When you lived in a world where everything seemed backwards, you couldn't always trust yourself. But the moment I stepped on stage, I entrusted the audience with my music. I trusted myself that for half an hour, I could be my authentic self. Music was the one language that let me speak to others on the same footing. The stage was my world, as it was a lens for others to see me as what I wanted to become: a musician.

"And I'm lost on the road...but something tells me it's home," I finished, strumming the last notes before the restaurant broke into applause.

The clapping washed over me like amplifications of my song, breaking my trance. No one seemed to hear my muttered "Thank you," but it was nice, having the stage to yourself.

I unplugged the cable from my guitar and the PA system. The best thing about this restaurant was that they were prepared with all the equipment the average musician needed. The setup was always the same, everything was organized, and the restaurant people knew what the musicians needed. I only had to bring my guitar. The stage lights dimmed slightly, signaling intermission before the next show. After lowering the microphone stand, I double-checked I got everything, then ducked backstage and clattered down the wooden steps, my veins fizzling like sparkling champagne.

Who was next after intermission? The musicians from earlier had left, canceling my plan to crawl out of my shell and talk with them. That wouldn't happen either way though.

Searching the restaurant, I almost bumped into a band's merchandise table. Like most singers, they had their own pins, magnets and T-shirts. The only thing that stuck in my sugar-happy brain was a couple of words: "Hidden Stars." Not the band name. A record company, maybe?

It reminded me of my competition. But that was okay. I was a regular here, while these people were new. Besides, I told the restaurant owner I had a bunch of new originals to perform for future gigs.

"Earth to Tai?" someone called, bringing my attention back to my destination: the table right next to the stage speakers.

Monty's lips twitched as I slid in the chair across from him. I swore the dude never slept—he pulled up all-nighters studying for the upcoming fall exams, coding a visual novel game, and playing Legend of Zelda like there was no tomorrow. It was a miracle he had enough energy to watch me perform, but as he'd phrased it, "I'm your friend. Why not?"

Over the past few months that I'd known him, I'd begun to believe what he said. Not only did he see me as a friend, but he befriended me because of who I was, and not in spite of it.

Now he tapped the scrap of paper in front of him, where he'd reprinted my lyrics in his neat handwriting. "Seeing you onstage was cool. You look happier than I thought possible."

So happy that I had stood there, distracted by the things around me. But I was in a good mood. I zipped up my guitar in its case, bouncing in my seat. Finally, after stretching my fingers so they weren't so jittery, I signed, "And I'm happy that you could finally hear my guitar! Or feel the vibrations at least."

"I heard some of it. Thanks for reserving a spot near the speakers. Anyway, what are your plans besides playing gigs? Your finances are stable, mostly, so what's stopping you from doing more?"

"I want to take it slow." Life barely gave me a chance to breathe. "I haven't thought beyond this because this was my goal. To make a living out of my art and what I can do, right? I'm looking for more places that have accommodations for my needs. That's been unsuccessful. But! I've been improving on my songs! The whole reason I quit architecture was so I could pursue something I enjoy. It's a nice feeling to show my parents that I can be independent and make my own decisions. And..."

I trailed off because Monty had asked that question enough times that for once. I knew what he was thinking.

He said it anyway. "Hey. I'm not going to pretend I'm a know-it-all when it comes to the music industry. But you can't operate in a bubble. I'm surprised that you haven't received offers or anything from other companies or venues."

"I did."

His jaw dropped. "You rejected them?"

I knew my music was good. It wasn't the mainstream pop that everyone listened to, but it had an audience. The problem came with networking. Socializing. Meeting other people and maintaining those relationships. On the stage I was myself, but off-stage was a constant performance of blending in, ignoring your own instincts and copying others.

The worst part? There were good people out there. People who believed in me. Like Monty. I didn't know how we were still friends after a few months. I didn't know why he had so much faith in me.

So when I would inevitably mess something up, when they realized I wasn't really the person they expected me to be, I'd be left alone again. And that hurt more than anything else.

Monty huffed. "So what if it doesn't work out? You always have next time."

I shrank from his stare. "Don't stare at me. I keep telling myself that, but it doesn't work."

He opened his mouth to say something—probably along the lines of "You're not trying hard enough." But he wouldn't understand; he racked up as many real-life achievements as in video games.

He breathed in deeply. "I don't know what's going on, Tai. But you're worrying too much about what other people think. They're the stupid ones."

Was that a smile? Or a grimace? Monty was never great at expressing himself. Even with the splash of glowing neon green pixels on his sweater, the restaurant's dim lighting made it hard to see his expression. I liked this restaurant because the lighting wasn't harsh, but after 7 o'clock in the evening, it was hard for me to read people's facial expressions. Same went for Monty when he was trying to guess what others were saying.

And another con of playing gigs in the evenings: restaurants got rowdier as more customers came in, seeking refuge from the cold. I grimaced as five different conversations from the nearby tables overlapped each other. I shook my head at Monty; whatever he was saying, I couldn't focus on it.

Monty signed instead. Both of us weren't the best at ASL, but I got what he meant: "Let's get out of here after you talk with the manager."

We got out of our seats to search for the guy in question. Together, we navigated the increasingly crowded restaurant to the kitchen doors, adjacent to the washrooms. James stood watch, chatting with an employee until he saw us.

"Good, I was just looking for you. Let's talk about your gigs."

Here was my chance to pitch! I breathed in deep; it was an announcement that I hadn't even admitted to myself, because it sounded too good to be true. "I have a full album of songs coming up. A couple of them I've sung here already, but most of them are new. I've experimented with adding bass and drums too, to vary my songs. I can take any of the big slots that you have for next week, including the three-hours one."

James whistled. "Huh. Impressive. You've played here a lot already, though."

I nodded. "I hadn't been able to fill up the bigger slots in your timetable, so I want to try now."

His shoulders rose and fell in a sigh. "Listen Tai, I hate to break it to you, but you've been here enough that our regulars know all of your songs. You're a good musician! You have talent. But you see, it doesn't hurt to have a new guy come in. Fresh faces draw in new customers and..."

His last words were drowned by an electric guitar riff. I turned but couldn't get a good view of the stage. Monty popped in my vision and pointed back towards James. Right. I had to focus. Just a bit more and I could leave the restaurant.

"Sorry, could you repeat that again?" I asked.

James frowned and gave The Look. I might not be great at recognizing emotions, but I knew this one well: disgust.

I stepped back.

"We're booked up," he said. "You can come in for maybe one more day but that's it. Good luck elsewhere."

This could not be happening. I relied on this restaurant to pay for my bills! It was the one good fortune I had this month.

I gripped my guitar strap. The textured nylon gave me little comfort. "I thought you said I'd have future gigs here."

"That was a general statement, not a promise. It was before we got an influx of requests from a variety of artists."

"So you lied!"

It was meant to be a question, but my voice raised by its own accord and several heads turned our way. I fought down the panic as I flapped my hands, not knowing what to grasp onto anymore. "You should've told me earlier beforehand, so I could plan, but now—"

James crossed his arms. "Don't accuse me of being deceptive. We didn't sign any contract for future gigs. You're welcome here anytime as long as there's open bookings, which won't be til January. Even then, unless you can bring in new songs that don't all sound the same, I'll be inclined to give other musicians a chance."

I thought James liked my songs. This completely contradicted what he said at the beginning of November! And he was giving me another chance in January, but that hinged on meeting his expectations, his preferences—whatever they were.

Monty stepped in between us. He pointed at James. "Hey, treat my friend with respect. You owe him an explanation longer than two minutes."

"Excuse me? How could you even hear our conversation?"

As the conversation's topic whipped back and forth between my music and whatever point Monty wanted to make, more heads turned in our direction. This was the worst kind of spotlight. Heat crept up my cheeks. I tried to connect the wires of logic but they sparked and died out. Monty's mouth moved but his words were drowned out. Somewhere, a guy's amplified voice said something about defiance and asked if the audience was ready.

I wasn't ready.

I stepped back and braced myself for the heart-in-your-throat sensation when you jumped off a diving board. Gravity disappeared before a comforting coat spread from my back to my front, rendering myself invisible. The washroom door was open, and from inside, I could see my faithful reflection.

"Wait, where is he?" Monty's gaze passed over me.

I ran to the restaurant's door, the music of harps and drums pounding my skin like a rainstorm. The sounds, smells and colours were amplified to painful proportions. Every positive thing that had happened in my life seemed to choke me in retribution for my stupidity.

Cold air kissed my bare arms outside. I hurried down the slushy street. The burning feeling of shame was the only thing I remembered to take with me.