“Wife’s got me on a new diet,” he says, patting at his rounded belly. “No sugar. No salt. She doesn’t even season the eggs. Can you imagine?”
I stifle a laugh as he takes a bite and grimaces.
“Here’s my advice.” He chews slowly, thoughtfully. “The song’s great, truly. But the bridge drags a bit. Tighten it up. Add a third verse. I think there’s more story here to tell.” He gives me a pointed look. “Don’t ever hold back. The best artists never hold back.”
If he only knew. Holding things back has basically been my life’s defining skill.
“Thanks, Professor. I’ll work on it.”
“And keep going,” he says, a note of encouragement in his voice. “Maybe we can make it your solo for the Fall Showcase.”
A quiet thrill pulses through me. So far, all the solos are covers.
“Wow. That would be… really amazing.”
I rummage through my backpack and pull out the Ziploc bag of brownies Mom packed for me this morning. She still makes my lunch like I’m five years old, but sometimes it works in my favor, like now.
“Here,” I say, offering him the bag. “They’re vegan, but I swear they’re actually good. My mom’s kind of a health-nut baking wizard.”
“Well, thank you.” He unwraps one like it’s treasure. “I keep telling you, Ms. Smith, you’ve got real talent. You just have to start believing it, too.” He smiles, warm and genuine. “And I’m not just saying that because of the brownies. Though they definitely don’t hurt.”
After that, class begins, and Professor Jones introduces our new assignment, due next week. We have to pair up and deliver a presentation on a pop artist of our choice, analyzing their musical evolution, cultural impact, and key contributions to the industry. The concept is actually kind of cool, but I hate partner assignments. I never have any friends to pair up with and always end up doing all the work.
I’m caught off guard when Amber’s friendRebecca slides her desk next to mine and turns toward me.
“Want to be my partner?” she asks. “We could do Lady Gaga?”
“Sure,” I say, a bit surprised but not opposed.
We pull out our notebooks, and she exhales softly.
“She’s so talented, right?”
“Her artistry is definitely next level.” I nod. “Tisch is my dream school—that’s where she went. I applied last year but didn’t get in.” I glance down, cheeks warming, unsure why I’m telling her all this and wishing I hadn’t. “It’s probably stupid, but I’m trying again. Hoping to transfer next year.”
“That’s really cool,” she says, and her expression is surprisingly earnest. “And hey, you never know. Gaga dealt with rejection too. All the greats have. And now look at her.” She leans in slightly, voice softening. “No one else gets to decide what you’re capable of. That’s up to you.”
“Yeah. Maybe.”
I turn back to my notebook, dragging my pen through the margin like I’m focused, but really I’m just buying space. It’s not that I don’t appreciate what she said. It’s just strange opening up to someone I barely know. Especially one of Amber’s friends.
“So,” I say, steering us toward safer ground, “what song should we cover?”
“‘Born This Way.’ For sure.”
“You don’t want to pick something more… mainstream?”
I expected her to suggest “Poker Face” or “BadRomance.” Something glossy and pop-forward. Bubblegum music like Amber would pick. Not a song that’s basically a gay rights anthem.
“I love that song. It’s a powerful track about owning who you are no matter what,” she says, glancing down at her two-toned Prada loafers. “That means a lot to some of us… to people like me.”
Oh.
“That’s cool,” I say gently. Her expression wavers, like she’s wondering if she said too much, but I’ve never cared who someone loves. “Love is love, right?”
“Thanks, Alysander,” she says, a big smile on her face as she places a hand lightly over mine.
We spend the rest of class mapping out our presentation and dividing up work. I take Gaga’s early life—her childhood in New York, her time at Tisch, everything leading up toThe Fame. Rebecca takes the later albums, her foundation, and all her activism.
