CHAPTER 40 (2)

I linger by the door of Tamayo’s class until it lets out. “Hey, traveler,” Andie chirps when she sees me. I grab her in a hug. “It’s really good to see you.” “You too. Did you hug Rica like this? I’d pay to see that.” I pull back, smiling. “Haven’t seen her yet. Just dropped my bags off.” “Miss Carlton.” My good mood fades a little as I look over Andie’s shoulder at Tamayo. “I’m sorry I missed class. I—” “Please come see me at my office in thirty minutes.” “Um. Okay.” I hadn’t expected it to warrant an entire meeting, but I nod as she passes us, books in hand. “That sounds ominous,” Andie says. “Right?” “You missed a crazy few days,” she continues as we start down the hallway. “All hell broke loose after the showcase. A few people got approached by agents, but the shit with Timothy was the craziest. Jacob told me their entire apartment is full of gifts from people who want to meet Timothy.” “That is crazy.” “You guys good?” I grin. “Yeah, actually. We are.” When I head to the central administration on the third floor, the admin assistant offers me a chair while I wait, and I wave her off with a smile, perusing the full-color photos on the wall. All are of people on stage: musicians, dancers, actors. There’s grace in what they do, and competence, and triumph. None of the blood and sweat and tears are in these photos. I know the personal toll it takes. We’ve lost students this year who’ve dropped out. I’ve seen the dancers with their bleeding feet weep when they sustain an injury, when normal people would be grateful for the reprieve from constant torture. Actors get contorted into so many roles and forms they don’t know where they end and their characters begin. And the musicians… Well, we spend our days and nights chasing something fleeting. The perfect song or verse or moment of connection with an audience—one that will be gone the moment it happens, unless like Jacob with Timothy, someone managed to capture it. We bend over backward to create something extraordinary. None of us fit in, so we trade our souls, our bodies, our egos, our emotions, for a chance to stand out. “Miss Carlton.” The admin assistant motions me into Tamayo’s office, and I follow her, gathering myself and smoothing down my outfit. Tamayo looks impassively at me as I take a seat across from her. The door clicks quietly closed before she speaks. “Do you know why you’re here?” “I assume it’s about missing class today. I’m sorry. I had a chance to perform with Frank—Mr. Harvey—in LA. I promise I won’t miss any more classes this semester.” She rounds the desk to take her seat, folding her lined hands in her lap and leveling me with cool eyes. “And what about the showcase? What’s your excuse for missing that?” “That was… a bold choice,” I concede. “You turned your back on an opportunity every student waits their entire life for.” “I did it for someone I care about. And I’d do it again.” “Why?” “When I came to Vanier, I wanted to prove myself, and I thought that meant getting attention at all costs. But some things matter more than the spotlight.” Her brows twitch, but I continue. “Since coming here, I’ve learned there’s a lot more than a bunch of talented people who want to be famous. Everyone has their own reason for being here”—I think of Timothy, of Jacob and Andie and Rica—“but we all want to connect to something. To be part of something bigger than us.” I shift forward in my seat. “I don’t just want to make people see me. I want to make people see themselves. To believe in something more than they think they can.” I take a deep breath. “I want to write. Like you do.” If I’d thought it was impossible to surprise my acting professor, apparently, I was wrong. Her eyes are wide and unblinking, as if I just spit a string of colorful curses onto her desk. But she recovers, straightening. “Your showcase piece,” she says at last. “It was very moving. Writing, in the long run, is less about the words and more about the writer. A fresh voice, an interesting perspective. How honest they’re willing to be with an audience.” I nod. “I understand. At least I think I do,” I go on at her expectant look. “Good. In that case, as penance for missing my class, I’d like you to write something for me.” My phone buzzes with a text as I head out of Tamayo’s office. Timothy: It’s done. I’m signed. A wave of excitement rolls through me. Emily: That’s huge. We should celebrate. Tonight? Timothy: I have a midterm tomorrow. We go out tonight, I’m getting zero studying done. I can’t resist teasing him. Emily: I could have you in bed by midnight. Timothy: I could have you against my dresser, in my shower, on my kitchen table. Timothy: You could play me a song on my own guitar while you sit in my lap and I fuck you from underneath. Holy. It takes every ounce of strength not to melt into a puddle in the middle of the hall. Emily: Right. Ummm… tomorrow then? Timothy: Deal. And I’ve got plans. On impulse, I head to P69 and knock on the door. There’s no answer. I’m turning away when the door cracks and Jacob looks out at me in surprise. “Hey, Manatee. You get the good word about my roomie’s deal?” “He just told me.” I step inside and look over Jacob’s shoulder at his computer. “Damn. Half a million followers now. Are you going to keep posting about Timothy?” He rubs a hand through his hair. “It’s what they want.” There’s a bit of sadness in his voice, and I fold my arms. “Well, I knew how good Timothy was, and I still followed your vlog for you.” His eyes crinkle at the corners. “Oh, I’m good with it. We sign up for the thousands of hours in places like this”—he gestures around the closet—“in the hopes that someday it’ll come together. That someone’ll see us and say, ‘He’s the one we’ve been looking for.’” His mouth curves. “I’m glad it’s happening to Timothy.” I reach out a hand and run my fingers through his dark hair. “I see you, Jacob. Don’t give up.” “Back at you.” He checks his watch. “It’s still early in the day. My big break is waiting.” His wink has me grinning. “Yours could be, too.”