. Jacob flips a chair around and sits astride it, grinning. “Morning, ladies.” “Timothy’s not with you, is he?” I cut a look toward the doors. “Nope.” “Good.” Determination sets in. “I need you to send an email to Zeke’s studio with the schedule for the showcase. Tell him Kelly Fox called asking about Timothy and you wanted to do him the courtesy of letting him know people are sniffing around.” His gaze narrows as if he’s trying to figure out what I’m up to. “My boy know about this?” “No. And you’re not going to tell him.” “I’m not in the habit of keeping secrets from my roomie,” he warns. “This is for him,” I promise. After breakfast we go to Entertainment Management, where I take notes through our guest lecturer’s presentation. Next it’s Tamayo’s class. She checks in on the status of our term project: a monologue that blends a piece of cinema with our own inspiration. I’ve jotted down some ideas, but I’ve been so focused on the showcase I haven’t progressed further. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that of all my professors, she’s the only one who seems to go out of her way to cut me down. Andie leans over while Tamayo discusses the assignment with one of our classmates. “I heard she’s writing a musical,” my friend murmurs. I nearly drop my pen. “Seriously?” “Yeah. You know she acted on Broadway on and off for like two decades.” “I remember reading that. But I had no idea she wrote, too.” I can’t reconcile our tough professor with the type of person I always imagined penning for the stage, but I can’t let it go. After class, I approach her. “Miss Tamayo? I heard you’re writing a musical. Can you tell me about it?” She straightens, staring at me for an extra-long beat as if looking for something new. “I’m writing the book—the lyrics,” she goes on. “My writing partner does the score.” She gathers up her books from the desk and starts to brush past me when I call after her. “I love musicals. I know Broadway doesn’t have the money Hollywood does or the tradition of Shakespeare, but musical theater is big and bright and raw and unapologetic and honest… There’s nothing else that can make you cry and laugh in the same three minutes. Or that can make your heart expand until you swear it’s going to burst out of your ribs. It’s the most beautiful, unapologetically human form of expression I’ve ever seen.” I’m being more candid with her than I’ve been all year, but it’s too late to change that. She turns back. Her lips purse and I brace myself, waiting for her to bite out something harsh. Instead she says, “My partner and I have an off-Broadway show running right now.” When she gives me the name, I write it down immediately. “I’ll go see it this weekend.” Her lips twitch at the corner. “If you’re that interested, I can have a couple of seats for you Friday at will call.” By the time I dash out of class to head over to the Columbia campus to study with Pen, I’m already feeling bouncier than I have in weeks. That night in my room, I text Timothy, triumphant. Emily: I scored us a practice room for tomorrow. You can thank me now or later. The response comes back almost immediately.
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