“That’s the business, I’m afraid,” he says with a shrug. “But don’t let it stop you. You’ve got one of those rare voices, the kind that makes people forget to breathe. Best soprano I’ve heard in years.”
I glance up, caught off guard. He says it like it’s a fact, not just fake encouragement because he feels sorry for me.
“You really think so?”
“Absolutely. And I’ve got a feeling you’re just getting started.” He straightens, a smile spreading beneath the thick bristles of his mustache as he adjusts his bold bow tie, bright as a painting against his rich brown skin. “Speaking of, I do hope you’re auditioning for the Fall Showcase today?”
Shit.
I totally forgot about that.
Every year, top students from Vocal Studio perform solos at the showcase. It’s supposedly a huge deal on campus and exactly the kind of thing I need on my NYU transfer app. I’d meant to prep a piece, but between Hayes, the dog, Amber, and everything else, it completely slipped my mind.
Frustration knots in my throat.
“I don’t think so, Professor. I don’t have anything ready.”
“Surely you’ve got something memorized from yourHerculesaudition you can sing for us?”
I mull over his suggestion as the room fills behind me. My confidence still feels paper-thin. Am I really ready to put myself out there so soon? What if I fail again? Or worse—what if everyone laughs at me?
And yet… I don’t think Professor Jones would be pushing me unless he really thought I had a shot.
Just before class begins, Rebecca Choi slides into the seat beside me with a friendly wave. She’s petite and always effortlessly put together, with silky dark hair that falls in neat layers around her face and preppy designer clothes that somehow never wrinkle.
Rebecca’s a freshman too. She moved to Laguna Hills last year, and even though she’s one of Amber’s closest friends, she’s not nearly as awful as the rest of them. She actually clapped for me during my Megara audition, while Amber and the others snickered in the back row.
To be fair, I don’t know if they were laughing at me or something on Instagram. They were glued to their phones the entire time.
After a quick rundown of the syllabus, Professor Jones launches straight into showcase auditions. Each time he calls a name, my pulse spikes. I’m practically vibrating out of my seat. Then—he says mine.
For a second, I think about bolting. But no. I can’t let fear stop me from doing what I love. Even if I suck,even if everyone really does laugh, I have to at least try.
Like my body’s on autopilot, I walk to the front of the studio, open my mouth, and sing.
My voice wobbles at first—soft, unsure—but by the time I hit the chorus, I find my stride. I forget the room, the eyes, the pressure, and just let go, nerves melting away until all that’s left is the song. It’s just me and the music.
I belt out each new line, hitting notes no one else in class has even touched. A grin spreads across my face as I nail the final crescendo. Okay, maybe it wasn’t the strongest start of all time—but the rest?
I crushed it.
Only Rebecca claps when I finish. The rest of the room stays silent. Maybe they’re stunned. Or maybe just petty. I don’t care. I don’t need them to clap. All that matters is what Professor Jones thinks.
“There it is. That’s the voice I was hoping to hear again.” He nods, clearly impressed. “You’re in the showcase, Ms. Smith.”
Endorphins flood my body, and I feel it—that high of being heard. Of being seen. For once, I don’t feel like the weird girl, or the loser who didn’t get the part. For just a few minutes, it feels like maybe I’m enough, exactly as I am.
But deep down, I know better.
Nothing good in my life ever stays that way for long.
The rest of my first week of college goes by as I expected. No surprises, at least.
Classes are interesting—nothing like what NYU probably offers, but still. Professor Jones’s vocal studio is amazing, and I secretly love having French with Hayes. And yes, just like he said, seeing his pretty face in class kind of makes my day.
Not that I’d tell him that.
But beyond the more challenging coursework, college is exactly what I imagined: a slightly shinier version of high school. No new friends. No sudden shift in social gravity. No buzzing invites or spontaneous party offers. Just me, floating on the fringes like always, smiling politely while everyone else moves around me like I’m invisible.
