Текст книги "Take a Bow"

Автор книги: Elizabeth Eulberg

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 12 страниц)

Chloe stops herself and studies a flyer.

CHLOE: You know, it’s Friday, so I’m allowed a treat. I’m getting a brownie, do you want anything?

I think about my diet: protein, protein, and more protein. But if Chloe, whose profession is even more weight-conscious than acting, can treat herself, why can’t I?

ME: Yeah, a brownie sounds great. But here, let me get it.

I hand her a twenty as she flags down somebody she knows to get our brownies before we settle down at a table up front with her name on it. The place is so packed, our table is right up against the side of the stage. I can literally rest my arm on one of the speakers. Chloe grabs our chocolate fixes and cuts hers into tiny pieces.

CHLOE: I’m glad I ran into you. I used to have Kelsey to keep me company, but she’s no longer in the picture.

I raise my eyebrow since my mouth is full of the most amazing brownie I’ve ever tasted.

CHLOE: Oh, Kelsey used to be Ethan’s girlfriend. They’d been going out for years, but it was such a dysfunctional relationship. They’d go out, he’d write these amazing love songs about her. But then she wouldn’t be at a show and these girls would throw themselves at him because of songs he wrote about Kelsey. He’d cheat, and then he’d write some song begging for forgiveness. She’d take him back and it would all repeat.

ME: Really?

I always saw Ethan as this quiet guy. He was usually with someone from the band, so I always took him as a pretty loyal guy. Guess not.

CHLOE: Yeah, it got to be ridiculous. Get back together, cheat, fight, get back together, rinse, and repeat. He was so annoying to be around. Always sulking about his love life. He even started to drink before the shows. Finally, Emme lost it on him.

ME: Emme?

Chloe laughs.

CHLOE: I know, right? Emme is the sweetest thing. But from the way Jack tells it, she totally lost her mind on him. Started screaming at him to stop being such a … I think it was “a self-sabotaging moron” or something. I can’t remember her exact words, but the whole incident really shook up the band. They didn’t hear from Ethan for two weeks, and when he came back, he said he’d ended his relationship with Kelsey for good and he wasn’t going to drink anymore, period. No one really believes him.

ME: About the drinking or Kelsey? Don’t they like her?

CHLOE: No, he hasn’t had anything to drink or anything, but with Kelsey it’s not like they didn’t like her. They really liked her. I don’t think any of them could take how he treated her. Especially Emme. Although the weird thing is that Kelsey wasn’t a fan of Emme’s.

I find that hard to believe. Who could find anything wrong with Emme? She’s so nice … and probably too loyal a friend.

CHLOE: Emme made every effort, but I don’t think Kelsey liked Ethan’s relationship with Emme.

ME: Did they ever?

CHLOE: God, no. Emme and Ethan are really close – or at least they used to be. Ethan clearly adores Emme and is very protective of her. I don’t think Kelsey appreciated that. I know Emme thinks Sophie is her best friend, but it’s really Ethan and the guys who have her back. She’s just so blinded by that girl. No offense.

ME: None taken.

The lights go down and the place erupts in cheers and applause.

Jack gets behind his drum kit while Ben and Emme plug in their guitars. Ethan comes storming onto the stage with his hands up. The girls start screaming for him.

It’s funny because Ethan doesn’t really make any impact at school. Sure, he’s known as one of the best music students, but he doesn’t grandstand or walk around demanding attention like most of the top students at CPA. He seems to enjoy flying under the radar, but up onstage, he commands attention. His charisma is palpable and I can now understand why there are so many girls here.

The band starts playing a song I’ve never heard before, one of their originals. But the people jammed up front are singing along to every word.

It’s amazing to see them up onstage. Seeing them walking down the street or even in a cramped greenroom, I don’t think you’d stop and think that these four people belong together. Jack: big teddy bear with a full head of wild Afro curls. Ben: unassuming dirty-blond-haired, blue-eyed guy who just happily strums his bass. Ethan: tall (he’s got to be close to six foot three now) and skinny, his black hair a little long and a bit curly; Emme: with her bright red hair, pale freckled skin, wearing all black and bobbing to the music as she strums her guitar.

But even if they look different, together onstage they’re a complete unit. It isn’t their friendship that I envy the most; it’s the passion for what they’re doing right at this moment. It’s clear that each one of them loves playing music. It’s their calling. It’s what they want to do.

Chloe leads me backstage after the concert. We get stopped a few times on the way for some photos, which I oblige. During the entire concert, I felt like a normal student watching his friends play. But once the lights came on, I saw all the girls with their cameras out, waiting for a picture. I was hoping “Carter Harrison” could take the night off. And the last thing I want to do is take any attention away from the band. Tonight is about them.

We get into the small room, which has become even tighter with people. Several girls have made their way backstage, all fighting for Ethan’s attention. The rest of the band are putting their instruments away. Chloe immediately finds Jack and, once again, I’m standing there trying to look like I belong.

Emme spots me and makes her way over. A few girls back up so Emme is intentionally pushed. She doesn’t seem to realize it, or maybe she’s used to it by now.

EMME: Hey, Carter, thanks for coming.

I stumble over my words for a moment and then it hits me, what I want to say. Actually, what I want to know.

ME: Do you love what you do?

If Emme is taken by surprise with this abrupt question, she doesn’t show it.

EMME: Yes. Performing used to make me so nervous, but not with these guys.

ME: You were really amazing. Truly. I love the new songs and the covers. Everything. I can’t believe four people can make such a complete sound.

I know that sounds stupid, but Emme blushes anyway.

EMME: Thanks.

I don’t know what it is (maybe the chocolate?), but suddenly I feel like I can tell Emme anything. Like she’ll understand me. I want to open up to somebody.

ME: Hey, can I buy you, like, a coffee or something? I’d love to talk to you some more, unless …

I don’t know if they have other plans or she’s tired or what. I see Ethan studying me. He comes over and gives Emme a hug.

ETHAN: Great show tonight.

EMME: Thanks. I’m going to pack up and then head out with Carter. Do you want me to grab your cords onstage so you can get back to your fan club?

Emme moves her chin subtly over to the group of four girls glaring at her.

Ethan doesn’t even turn around to acknowledge them.

ETHAN: No, it’s okay. I’ll go with you.

A girl comes over and tugs Ethan’s shirt.

GIRL: Hey, Ethan, I totally want to show you the pictures I took.

I can tell Ethan has no interest in looking at the girl’s photos. I can also sense tension between Ethan and Emme.

ME: I can help pack up and, like, move stuff or whatever.

Very elegant, Carter.

EMME: That’d be great, thanks.

Emme moves to leave the room, and Ethan pulls away from the other girl and grabs Emme’s arm.

ETHAN: Just give me a few minutes and I can help.

Emme shakes her head.

EMME: It’s getting late, and I want to pack up and leave. You know, some of us do have a curfew. Don’t worry about it – we can handle the breakdown. Talk to you later.

Emme turns on her heel and walks out the door. I follow her down the hallway, onto the stage.

Jack and Ben are already there disassembling the drum kit and amps. Jack doesn’t hesitate putting me to work. And I love it. I mean, I realize that I’m here purely for manual labor, but being with them makes me feel like part of the team.

I’m a little disappointed when the last amp is packed into the truck.

Ethan comes out to the alley with two girls following behind him.

JACK: Nice for you to show up once we’re done.

Ethan clenches his teeth and ignores the laughter coming from the two girls leaning against the wall.

EMME: Okay, guys, I’m heading out. Great show.

Emme gives each of the guys a hug. After she embraces Ethan, he leans in and whispers something in her ear. She turns around with an annoyed look on her face.

Emme leads me to a place close to the F train. She gets a green tea while I get a delicious mocha drink (if I’m going to splurge, might as well do it big-time, right?).

I go on and on about the show, and Emme listens patiently as she sips her tea. I run out of compliments and after I use the word awesome for the twelfth time, I decide to take a break.

EMME: You know, Carter, it’s okay. You can talk to me about Sophie.

ME: Sophie?

Sophie hasn’t even entered my mind the entire evening. Which should probably give me a hint of how well things are going between us.

EMME: Yeah, I assumed that’s what you wanted to talk to me about.

Oh, of course she assumed that it was about Sophie. This was a stupid idea.

ME: No, I just …

She sets her glass down and leans in. Her bright green eyes sparkle, and I can tell that I can trust her. Sophie constantly says what a good friend she is, and it’s clear that Emme has always gone out of her way for her friends.

ME: Actually, I wanted to talk to you about school. And I know this is going to sound weird, but this isn’t how I thought school would be.

She nods at me knowingly. I can tell that she is going to let me talk. I’m not used to that. Mom and Sophie do the talking. I do the listening. But not tonight. Tonight I’m going to say what I’ve been dying to scream out for years.

ME: I hate acting.

There. I’ve said it. And now I feel the floodgates open.

ME: Acting wasn’t even my choice. I’ve been doing it for forever and I don’t even like it. Sure, as a kid it was like playing pretend. And I had fun traveling the world and doing the Kavalier Kids movies, but then it just became so redundant. We sat around, got tutored, spent four hours shooting three lines of dialogue. At least with the soap, everything moves quickly because we’ve got five hours of TV to fill a week. But I’m not happy. This isn’t what I want. I don’t know what I want.

I pause.

ME: Actually, that’s a lie. I love to draw and paint. I love art. Sometimes on the weekends, I put on a baseball hat and a hoodie and spend hours at galleries in SoHo. And that’s such a stupid thing to have to hide. But I hide it from my mom, who wants me to return to the glory days. I know she’d think there’s no future in art, but like there is in acting? Let’s face it, I’m not that good. Sure, as a kid, I got by being all cute, but I don’t have the desire or depth to do more adult roles. I get the lead in everything because the girls will buy the tickets. Most of the teachers don’t even like me. Let’s not even get into the students. I don’t know. And I don’t know why I’m babbling to you, I just … I see you up onstage with the guys and you seem happy. Like you’re doing exactly what you are meant to do. Do you have any idea what a blessing that is? I don’t even see you that happy when you’re performing with Sophie.

I know I’ve hit a nerve. I can see her shift uncomfortably.

ME: I’m sorry, I know that is none of my business. I just … I want to be happy.

I finally let out a breath and take a sip of my mocha.

EMME: What would make you happy? Right now.

ME: Quitting the soap.

EMME: Okay.

She says it like that is so easy. But I guess it is. Money isn’t an issue. I technically don’t have to work.

EMME: And then?

ME: Take art classes.

EMME: Okay. So you need to quit the soap and take art classes.

Quit the soap and take art classes.

EMME: Does your mom have any idea about how you feel?

I shake my head. This has been her dream for so long, I don’t think she’s ever taken a moment to consider what I want.

ME: No, I’ve been keeping everything hidden from her. I don’t think she’d take it well.

EMME: But this is your life.

Yes, my life. Carter Harrison. Not “Carter Harrison” the all-American, blond-haired (thanks, lemon juice!), blue-eyed, sparkly white-teeth (thanks, bleach!) act. Me. Plain Carter. I hesitate as I want to tell her more, but I figure trying to quit the soap will be hard enough. So I’ll talk to Mom about quitting the soap and taking art classes.

Yeah, that’s going to be fun.

EMME: Can I see your art?

Even though Emme has told me to basically flip my world upside down, this is what scares me the most.

ME: I’ve never shown anybody my art. I don’t know, this is going to seem stupid, but it feels too personal.

Emme nods her head.

EMME: I know exactly what you’re saying. I feel that way about my songs sometimes. But for me it’s easy – Sophie is the one who gets up there and sings my words. It actually helps me when I’m writing the lyrics. I don’t have to censor myself, wondering if people will read into something, because I know it won’t be me up there singing it. I kind of see Sophie as my security blanket. I guess artists don’t have that luxury.

I never thought of it like that before. That Emme, who has this incredible support system, would feel self-conscious about her songs. And I never realized how much she needs Sophie. I always saw it from Sophie’s perspective, that Sophie needs Emme’s songs.

I guess we’re both hiding in our own ways.

ME: Well, I’m going to have to show it to people sometime. Although I do need to warn you, I’m no Trevor Parsons.

EMME: Trevor had to start somewhere. You know, he would be a great person to talk to.

I laugh. Emme makes this all seem so simple. But maybe it is. It can’t be any harder than keeping a straight face saying lines like “Dammit, Charity, I’m not a mind reader, I’m just a guy trying to tell you how I feel inside!”

I think about my conversation with Emme as I go for a run in Central Park the next morning. Running helps clear my head, and I need it for what awaits me at home. I come back to our Central Park West apartment to find Mom at the kitchen table, reading scripts for me.

MOM: Honey, I made you some eggs.

I go to the counter, scoop up the eggs, and pour myself a glass of orange juice.

MOM: No juice – too much sugar.

I sit down and don’t say anything.

MOM: Nervous about school on Monday?

I shake my head. Nope, not nervous about that. Although about the conversation I want to have right now? I believe terrified is the word I’m thinking of.

ME: I need to talk to you.

She puts down the script and removes her reading glasses.

ME: It’s about the soap. I don’t want —

MOM: I know, honey, and I’m so sorry about the pressure the producers have been putting on you for the new Charity story line. At first, I thought it would help with school starting, they know your hours are being cut and I think they wanted to give you something big before you wouldn’t be around so much.

ME: It’s not that. I don’t want to do it anymore.

MOM: I’m confused. You don’t want to do the Charity story line or the show?

ME: The show.

MOM: Oh.

She looks down at the table and nods.

MOM: Okay, Carter. But you do realize you’re on a contract.

What is going on? She’s so calm. This isn’t what I was expecting; this isn’t how she reacts when I …

I try to think about a time when I stood up for myself and said I didn’t want to go on an audition or accept a role. And I can’t. That’s impossible. I …

ME: How long is the contract for?

MOM: Just until next September.

Next September? That’s a year.

MOM: Let me talk to the producers and see what we can do. We’ll work something out, but you won’t be able to quit right away.

I shake my head. That’s it. She’s not going to …

To what? I start going through all the scenarios in my head of when I’ve taken roles, and it’s always been my decision. I’m the one who put myself in this circumstance. I’m the one who thought a soap would be a good way to balance school.

MOM: I’m glad you said something to me, honey. I didn’t know you were that unhappy with the show, but you’ve been demonstrating so much promise at school, it makes sense you’d want to concentrate on your senior year.

I’m in shock. I quietly eat the rest of my eggs as I try to even think about what must be going through her mind.

Mom hands me the script she’s been reading.

MOM: I think this is really good; you should read it. Tell me what you think. Maybe you can do this next?

She kisses me on the cheek and pats my back before she heads to the living room.

I’m so shocked that I don’t even bring up art. No point doing that until I know what’s going on with the show.

I clean the dishes in a daze. Then I automatically pick up the script she handed me and head to my room. Anything to take my mind off what will happen once I stop acting, once I don’t have a role to hide behind.

So the question is: Am I really ready to be just plain old Carter?

On Monday, while the rest of the school begins classes, the selected performers wait backstage as Dr. Pafford does his usual scaring of the freshman class. Reminding them that while they were probably the top music/art/dance/drama students in whatever borough they came from, they are average here. That on top of academics, they’ve got four studio classes. That they are here for an hour longer than “normal” high schools.

Emme approaches me with a smile on her face. I told her about my conversation with my mom and she was really happy. Sophie, on the other hand, can’t believe that I’d want to leave the show.

It isn’t until after Emme gives me a hug that I notice that Trevor Parsons is behind her.

EMME: Hey, Carter, do you know Trevor?

TREVOR: Hey, man. I, of course, know who you are.

I shake his hand and can hardly speak. I’ve been around a bunch of celebrities in my life, but there’s something about Trevor that renders me utterly speechless.

EMME: I’ve been talking to Trevor about possibly doing some artwork for the band.

ME: Cool.

Cool? This is not the impression I want to make with somebody like Trevor.

EMME: I hope you don’t mind, Carter, but I was telling Trevor about how you’ve been doing some of your own art, and how I thought that maybe he could give you some pointers.

TREVOR: Can totally do that. I love seeing other people’s work. And seeing anything that’s being done outside these walls would be a welcome sight. Here, let me give you my number.

This really is a lot simpler than I thought. What was my excuse all this time for continuing to do something that makes me unhappy?

Emme stands back and watches as Trevor and I exchange information. I want to run over, pick her up, and give her a hug.

But there isn’t time. The cue comes up and we all take our places. Over the next thirty minutes or so, the new class is treated to performances from my peers. They shine onstage because it’s what they love. They are CPA’s finest.

And then there’s me.

I’ve wanted to blame my mom for the position I’m in, but her reaction made me realize that maybe she wasn’t the one pushing me this entire time.

I never once complained about being an actor. About going on auditions.

This was all on me.

As I take to the stage, a line from Death of a Salesman comes into my mind. Not from the part I’m going to be performing, but from Willy Loman’s son, Biff.

I look out into the audience and hear the screaming from the girls. Those words echo loudly in my head.

I realized what a ridiculous lie my whole life has been.

There is one thing I can say with certainty: I am not anywhere near the worst disaster at the freshman performance. Far from it. That honor belongs to one Carter Harrison.

We file into our first studio class for music composition after the performances. “Well, we’ve always known he hasn’t gotten by on his talent,” Jack says as he takes his usual seat in the back row.

“Be nice,” Emme scolds as she sits in front of him. Ben sits next to Jack, and I sit in front of him, next to Emme. This is pretty much how it’s been since freshman year.

“Plus,” she continues, “he’s been going through a lot. So he botched a few lines – that’s happened to all of us.” She looks directly at me.

Okay, she has a point, but Jack isn’t one to back down.

“How would you know what’s going on with him?”

Yeah, why does Emme know anything about Carter’s life? Like one after-concert talk makes them lifelong friends. It’s not as if Sophie would ever dare discuss anything that didn’t revolve around her.

“Just drop it.” She turns toward the front of the class, waiting for Mr. North to start.

The other students quickly file in and take the remaining seats. The music composition program started with eighteen students. Now there are only twelve of us left.

“Welcome, seniors!” Mr. North greets us as he walks in, sleeves rolled up, like he’s ready to dive into whatever challenge he places in front of us. “I won’t delay the torture any longer.” A nervous giggle echoes in the large studio room. “We’ve done style analysis, composing for vocal, small form, and full orchestra. This year, the focus will be on contemporary arrangement and productions, but, for the most part, you can choose which type of music to work with.”

A small victory. No more composing sonatas for seventy different orchestra members. I can stick to what I do best: four-minute-long songs that chronicle the epic disaster known as my love life.

“At the end of the year, you’ll need to submit a senior thesis project to graduate. Since many of you are applying to music colleges, most of you will be able to use your thesis for your prescreening, or what you are doing for your audition for your thesis. I guess it depends on how on top of things you are.

“So here’s the deal: Those of you wanting to do vocal compositions, you’ll need to do a CD of original songs or a musical act that lasts at least forty minutes. Short form, three different sonatas or minuets for a total time of at least thirty minutes. And the orchestra folks, rescore a portion of a movie or television show. Again, at least thirty minutes.” He starts handing out a sheet of paper with the requirements.

The CD is perfect; we’ve already been working on recording a few songs to sell some CDs at our shows. Plus, both Emme and I need recorded songs for our pre-audition for Juilliard. They require a pre-audition to see if you are even good enough for an audition. Fortunately, the other places we’re applying to just have an audition.

I say that like we are purposely applying to the same schools.

We are not.

Well, at least she isn’t. I’ll admit to looking at her list before deciding where I was going to apply.

Until recently, Emme has been my biggest rock. But the rock turned into an avalanche a few weeks ago and now I don’t know what she’s thinking.

“Which brings us to the unpleasant matter of us giving out our charity to the rest of the school. That’s right, school musical time.”

Everybody in the room lets his or her disgust be known. We’re required to perform in the orchestra of at least one all-school musical. It’s a requirement of the other music programs – brass, percussion, piano, etc. – so it was deemed fairest to make the composition students do it as well.

“The first musical, A Little Night Music, is at the end of October and we need —”

Before he can even get the words out, both Emme and I shoot our hands up to volunteer at the exact same moment. She looks at me and laughs.

Mr. North shakes his head. “Why am I not surprised?”

Both Emme and I agree that it’s best to get that prerequisite out of the way.

“Well, the good news is that they need two people: percussion and bass.”

Emme leans in. “I’ll flip you for percussion.”

I shake my head. “You take it.” She claps her hands together. Percussion will be the far less demanding of the two. The “real” percussion students will be assigned the drum kit and major roles. Emme will just need to fill in on a triangle or timpani if a song calls for it.

At this point, I’ll do anything to make it so she never looks at me the way she did during the summer.

Lunch starts off eerily quiet, since Jack mercifully already did his usual pseudo-documentary account of our fates. Plus, we’re all looking over our senior thesis requirements.

Jack throws the piece of paper on the table with purpose. “I know this may surprise you all, but I’m going to start working on this right away.”

Ben laughs.

“Seriously. This is exactly what I need for CalArts, combining original composition with a movie. Genius.”

Emme looks down at the table. She gets sad every time she’s reminded that Jack wants to go across the country to school. Ben’s first choice is Oberlin in Ohio. I’m the only person who’s planning on staying on the East Coast, either at Juilliard, Berklee, Boston Conservatory, or the Manhattan School of Music. Although I did apply to the San Francisco Conservatory … because Emme has it on her list.

But we both want Juilliard. I think anybody who grows up in New York City with a passion for music wants to go there. You’d be crazy not to.

“Aww, come on, Red.” Jack nudges Emme’s shoulder playfully. “You’ve got the whole year to feast your eyes on all of this.” He gestures over his body and raises his eyebrows at her.

She smiles reluctantly at him. Jack gets up and hugs Emme.

“I swear you’re like a little lost puppy, Red. Damn you and those big green eyes. They get me every time.”

Something catches Emme’s attention and she quickly excuses herself from the table. My gaze follows her across the room as she approaches Carter and gives him a little hug.

Seriously, when did they become friends? We talk every day and she hasn’t mentioned anything to me about him. I thought she told me everything, but I guess not.

Emme brings Carter over to the table. “Carter’s going to join us for lunch,” she announces. We make room for him. We’ve never had an outsider at our table before. I don’t think I like this at all. We’ve had to share Emme with Sophie all this time, and now we’ve got to fight off the Soap Stud.

“Hey, guys, you were amazing today.” He sits down and smiles at us. “Seriously, everybody in Drama was foaming at the mouth at having to compete with you guys for the Senior Showcase. You’re totally the front-runners.”

“Thanks, man.” Jack shakes Carter’s hand.

“Yeah, that’s so nice of you.” Ben tilts his head at Carter slightly.

“And I know you’re upset” – Emme rubs her hand on Carter’s back – “but you had one of the most difficult monologues to do, and I think you recovered nicely.”

What the hell is going on? They are practically falling all over this no-talent hack. Fine, I’ll give it to Emme and Ben that he’s good-looking in that overly coifed all-American kind of way, but I expected more from Jack. Considering that Jack wants to be a composer for the big screen, I guess he sees Carter as his ticket into the business or whatever.

I mean, okay, I liked the first two Kavalier Kids movies as a kid, but seriously …

This is so not how I pictured senior year starting off. Granted, I didn’t suddenly expect to mature completely, but how can I possibly work on my self-confidence when I’ve got Mr. Six-Pack sitting across from me? Especially when the three people most important to me are clearly enamored of this Former Child Star?

I don’t say anything for the rest of lunch. Not when Carter breaks out a container full of chicken breast that serves as his entire meal. Not when I notice him looking at my cheeseburger and fries in envy. (At least I’ve got something over him; I got this “body” by stuffing my face with junk food, so he can just suck on that.) Not when Emme fills him in on our senior thesis. And especially not when Jack invites him to our rehearsal this weekend at my apartment.

I don’t say a word.

And nobody seems to notice. Or care.

I’m ready to put this miserable day behind me when Emme approaches me with a smile on her face.

I smile back at her until she says, “Don’t hate me.” She pulls out The Calendar. I see Jack walking over, but as soon as he sees the all-too-familiar binder, he heads for the door.

“Jack’s walking away.” I rat him out.

Emme sprints to grab Jack, and he gives me the look of death as she drags him over.

“Come on, guys,” she says, “this semester is going to be extremely complicated with college auditions, the senior thesis, and the showcase. We’ve got to figure everything out.”

She opens up the color-coded weekly calendar that contains her academic assignments, her practice pieces, the band’s schedule, and all the deadlines to pretty much everything on earth. She refuses to put it on her phone. She also writes out all her music. Pretty much everybody in class uses computers to record or write songs. But Emme uses good old paper and pencil.

It’s so old-school. It’s also utterly endearing.

I love that she still does it, especially after us picking on her about it since freshman year. I’d hate for her to change that or anything else about her. Except for her opinion about me – that I’d love to change.

She starts quizzing us on our schedules, assignments, and projects so she can figure out a practice schedule for the band.

I may be the front man, Jack may be the charisma, Ben may be the soul, but Emme is the heart of the band.

I think back to the time when I realized how much we needed her. How much I needed her. It was the first official fight of the band. And, of course, I was the reason for it.

Besides being the front man, I’m the pain in the ass of the band.

Our first few performances freshman year went okay. The sound was fine – only I was having some problems being the proper “leader” of the band. I thought I was walking into a rehearsal, but I was mistaken.

I could immediately tell by the silence that greeted me when I entered the room that something was wrong.

“We’ve got to talk.” Jack gestured to the seat next to him.

I stayed standing.

Jack didn’t seem surprised. “Okay, so no offense.”

Generally speaking, when somebody starts a sentence with “no offense,” what follows is something that you will take offense at.

“I mean, you know we all love you,” Jack continued, only further delaying this awkward intervention.