Take a Bow by Elizabeth Eulberg Page A

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.

T here 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