Take a Bow
Page 48
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.
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.
“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.
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.
