Check!

Now all I need is to land the lead spot in the showcase and it will all be mine.

Emme

Sophie is amazing. She gets a well-deserved standing ovation every night.

I look over to see her being congratulated at the after-party of our final performance. She’s beaming, as she should be.

“Here you go.” Ethan hands me some punch. “To getting it over with.”

We clink our glasses together. With our musical requirement out of the way, we can concentrate on our final project.

“I’m sick to my stomach thinking about the fact that we mailed our applications.”

Ethan and I went together to mail our pre-audition applications and CDs before tonight’s show. I don’t think I would’ve had the courage to do it if he hadn’t been with me, practically pulling the envelope out of my hand.

“Your songs are incredible. You sounded incredible.”

“Don’t remind me.” I have a hard time listening to me sing. The first take we did of my vocals was awful. But I got used to singing; it helped that Ethan was being so supportive. Although he is the only person I’ve allowed to hear me sing. Well, Ethan and the admissions staff at Juilliard. “What did you make me do?”

He laughs at me. “Oh, I don’t know, help you accomplish your dreams. Really, a simple thank-you will suffice.”

“Thank you.” I raise my glass to him.

“Don’t mention it. Actually, mention it … often.”

I don’t exactly know what’s happened to him, but he’s really turned around the last few weeks. There’s no drama, no self-pity; he’s just plain, regular Ethan.

“Okay, I have a favor to ask.”

He looks at me with a smirk on his face. “Oh, really? This ought to be good.”

“You have to promise me that you’ll tell me the second you hear from Juilliard and the other schools.” He scowls slightly. He’s always the first one of us to get his CPA acceptance for the following semester, but he always waits to tell us until we all receive ours. “This is a really big deal, and I want you to feel like you can celebrate it and not worry about if I’ve heard anything. Promise.”

He pauses for a second before he responds. “Okay.”

“Say it.”

“Promise.” He looks down at the floor for a few beats before he looks up at me. And he seems nervous. “Emme, I need you to know that —”

“Hey, guys!” Tyler Stewart approaches us. “Great job!” Tyler was the lead pianist in the orchestra for the show. I also had a little bit of a crush on him when we were in Advanced Piano last year.

“Thanks, although I really didn’t do much. You were extraordinary.” I feel my cheeks grow hot.

He smiles at me. “Oh, come on, that triangle can be pretty tricky.”

I laugh like an idiot. I’ve never been good at flirting. Ever. That’s probably why I’ve only had about four dates at CPA. I like to blame it on how busy we are. But it’s because I’ve got absolutely no skills when it comes to boys. Sure, I love the guys in the band, but they’re like brothers to me. There was never any question that we were only going to be friends, so there’s never been any pressure to be anybody but me.

“Well, I’m a girl of many talents.”

Oh, my goodness. What did I just say?

Fortunately, Tyler laughs and replies, “I’m sure you are.”

Ethan interrupts us. “I’m ready to head out.”

“Oh, okay.” Tyler looks disappointed.

The guys in the band are extremely protective of me, and always have been. There was this one guy who used to come to our gigs all the time last year and talk to me afterward. The guys referred to him as my stalker. He was innocent enough (and only fourteen), but Jack always stood over him like my bodyguard.

“Um, actually, I was going to hang around and go back to Brooklyn with Sophie,” I say. That’s technically not a lie. Sophie and I didn’t make plans to go back together, but I just assumed. Plus, it lets me stay longer and talk to Tyler without me appearing desperate.

Tyler lights up. “Great!”

Ethan hesitates. “Okay, see you tomorrow.” He gives me a quick hug and nods at Tyler.

After Ethan leaves, Tyler leans in. “I’ve got a confession to make. Ethan intimidates the crap out of me. That guy is a genius.”

I nod. “He really is. I’ve watched him write songs, and it just comes out of him so fast. It’s like it’s completely effortless, and I, of course, have to spend days, weeks even, obsessing over the simplest chord progression.” I think Ethan’s probably bored with our assignments in class, he’s always the first one to finish. He’d never admit it since the rest of us struggle, but I always wonder why he puts up with all the drama of CPA when he’s one of the few students who doesn’t really need the school’s help. He’s already a brilliant songwriter. “I have to admit that I was terrified the first time I had to play something I wrote in front of him. But he’s also one of the most supportive people in the program.”

Tyler puts his hand in his pockets. “Yeah, that’s great … um, since we’re confessing things, I also want to admit that I’m glad he left and that you’re still here.”

I think, Play it cool, Emme. But “Me, too!” bursts from my lips with a little too much excitement.

Tyler and I sit on a couch and talk for the rest of the time. I don’t even notice when Sophie leaves. Or that Ethan texts me four times to see if I made it home okay. Or that Tyler and I are the last ones there.

All I know is that I have a date planned with Tyler Stewart.


Leave it to Jack to figure out something is going on.

“What aren’t you telling me, Red? You’ve got this little mischievous smile on your face.”

“I do not.”

He puts his hands on my shoulders and leans in to stare into my eyes.

“Yes, you do. I’ll admit, it suits you well. You should be a troublemaker more often.”

The four of us sit down in composition class. The last thing I need is those three giving me grief for my date on Wednesday with Tyler.

Thankfully, Mr. North starts class, which is the only thing that can quiet Jack down (somewhat). But he keeps tugging on my hair as Mr. North fills us in on the next CPA concert.

“Okay, guys, the alumni concert is coming up. I don’t need to remind you that some of our most prestigious alumni, and those with the deepest pockets, come each year to be wowed by the students. Now that you’re seniors, you get the privilege of putting on the show. The theme this year is Icons. Each performance will need to feature an icon or an iconic piece from one of the decades since CPA was founded. A representative from each group needs to come up and pick a decade out of the hat.”

Jack gets up for us and takes a piece of paper out of the hat. He unfolds it and nods his head with a big smile on his face. He shows Mr. North the paper and holds it out to us as he comes back to his seat. “The eighties.”

The other four groups pick their decades, and Mr. North reminds us that this is the last all-school performance before the showcase audition invitations are handed out.

“Okay,” Ethan starts us off. “We’ve got to make a statement here. I’m thinking that whatever we choose, it should be something loud, something big, very rock-heavy. Last year I wanted to fall asleep from all the power ballads. Just because some of the alumni are elderly, it doesn’t mean that we can’t spice things up.”

We all agree. Plus, being loud always helps me with any nerves I have onstage. Churning out big power chords fast has a calming effect on me. I’m probably the only person who finds performing punk music therapeutic.

“Why don’t we put a punk spin on whatever song we choose?” I say.

“That’s what I’m talking about!” Jack agrees.

We throw out names of the eighties’ musical icons: Madonna, Prince, Bruce Springsteen, The Police, and so on. Until we settle on the biggest of them all.

Michael Jackson.

Ben hits his hand against the table. “I’ve got it. ‘Beat It.’ It’s got the sick guitar lick and solo. Ethan, I know you can take it to the next level. Plus, Jack can hash out an intense beat on the drum, and Emme and I will keep up just fine.”

It’s unanimous. I pull out The Calendar and start to figure out practice times.

“Man, I’m excited about this.” Jack is already tapping out a beat with his fingers. “I want to start working on it ASAP. What’s everybody’s week like? If we get even a basic idea down, maybe we can do a rough version at our gig on Friday night?”

“I’m free,” Ben offers.

“Me, too,” Ethan says with his eyes closed. I know he’s figuring out his part in his head.