Chapter 5

Aspen- age 22

It's been a busy couple of weeks. Senior solos are scheduled for the end of the month, and I've practically been living in the rehearsal studio. Bryson is supposed to be meeting me to grab coffee. I promised him I'd leave Jameson Hall long enough to have coffee this afternoon.

We've been hanging out since our freshman year. He was this quiet guy who always sat in the back of the classroom. We bumped into each other, literally, as I rushed down the stairs on the first week of classes and have been friends ever since. I think he might want more, but I just don't have time. I'm constantly studying or practicing for something, and I'd feel guilty for ignoring him if he were my boyfriend. We've practiced together, and once we played together. He's a cellist. Dr. Henry, one of my professors, says that we're the perfect duo. We can sense each other, whatever that means. All I know is that we seem to be able to just know what the other is thinking and can read each other's body language when we play.

"Hey. You made it." He stood and waved as I pushed through the door of Cool Beans coffee house. He looked fairly surprised that I showed.

"I told you I'd be here. I never bail on my promises." I laughed lightly as I piled my armload of books onto the table.

"I grabbed you a mocha." He held out a cup with Penny scrawled on the side. It's funny, my dad and Mr. Vern are the only ones who called me that until I came to Berklee. Bryson is the only one here who does, but I didn't tell him to. I didn't stop him either.

"Thanks." I dropped into the chair across from him. "What do you think of that Vivaldi piece that Doc dropped on me last minute?" I rubbed my eyes. I'd been staring at sheet music all day and was starting to lose concentration.

"He knows you can do it. Doc is just…Doc." He shrugged as he sipped from his cup. "Besides, when have you ever turned down a challenge?" He grinned and gave me a knowing look.

"You're right." I sighed. Doc, also known as Dr. Sullivan, is our theory professor. He knew exactly how to push us, me in particular. "I just wish I had more time."

"You have plenty of time. You need a break from all of this, is what you need. Why don't you come to open mic night tomorrow with me? We'll have some fun." Bryson leaned back and crossed his arms as if daring me to say no.

"You know I'm not really into that." I shook my head. "I don't play pop music."

"But you could. Hell, you can play anything." His eyes widened as if to warn me of something. "Don't turn around," he grumbled.

"What?" I slowly glanced over my shoulder and then wished I hadn't.

"Hey, guys. What are you doing here?" Her saccharin voice almost gave me a toothache.

"Hi, Crystal." I offered a forced smile. She gave a little finger wave and then acted as if she was invited to join us. "Why don't you pull up a seat?" I rolled my eyes as she pulled a chair over and sat down.

"What are we talking about?" Her eyes darted between Bryson and me.

"Open mic," Bryson deadpanned.

"Ohhhh! I love open mic." She bounced in the chair and clapped giddily. "I've won a few contests. Too bad you don't play the stuff they usually have." She offered a fake smile as she started tapping away on her phone. "Well, I hope to see you there." She jumped up and left as quickly as she had appeared.

"I can't stand her," Bryson grumbled. "She thinks that she is already famous or something just because she's done background vocals." He shifted in his seat. "You have to come now. You have to beat her."

"I play, not sing." I laughed.

"You sing better than her." He stared at the door she'd just left through. "Please come."

"I'll think about it." I understood his point. I've always been told I had a pretty voice, but singing was never really my thing. Crystal was a snot though, and it would feel good to knock her down a few pegs. She went on one tour when she was eighteen and sang backup, and now she thinks that she's better than all of us.

"I'll help you pick something. Just promise you'll come." He leaned closer. "I need to see her face when you bring the house down."

"You know why I play, right?" I gave him a look as I leaned closer. "Because I can't sing."

"I've heard you. You can sing." He rolled his eyes.

"That's for fun." I brushed him off. He caught me once in a practice room singing as I rummaged through sheet music. Mom and I used to sing show tunes when I was little, but I would never consider myself good.

"This is supposed to be fun." He laughed as he stood. "I need to get back. Take a load off, and I'll see you tonight." He waved as I slumped back in my chair. Could I do that? Sing in front of people?

I sat on the futon in my tiny apartment. I had insisted that I get my own place last year. I'd lived at home and commuted to school the first two years, but I wanted to be an adult, at least that's what I told my dad. I don't know how adult I feel right now. I'm so nervous that I can't sit still. My foot's been tapping away, and I keep looking at the clock. I'd pace, but I don't really have room for that.

When I tell you living in Boston is expensive, I'm not kidding. I have a loft bed just so I can have a couch to sit on. The entire apartment is one room. There are cabinets on the back wall with a tiny little sink and a little table. I use it for the small amount of cooking I can do on my two-burner stove. There's a bathroom in the corner. It's just a toilet and a shower. I must use the sink in the kitchen for handwashing and toothbrushing. I hung a mirror on one of the walls and put a shelf under it. That's my vanity if you can call it that. In the winter, this place is so cold I use a space heater to keep myself warm. I've asked the landlord to fix the heat more times than I can count. Why would I stay, you ask? Because it's my place.

In the corner is an acoustic guitar. Last summer I got this bright idea that I'd learn to play. I wanted to be multifaceted, at least that's what Bryson called it. I've got the music part down, but the playing… I tried with all my might. I had blistered fingertips for weeks, but I'm just not picking it up as fast as I thought I would. I flopped on the futon and stared up at the underside of my bed. "I will learn to play you," I muttered to myself.

I stared at the small piece of paper tacked to the bottom of my bed. My dad's messy handwriting scrawled across it: "You are good enough." The words bounced around in my head. There were days I felt good enough, and then doubt would creep in. I wasn't getting calls like my friends were. I wasn't booking jobs. The orchestras around me weren't looking for pianists. I just felt like I was a tiny speck in a sea of successful musicians.

Before I could sink too far into the self-doubt black hole, I heard a knock followed by Bryson's voice.

"I know you're in there. I can hear you making up excuses." He laughed.

He was right. I'd been coming up with reasons to not do this all day. Screw Crystal and her desire to think she's the best at everything. "I'm not making excuses." I sighed as I opened the door. He was standing in jeans and a leather jacket holding a guitar case. "Going for the rocker vibe, I see," I teased.

"Eh, if you can pull it off, why not?" He chuckled as he stared at me. "You got the Emo depressed shit going well, Penny."

"What's wrong with this? I was trying to fit in." I waved my hands in front of me. I'd paired a ripped-up pair of black jeans with an old Stones concert tee, and my black boots.

"All you need is a studded collar, and well…" He shook his head as if to clear the image. "Here." He shrugged out of his jacket and handed it to me. "I think it goes better with your ensemble."

"I need my arms free to play." I pushed his offering away.

"Suit yourself. You ready?" He gave me a look that said he was going to drag me there if he needed to.

"Sure," I huffed. I grabbed the music I'd printed out for tonight and followed him out the door.

The bar wasn't far, so we opted to walk. It was nice out, and as the sky darkened, the city began to come to life. "What did you decide on?" He held the door for me as we entered Wet Planet.

"Billie Eilish." I glanced back at him over my shoulder. "She speaks to me."

"Nice." He nodded in appreciation. "I can see you bringing the house down."

"Yeah, we'll see. I hope my voice doesn't crack is all."

"Deep breath. You're going to do great." He pushed through the crowd and secured a table for us near the front. Crystal was dressed in some pink sparkly dress with feathers and had her little group of cronies with her. She'd taken over the front corner by the stage.

Most of the night was spent waiting. I was a late entry as well as Crystal, so we were last. Bryson sounded flawless as usual; he played a Jason Mraz song. The women swooned, and I cheered. He seemed so natural up there, and I wondered why he hadn't pursued pop music. I'd been sitting in the dark, telling myself over and over I could do this, when they called my name. Bryson stood and let out a whoop as I slowly made my way to the stage. A keyboard was set up with a bench. It reminded me of childhood recitals where you get on stage and the lights prevent you from seeing anything. Only, I could see. All these faces were just staring in anticipation. All except Crystal. Her lips were twisted in annoyance, and when I lifted my hands and held them over the keys, she rolled her eyes.

I cleared my throat and licked my lips. When my hands came down on the keys, sounding the first chord of the song, I forced the words out. My voice cracked at first, but then I remembered my father's words, "You are good enough." A small smile pulled at my lips, and the lyrics flowed flawlessly as my fingers danced across the keys.

When I finished, I paused, eyes closed, hands perfectly still. The bar was silent, and then applause erupted. My eyes flew open, and after witnessing Crystal throw somewhat of a tantrum, I looked over at Bryson. He was on his feet as were most of the other patrons. I grinned as I rushed off the stage and over to our table.

"That was amazing." He hugged me before others started congratulating me.

"I can't believe I did that. I mean, the playing was a piece of cake, but singing…" I blinked a few times just to make sure the moment was real. I'd never considered singing.

"You were great. I told you you could do this." He grabbed onto my shoulders and stared into my eyes. "Why have you never tried before?"

"Never saw a reason to. The Symphony was always the plan. They don't sing." I shrugged and then laughed. Our little celebration was interrupted by Crystal tapping the mic to get everyone's attention. When we turned around, she signaled for a backup track to start playing and began belting out a Lady Gaga song. The key was set way too high for her, and her voice cracked multiple times before Bryson and I decided to leave. I didn't really care if I won tonight. The prize was a free meal. Crystal wanted way more, and probably needed it more.

Bryson and I opted to walk down the block and grab coffee. It was much more our style, and I'd done what I set out to do. Tomorrow, I'd turn back into a pumpkin as I practiced the Vivaldi piece for Senior Showcase.