“It’s still too much.” The guitar is beautiful and I start to strum it. Even unplugged, it sounds wonderful.
“Okay, add putting up with me, holding my hand at the hospital, believing in me, and such.”
I shake my head. I know he won’t stop until I accept it.
“Plus,” he continues, “imagine the damage you can do on your guitar solos with it.”
I run my hands up and down the bright red polish. Holding it, I know I won’t be able to give it back. I want to plug it in and play.
“And, you know, just remember this gift when we both get into Juilliard.”
I look at him and finally get what he means. He always keeps mentioning about what happens if we both get in.
“Ethan, do you think that I wouldn’t want you to go to Juilliard?”
He shrugs. “I don’t know. I sometimes think that maybe you want to go to school by yourself…. Start anew, I guess.”
“To be honest, I can’t think past the audition. I know you’re going to get in, so when I think about Juilliard, I just assume we’ll be there together. But if not, I’ll be in Boston. Look at me, like I’m just assuming that Berklee will accept me.
“I just need to take things one at a time. First the showcase, then the auditions. You know that I can’t handle too many things at once. I’ve vowed to not turn into a sobbing wreck for the rest of the semester.”
It’s getting late, so I get up to leave. Then a thought comes to me. “Hey, Ethan? If I wrote accompaniments, do you think you and the guys would join me on my song?”
“You know we’d love to.”
It doesn’t feel right to not have them up there with me for my song. Plus, I think adding guitars and a drum would make it a lot stronger. I know that I’d be sad when they left the stage, plus it is one of the last performances we’ll be doing. I want us to do as much together as possible before we all head our separate ways.
I turn around before I head to the door. “I’m going to really miss the band next year.”
“There’s always the summer,” he suggests.
But we both know that with the four of us spread across the country, it is going to be hard to pick up right where we left off. Sure, we’ll probably play together, but it won’t be the same. Nothing will be the same.
I look at Ethan and I know he’s harder on himself than anybody I’ve ever known. He’s so self-critical, and it doesn’t help that Jack teases him all the time, or that I yelled at him. But after The Incident and The Injury, he’s been a lot calmer and hasn’t exhibited his usual self-destructive behavior.
“I’m really proud of you,” I say.
He looks taken aback.
“Really. I know you’ve been through a lot, probably tortured yourself more than you should. But when I think about next year, it will make me sad if we aren’t together. You mean a lot to me. I never would’ve had the courage to do that solo if it wasn’t for you. So I guess I better practice extra hard so I get in.”
“You’re going to get in.”
And the way he says it, it’s like it’s a fact. A done deal.
But when Ethan says things like that to me, I believe him. Not because I have a bloated self-esteem, but because when he says it, I want to believe it.
I want to be that person he thinks I am.
And I thought things were bad before.
After winter break, we come back to the Showcase Stress Tsunami. The tension is palpable.
The four of us have a pact that there will be no talk about the upcoming college auditions until after the showcase. We don’t even have any gigs to distract us. It is all showcase, all the time.
I’m heading to our practice room when I see a very familiar strand of red hair poking out of a mass of two guitars, one oversize backpack, and a puffy winter coat.
“Emme!” I call out.
She turns around and accidentally drops one of her guitars. I pick it up.
“Here, give me that as well.” I take her backpack. “Are you trying to hurt yourself?”
She smiles at me … and my heart melts. Every time.
“Can it be May already?” She picks up her other guitar. “I’m not sure if the guitar should be electric or acoustic for my song…. I keep changing my mind, so I thought I’d bring both. Although maybe I should play the piano instead?”
“You’re not hiding behind the piano on this one.”
She bites her lip. “Yeah, but why do you get to?”
“Because it isn’t my moment.”
She stops walking. “Can we stop referring to the showcase as my moment? Anytime I think about it, I get sick to my stomach.”
I nod. I’d pretty much agree to anything she says. But it will be her moment.
We enter the room and start unpacking our gear. I reach in my pocket and hand her a protein bar.
She waves it away.
“You’ve got to eat something.”
Her stomach pains have gotten worse with the showcase just a week away. She’s hardly been eating and she’s thin enough as is. Not like I should talk, but when I’m nervous, I eat more. Which is probably why I’ve gained so much weight (granted, it was needed) since I’ve been at CPA. Constant nerves.
After she hooks her guitar up, I guide her to a seat.
She looks up at me like she’s waiting for a big lecture. I unwrap the bar and hand it to her. “Please eat something.”
She takes a small bite.
Jack bursts into the room with his arm around Ben. “Guess who got their early acceptance to Oberlin today?”
Emme screams. “Ben, that’s so fantastic!” She gets up and hugs him.
Jack laughs. “Just think about it. A year from now, I’ll be in sunny LA, fighting off the advances of the all-bikini-clad female students at CalArts, while the rest of you will be freezing your butts off, this one in the Midwest and you two albinos here.”
Emme takes one more bite of the protein bar. She looks at it for a couple seconds and runs over to a garbage can to spit it out.
“What, Red, are you sick to your stomach over the thought of being so far away from me? I’d say you should come to LA, but I think you’d probably spontaneously combust if you stepped into the sun.”
I ignore Jack and run over to Emme.
“Sorry, it tastes like chalk.” She hands it back to me. “I’ll be fine … once, um, the auditions are over. I hope.”
She whips out her water bottle and takes a big sip. She turns her attention to Ben. “Ben, you have to tell us everything. What did the letter say? When did you find out?”
Ben hands us a copy of the e-mail he got just a few minutes before. “I had to run to the computer lab to print it out. It seemed like a joke.”
“That’s really great.” I give him a big hug.
I don’t know why I haven’t been stressing about college acceptance as much as everybody else. I mean, let’s face it, I’m never the calm, cool, collected one. I guess I figure that I’ll get in somewhere, although I really want to stay in New York and go to Juilliard with Emme. That’s my dream world. Pretty much everything involving Emme and the future is a dream, one that I know won’t necessarily come true.
I know I want to write songs and I’ll be happy doing it at a prestigious college or for three people at a coffee shop. Not like I don’t think I could learn something at Juilliard or any music college; it just isn’t as important to me as it is to everybody else.
But seeing the look on Ben’s face, I’m thinking that maybe it should be. I’ve never seen him happier. “Thanks,” he says. “It’s like this huge weight has been lifted off my shoulders. I don’t have to stress about …” He stops himself. Because the three of us still have our auditions and fates to worry about. “Well, we still have the showcase. Are we ready?”
We run through my song a few times; it’s something we’ve been playing for a while now. Of course, that doesn’t stop me from messing up the lyrics twice, but everybody else sounds great.
Af
ter we’re all satisfied, our attention turns to Emme’s song. I move my mic stand down several inches so the microphone can reach her.
She tentatively approaches the mic and adjusts it for way longer than she needs to. She finally turns around. “Um, okay. I guess we’ll start. So I was thinking that it would be best for me to start first.” She strums several chords and then nods for the rest of us to join in. We get to the part where she’s supposed to start singing and she simply keeps playing the song. “Obviously I’ll sing here,” she says as she moves closer to the drum kit and farther away from the microphone.
Jack stops drumming. “Red, you’ve got to own the song and the mic. Go all ‘Beat It’ on it!”
“I’m embarrassed.”
Jack groans. “If you can’t sing in front of us, how are you going to do it at the showcase?”
“I don’t think I can do it.” Her voice is barely a whisper.
“Can we take a break?” I ask. Both Jack and Ben leave the room. Emme remains frozen.
I wrap my arm around her. “You can do this.”
“I don’t know why I agreed to audition in the first place.”
“Obviously, the board saw something in you.”
She nods for a few minutes. “I’m not used to singing anywhere besides your studio.”
“Okay, so close your eyes.”
She looks up at me and it kills me that she doesn’t trust me enough to just close her eyes.
“Please trust me.”
She closes them.
“Okay, pretend that we’re in my studio. Sing.”
“I feel silly.”
“Not as silly as you’ll feel if you become a mute onstage.”
She feels around her guitar and strums until she finds the first chord. She starts playing and then she opens her mouth. Her lovely voice comes out and floats and twists in the air. Granted, she hasn’t had the years of training that the singers in the vocal department have had. So she’s not a technically proficient singer. But what makes her special is her soul. She makes the song hers. You don’t need to leap ten octaves to do that. You just have to feel it. I’m mesmerized when she sings. I’m only inches away from her while she’s lost in her song, breathing every inch of her in.
She finishes and I make her start again. She plays and I do my best to navigate my awkward, gangly body as quietly as possible to get Jack and Ben back in the room. The door makes a tiny squeak, but she doesn’t stop. Jack and Ben come in and Jack stops dead in his tracks as he hears her sing. His mouth drops open and mouths, “Oh my Red!”
As she strums the final chord of the song, she smiles and opens her eyes. She looks over and her cheeks grow hot when she sees Ben and Jack.
Jack starts to clap. “Red, is there a reason you haven’t been singing all this time? We could’ve been the band with the hot chick singer. Man. Although there’d be more dudes at the shows, so I guess this is a good thing. Not like the girls that fall over this one are anything to write home about.” He winks at me.
I don’t blame Jack when he says stuff like that, but I cringe inside that Emme has to hear it.
“Okay, do it one more time, with your eyes open, and we’ll just listen, okay?”
She hesitates. “Okay.”
By the third run-through, she’s comfortable enough that we all join in. I’ve heard countless songs that Emme has written. But playing along with her, I realize how intricate the chord progressions are, how intimate the lyrics are. It makes me want to go back and read everything she’s ever written. It also makes me realize something, and I’m pretty sure I’m not blinded by my infatuation on this one. Everybody has always said that I’m the best songwriter in class and I’ve always believed it.
Until now.
If I’m counting correctly, we are only halfway through the showcase, and already backstage we’ve had three people puke, one dancer faint, and one act come off the stage in tears.
What a wonderful way to show off the most talented students at CPA.
My mind starts to race and I get up and start to do jumping jacks. Any physical activity helps distract me. Jack enlisted himself to be the comic relief/distracter to Emme. But I secretly think that Jack’s playing the clown to sidetrack himself from the upcoming performance.
I really wanted the job of being with Emme, but I’m so worried that I’d say the wrong thing … or that something would go wrong and I’d get blamed for it. So I’m here if she wants me.
The list of upcoming performers starts to dwindle. From backstage we can hear the different songs and performances. It really is inspiring to be part of this, but terrifying to close the show.
We’re given the notice that we’re next. We head to the wings of the stage. Jack motions for us to get in a circle so he can give us his pep talk.
“So …” Jack clears his throat. “We …”
Is Jack Coombs at a loss for words? I guess we don’t have to worry about the performance since the world is clearly going to end.
“Guys.” Emme speaks. “I want to thank you for being there for me, and not just tonight, but the last four years.”
There is an understood silence between us. Jack likes to think he speaks for us, but Emme is the one who gets us the most.
Jack sighs. “All this sincerity is starting to freak me out.”
Emme laughs. “Fine. Jack, you need to learn to start chewing with your mouth closed.”
“That’s more like it!”
“Ben, um, I believe your use of hair products is responsible for a significant loss of the ozone layer.”
Ben starts laughing. “That is hilarious.”
“And so true.” Jack reaches up to mess up Ben’s perfectly coifed hair, but Ben slaps his hand away before any real damage is done.
“And, Ethan …” Emme looks at me with a hint of mischief in her eyes.
Jack starts to clap his hands. “Oh, this one is gonna be good. You can do it, Red!”
“Ethan …” She looks up at me. “Ethan …”
She hesitates. I’m smiling like I’m waiting for my dis, but I’m really happy that she’s having such a hard time thinking of something nasty to say to me. Or she’s just being polite because we all know there are plenty of things she can use as ammunition.
“Ethan, you might want to consider more deodorant if you feel the need to do cardio before a performance.”
On second thought.
Jack barrels over, laughing. “And the student has become the master.”
“We’ve got this, guys!” Emme beams and I can tell that she means every word.
We get in our places and Emme leans in. “I don’t think you smell. I couldn’t think of anything to say. You smell nice…. I mean, you … never mind.”
I lean over and give her a kiss on the forehead.
She looks down at the floor and smiles. I move my head to brush my cheek against my shoulder to get a whiff of my pits, just in case.
Dr. Pafford introduces us and we take the stage. The reception is a lot more polite than we receive at gigs or school functions (when family members are obligated to be enthusiastic).
We start my song and everything feels right. After four years, our band is a tight, cohesive unit. At one point I glance at Emme, then turn to Ben, and they both look like they’re enjoying themselves.
Come to think of it, I am, too. And I’m sure if I had eyes in the back of my head, I’d see Jack with that intense/happy look he always has at gigs.
What’s odd is that the pressure was getting the spot. Not this, this is what we’re used to, what we love: performing, being a group.
It’s the uncertainty of being accepted that creates the drama in our lives.
My song ends and I head to the piano as Emme adjusts the microphone.
I look at her and know exactly what she’s going through. Although I only had to face a group of about twenty people at our first gig. She is looking out toward hundreds of administrators, talent scouts, and prestigious alumni.
&nb
sp; But for me, these guys having my back gave me the courage to do it. I don’t know if I’ll ever have the desire to be a “front man” again without them behind me.
Emme glances at me and gives me a little nod as she starts playing her song. We all join in and I can hardly breathe as we approach the first verse.
She sings the first line and her voice is quivering and soft. A knot forms in my stomach. The next line is louder, but the shaking comes through a lot stronger.
You can do this, Emme. Please believe that you can do it. Please, Emme.
There is a four-bar break and she steps away from the mic and I see her nodding now, trying to get into the song. If I could stop the song to give her a pep talk, I would. But it’s all in her hands now.
She approaches the microphone again for the second verse. She opens her mouth and a loud, clear voice comes out. I see some people sit up a little straighter in the audience.
I smile as I close my eyes and take in her voice. She’s got this. I try to concentrate on the chords, but I’m absolutely spellbound by her. I let the hours of practice take over, and go into automatic mode so I can witness her transformation to the lead.
The instrumental break comes and she turns around to us and she’s beaming. She smiles at me and my heart nearly bursts.
She sings the chorus once more and then the last note hangs in the air.
We get applause, greater than we did when we arrived onstage, but not the rousing ovation we’ve gotten in the past. This crowd is a little tougher.
Plus, we are performing for the possibilities of building our futures. Not to entertain our grandparents.
The four of us take center stage, link hands, and bow.
As we head offstage, I notice that Emme still has my hand … but she also has Jack’s.
As soon as we get offstage, Emme whispers to me, “I botched the first verse.”
“But you killed the rest of the song,” I assure her.
She squeezes my hand. “You were really great.”
I see Jack walk away to get a hug from Chloe. Emme’s hand is still in mine.