All I know is that when my name is called out, my body goes numb. I say something to Ethan, but spend all my energy focusing on walking to the piano onstage.
“This is Emme Connelly and she is applying to the composition program,” a man in the audience says over the microphone. I decide to not look at the panel sitting in the audience. I look straight ahead, but something catches my eye. I look over to the side of the stage and see Ethan’s head barely poking out. I quickly glance at the panel and they don’t see him. But I can.
“Miss Connelly, can you tell us about the first song you will be performing for us?”
Ethan smiles at me and nods for me to continue.
“Yes, it is called ‘Defying Chance,’ and it’s a recent song I wrote about the chances we take in life … and how sometimes you’ve got to forget about chances and believe in yourself.”
“Okay, please begin when you are ready.”
I take a deep breath but quickly glance at Ethan, who’s beaming at me. I play the introduction and start to sing. I keep my eyes closed the entire time, only opening them up every once in a while to steal a look at Ethan.
I play the guitar for my second song, wanting to showcase my versatility with instruments. I can’t see Ethan, since I have to face the panel. But I can sense that he’s here with me.
I’m relieved only for a moment after my song ends, because now it’s my interview time.
“Can you tell us why you wish to get a degree in composition?”
“Yes. Ever since I can remember, I’ve had a special connection to music. I would spend hours listening to the radio or watching concerts on TV. When I started to take piano lessons, my teacher would get annoyed with me because I’d change the melodies of songs since I wanted them to sound like songs that I had in my head. For so long I thought it was a bad thing to do because I’d always get in trouble. She’d tell me, ‘That’s not what’s written on the page.’ I was getting so upset because I wanted to do my own songs, but then when I was six, I got a new teacher who encouraged me to write my own music.
“I love starting with a blank piece of paper and making a new song from scratch. There are many times when I step away from the end of a long day of composing and I’m surprised about how much I did. Like it was coming from someplace else. All I know is that I have this need to create music. And if I don’t get into any music programs, I’m still going to do it for as long as I breathe.”
I resist the urge to bite my lip. I wish I hadn’t said anything about not getting into school like it wouldn’t be a big deal. But it’s the truth. If I don’t make it to a music program, I’ll reapply next year to schools for education or business. But music will always be a part of who I am.
“Favorite composers?”
“Mozart, Beethoven, Bach, Rachmaninoff, Gershwin, Lennon/McCartney.”
There is some laughter at the last comment. But I write mostly pop/rock songs, so I’d be an idiot if I omitted probably the biggest musical influence of the past few decades.
“Can you tell us about a challenge you’ve had to face and how you’ve grown from it?”
“To be honest, being here, onstage, is a challenge. I’ve never been the kind of person who has a desire to be in the spotlight. What inspires me is the writing, not necessarily performing in front of an audience. Most of the music students I know enjoy seeing their name in lights and being onstage. But that’s always been my least favorite part. So standing up here having to sing for you, to have the confidence it requires to be an entertainer, that’s been a real challenge.
“However, this experience has really taught me a lot about myself. It’s wonderful to have people believe in you, but if you don’t believe in yourself, you really can’t accomplish much. So the fact that I’m standing here, and I’ll be able to walk out that door and be proud of what I’ve done, is an unbelievable accomplishment. It makes we wonder what else I’m capable of.”
I begin to feel a sting come from behind my eyes. I will not cry during my Juilliard audition. I meant every word of what I said. I’m really proud of myself. Every time I thought I would fall on my face, I rose to the occasion. And for the first time, I actually believe that I belong here.
“Why Juilliard?”
“Because it’s Juilliard,” I blurt out. Apparently I’ve become too comfortable onstage….
More laughter comes from below.
I try to recover. “I’m from Brooklyn. New York City is part of who I am. I attend the New York City High School of the Creative and Performing Arts, mainly because of its proximity to Juilliard. This has been my dream for so long, I think it would be more difficult for me to answer ‘Why would anybody choose
There is some whispering among the judges.
“Thank you.”
I’m startled. It’s over? That’s all they’re asking me? This is not a good sign. They talked to Ethan for nearly twenty minutes. I got maybe five.
“Thank you so much for your time,” I say before I head back to the hallway.
I open the door and see Ethan waiting for me.
He envelops me in his arms. “You were wonderful, the best I’ve ever heard you.”
“Thanks. How did you sneak in?”
“I’ve got my ways….”
“Did you hear my interview?”
He shakes his head. “I didn’t want to get caught, so I left once you couldn’t see me anymore.”
“They only asked me four questions.”
For a second, a look of worry crosses Ethan’s face, but he quickly disguises it.
“Emme, I think they only have those interviews to make sure you can string a few words together. Please don’t let this ruin the day. We are finished with our auditions. Flippin’ Juilliard!”
He’s right. It’s over. There’s nothing I can do now. The chances of me getting in are … well, eight percent. But I had the opportunity. I’ve got my other schools, I’ve got the guys. All will be well.
I hear a rumbling coming from my stomach.
“I’m starving.”
Ethan puts his arm around me and leads me out of the building. “It’s about time. Let’s get some food in you.”
I may have annoyed the waitress this morning with my repeated refills of water, but the older gentleman who is waiting on us at the Italian restaurant seems impressed by the amount of food I just packed away.
“Such a skinny girl. You eat more?”
“I think I’m done.” I push away my empty plate of chicken parm (which joined my empty plates of bruschetta, mozzarella sticks, and penne alla vodka).
Ethan smiles at me. “That was impressive.”
“Ugh. I’m so full. Why did you let me keep ordering?”
“Because you haven’t eaten a full meal in weeks.”
I rub my belly. “Can we walk through the park? I need to digest this food.”
“I think we’d have to walk around the entire isle of Manhattan for that.”
I throw my napkin at him. We get up and head east to Central Park. I wrap my scarf around me since all the blood has rushed to my stomach.
We head to the Imagine mosaic near Strawberry Fields. Ethan reassures me for the third time that my Lennon/McCartney answer was good.
“Thanks.”
“Of course.”
I look over at Ethan and realize that he’s been there with me through everything. He’s gone above and beyond more times than I deserve. I haven’t even missed Sophie at all, because once she went away, I realized that she didn’t ever really have an impact on me as a friend. Because she wasn’t a friend. Not like Ethan.
I study the Imagine mosaic. The small white and black stones together form a beautiful tribute to one of the greatest songwriters of all time. I see Ethan looking down as well. He’s a huge part of my life. If my world was a
