~20~

"Brooklynn, wake up."

My brain is slowly beginning to register the words as a pillow forcefully slams against my face.

Instinctively, I bring my hands up to my now throbbing cheek, and subconsciously brace for another unexpected blow.

"You've slept through your alarm six times now, and if I hear it again I'll freaking throw your phone out the window." Rylie says, towering over my bedside.

My eyelids shoot open with this sentence. I sit up, completely panic-stricken, "Why didn't you wake me up the first time?" I frantically ask, throwing the warm blankets from around my legs and barely taking note of how dangerously fast my heart is beating.

Today is too important of a day to sleep in.

"Sheesh, calm down. I figured not dying of sleep deprivation beats doing your hair on the priority list."

"Not today it doesn't. What time is it?" I stand, a surge of coolness from the floor shocking my bare feet and quickly climbing through my nerves, causing me to instantly shiver.

"It's only a little past seven-thirty, so you're fine. I just texted Acalia too, she's bringing breakfast up here since it's so nasty outside."

That explains why the room is still flooded with so much darkness at this hour. Rylie raises our dysfunctional blinds, showing me visual evidence to her claim about the weather. Contrary to every other Cali day I have experienced so far, this one carries the weight of heavy clouds, and countless droplets of rain fall freely from the depressing gray sky.

Outside looks cold, and indeed, nasty.

"Bless Acee's soul." I say, reaching for an oversized sweatshirt of mine on the floor.

I pause mid-action, remembering that I have not only one, but two performances today and that I have to look presentable. Grudgingly, I decide to dress in a nice sweater instead, yawning as I slip my head through the cozy article of clothing. I had woken up so suddenly, my sleepy state had lagged to fall over me in full effect until just now.

Rylie sluggishly returns to her own morning routine. I feel bad for keeping her up late last night with all of my last minute projects, but I didn't have much of a choice. It's a miracle I got everything done. I'm not particularly confident in any of the songs, but everyone will have to suffice with what was produced by three this morning—including my exhausted self.

I finish off my outfit by putting on a pair of jeans and tying up my combat boots. I'm in front of the mirror, foggy from Rylie's shower a few minutes prior, finger-combing through my tangled curls when someone knocks on our door.

"It's literally freezing out there." Acalia whines as soon as Rylie lets her into the dorm room.

"I don't care. You've got the food right?" Rylie questions.

"I almost turned into a soggy human popsicle getting it but yeah, I have breakfast."

I switch off the light and emerge from the bathroom, "Well, you two are definitely not New-Yorkers."

My friends crowd around the paper bag (Californians are apparently afraid of plastic) containing our meal. They continue to dish out the edible substances, quickly filling our tiny room with a pleasant aroma.

Unwrapping her burrito, Acalia argues my point, "But it's only fifty degrees. I feel like I need to go impulsively buy a parka."

I laugh, shaking my head, "I stand by my statement."

Acalia finally looks up to me, then frowns. "Are you sick, Brooklynn?"

"No." I answer, puzzled.

"If you're referring to the bags under her eyes." Rylie crudely points, "She spent the entire night working on music stuff. It was pretty much torture."

"I switched to digital at midnight so that I could use headphones. I didn't think I would bother you after that."

Rylie shrugs, "You brainstorm louder than you might think. And you mutter 'no, that idea sucks' a lot too."

This taps into my tired humor, "I probably do. Though if we're calling each other out for things, you spent over an hour in the bathroom last night. Did you fall asleep on the toilet?" I chuckle.

Rylie hesitates, irritation briefly flashing through her eyes at my mere mentioning of the weird occurrence, "Since when did you start keeping track of how long people take to piss?"

Acalia and I both burst into laughter, muting the pitter-pattering of the rain for only a few seconds. I throw myself back onto my bed, wishing that I could snuggle back into it and sleep through the stressful day ahead. Instead, I crack open my taco bowl and place a healthy bite on to my tongue. Mexican food for breakfast is a great idea, and no one can convince me otherwise.

"Good luck, by the way, with your auditions today." Acalia turns to me.

"Thanks, I'll need it."

•••

I could barely stay awake for any of my core classes this morning, so I don't know how Mrs. Esme expects any of us to pay attention to the music theory review she's scribbling onto the dry-erase wall. School board members formally interrupt our time-killing class every few minutes, pulling yet another student into a different classroom for their audition.

Apparently I really was in the dark about this whole situation, these time slot auditions are seriously a huge deal around here.

And I only started prepping mine at one this morning.

I'm screwed.

Every time the man with a clipboard comes back to stand in our doorway, I feel as though I'm going to faint just waiting for him to call out my name. I'm not sure where I am on the list, and that fact is both a blessing and a curse.

Speaking of blessings, I couldn't be more relieved that the auditions are private. Otherwise, talented performers, such as Amber, would probably intimidate me right back in to changing my mind again. There's no going back now, I'm not even sure I could slip away into the bathroom— which would currently be ideal for my nervously churning stomach.

Mr. Clipboard sticks his head inside once again, "Brooklynn Hope? Follow me."

My heart rate picks up and my fingers crackle with anxious sparks. I let my weak legs carry me out of the classroom, the world blurring behind me. This is it, and there's no time for my usual insecure and self-doubting routine. I'm confident Brooklynn today.

Fake it until you make it, I guess.

Mr. Clipboard leads me two rooms down the hall, just as Amber is verbally directed to return to class.

Of course I would be placed right after the legendary goddess herself. Now I've got nothing short of ridiculously high expectations to exceed—no, I have to stop. I can't let little disadvantages like that rattle me.

Amber catches my arm on her way out, offering me an encouraging smile, "I'm so glad you took my advice and decided to audition after all. Good luck! Oh, and remember to make eye contact."

I don't even have time to whisper a response before Amber exits the room, the door loudly shutting behind her. Now it's just me, Mr. Clipboard, Principal Hawlkins and two more equally scary-looking panel members. All judgmental gazes suddenly fall onto me, as if they're expecting me to break out a freaking backflip.

"Brooklynn Hope." I squeak. You're supposed to state your name at auditions, right?

Four heads look down to jot a short something onto their paperwork. "Very well," Hawklins says, "What piece will you be auditioning for your solo with, Miss Hope?"

The stern woman tilts her chin, probably attempting to stare into my soul. No doubt she remembers me from the first day—the incompetent girl who didn't have any social skills, and her talented friend whom ended up with a full ride practically placed into his hands.

I straighten my posture, seating myself behind an electric keyboard and trying to emotionally tap into my most reassured self. "I've come prepared with an original today."

I'm not saying it's the best idea I've ever come up with, but in the unearthly hours of this morning I had decided to simply sing the same song I used to get into this very school. Sure, I might be playing it a bit too safe, but it's honestly the best I could do such last minute. And I keep trying to tell myself that if I don't end up with a slot in the midterm show, it won't ultimately matter. I wasn't even planning to audition until McCally provoked my competitive side, literally less than twenty-four hours ago.

Oliver. Hmm. Now that I think about it, I haven't seen him at all yet today. We were supposed to rehearse again during lunch in the quad, but the repugnant weather caused me to completely dismiss and forget about that possibility.

I can't worry about his sporadic whereabouts at the moment though, so I place my fingers on to the white keys without another thought, having done so a million times.

I can do this.

I begin playing, distracting myself from the four pairs of eyes on me and pretending that I'm back home, singing for Max and Max only.

Though, I haven't heard from him in a while either. Funny.

I struggle to keep my drowsy thoughts focused on the task at hand. I manage to avoid any instrumental mistakes, but I completely miss my cue in the process.

Pay attention, Brooklynn!

Trying to play it off, I casually repeat the measure, setting up for myself to come in once more. I blink through drooping eyelids and watch my fingers rhythmically press down, then release, and do it over again. My lips separate to produce something grand, but all that leaks out is an embarrassingly flat note.

I cease the piano playing, touching my itchy throat and coughing. My voice is probably tired from running through everything so many times last night, but that doesn't make this failure of situation any more justifiable.

"I'm sorry—" I quickly apologize.

"Don't be." Says the forgiving voice of a woman I don't recognize, "Go ahead and try again, dear."

I nod and begin again, my cheeks in a hurry to grow warm and red. I knew I was tired, but completely choking in an important audition isn't acceptable. Especially since this is my first solo performance at MACC—

Woah, that's exactly what this is. I've never sung alone in front of anyone except my best friend before.

My breath hitches in my throat at this realization. The small amount of sour hydration left in my mouth instantly depletes, leaving me with sandpaper for a tongue. Something pounds against my head and I feel as though I'm going to throw up. I close my eyes, trying to calm the dizziness, but it only throws off my balance and causes me to sweat even more so.

I try to start singing, I really do.

Nothing comes out. Not a single note, flat or on pitch, becomes audible— let alone any sort of melody. This, this moment right now is an essential step for both my stage fright and my musical career, yet I'm completely bombing it. I'm frozen, I can't do this.

"I-I can't. I'm sorry, again." I stutter, lightheadedly standing, "Thank you for your time."

I bolt out of the room, away from the critical stares, and away from my own guilt. I should have been able to suck it up, to get through it like a real performer, but I couldn't. I can't even fake being confident.

Knowing that I'll get in trouble for wandering the halls, I make my way back to class, completely traumatized.

Everyone's too occupied with their own nerves to notice my flustered face, or just how short-lived my absence was. Amber is the only one to look up at me, her usual smile stinging my peripheral vision. I can't tell for sure, but her flashy grin seems even more strikingly obnoxious in the moment.

I slump back in to my chair, refusing to look past the floor. The brims of my eyes swell with salt water, threatening to burst all together. It's nearly impossible for me to cry in public, otherwise I would probably be a sobbing mess right now. Not sticking an audition is one thing, but completely humiliating myself and quitting is another.

The rest of the auditions finish off, though I'm not sure how much longer they really take. I continue to train my puffy eyes on my shoes, remaining in my completely dazed state for an unknown measure of time.

The bell rings and I use the couple minutes I have before next period to find the bathroom and clean up.

When I return, Oliver seems to have suddenly decided to show, and he waits for me just inside the doorway.

Right, we still have our duet. I have another opportunity to mortify myself all over again, except this one is for a grade.

"Where were you?" I whisper the ruffled question.

"Auditioning. I was the last one." He shrugs.

"I mean before that, I haven't seen you the entire school day." I quietly scold him as though his disappearance had me worried. But in truth, I had other things troubling my thoughts.

"Places."

I frown, my features melting further into disappointment.

Oliver rolls his eyes, "I had an appointment, okay? Now are you ready for this duet or not?"

I fold my shaking arms across my chest, afraid that if I answer, I'll break down right in front of the least sympathetic human to ever exist.

"Good, you two are here." Mrs. Esme smiles towards us, "Oliver and Brooklynn, you two are on deck— right after Emilia and Rebecca."

I politely nod, pushing past Oliver and finding my seat.

The first duet goes by smoothly, and frankly, it sounds quite beautiful. The girls had composed an original for this assignment, though they avoided any interaction while singing. I'm not sure Mrs. Esme will be happy with their lack of understanding the main concept of this project.

In almost no time, Oliver and I are being called up to the front of the class. I was quickly growing excited for this performance as the had week progressed, but after the events of today, my heart just isn't in it anymore.

We slide up on to a pair of wooden stools, Oliver with his guitar rested on his knee. He looks to me and almost silently mutters, "Hey, you're fine."

I cock my head slightly, not entirely sure whether or not that simple phrase was supposed to be comforting.

He begins the song's strumming pattern, taking the first verse just as we had practiced a hundred times. I try looking in any direction but the floor, to no avail. And I have to bite down on my lip just to keep it from quivering.

Now I can feel his gaze digging into me, so I finally lift my swollen blue eyes. Surprisingly, his electric green ones cradle something other than a blank expression for the first time since I met him. I come in on cue, skillfully harmonizing, but becoming fully absorbed in the way he studies me.

We assertively build into the chorus, our polar opposite voices compromisingly blending together and meeting somewhere in the middle. I push the top of my range, while he thrusts his jaw to relive the grinding tension in his notes.

Together, we creep up on the end of the song, echoing off of each other with the simple word, somebody. My throat is practically begging me to stop laboring it by this point, but I diligently belt my last run despite the physical plead. Oliver plucks the last couple of strings, and our voices simultaneously soften. We finish by repeating the title of the song, gently letting the words spill from our lips. Even though we've stopped singing, he still holds my gaze with his own, breathing heavily from the advanced vocals he just masterly demonstrated.

I sheepishly avert my eyes away. I'm certainly not used to seeing any emotion come from the Bulldozer himself.

Mrs. Esme claps her hands, praising our performance with her mere gleeful expression. "Now that was chemistry! And a twist on the approach as well, wonderful you two! Really, I'm impressed."

Oliver and I stand, each giving a humbly small bow.

My heart skips a beat as I glance back up at my partner, his sharp features temporarily exchanging a smirk for a faint smile instead.

•••

The rest of the school day trickles by, and when the midterm solo results are posted, I make my hasty escape from the music hall and everyone in it. I'm not naive enough to think that I have might have a chance at landing a slot. I definitely am not trying to be a bad sport, but I don't need an official-looking piece of paper telling me something that I already know for myself.

What I do need, however, is a nap.

"Brooklynn, hold up." Grumbles a familiar tone.

Oliver jogs over to me, but I neglect to respond right away.

"We did good today. Esme loved it."

"We did. She did." I agree. My favorite teacher's approval and positive feedback on our duet did lift my spirits, but not enough to let me forget about my poor excuse of a performance just a few minutes before.

He uncomfortably rubs the back of his neck, "Look. You seemed like you were about to cry when I first came in today, and I feel like a douche for not asking what was up."

"You are a douche." I state, trying to somewhat reel our toxic relationship back in to what it used to be. It's been a strange enough day as is.

When he doesn't give up in wanting an actual answer, I sigh, "Let's just say outside isn't the only thing that's freezing today."

"Your audition didn't go well?"

"No, my audition didn't go at all. It's your fault too, I only went for it in the first place because you told me not to." I tell him, beginning to get myself worked up again.

"I didn't tell you not to audition, I told you not to listen to Amber," he says.

I hate it when he has a point.

Oliver continues, "I told you she was setting you up for failure. She probably figured you would get nervous and blow it."

I frown, "And how would she even know that? Gosh, listen to yourself."

He tightens his lips into a thin line, "All I know about Amber is that she's bitter and she's smart, she knows other people better than she knows herself. She has to see you as a threat, otherwise she wouldn't even bother talking to you."

Me? A threat to the Amber Lilly? Yeah right.

"It doesn't matter," I say, "what's done is done. I froze in my audition, how was yours?"

"They gave me a slot."

I force a weak grin, "Congratulations then."

"Thanks, and I'm sorry yours didn't go as planned." He tells me, hesitantly placing a hand on my shoulder. The gesture is awkward, but innocent and reassuring. Is it just me, or is Oliver McCally actually trying to be—nice?

Seriously, what alternate universe have I fallen into today?

Completely baffled by this foreign situation, I nod and turn to leave again, still feeling some sort of magnetic pull towards my pillow on this rainy, terrible, and very bizarre day.

"Wait, Brooklynn."

I mentally groan. What is up with this boy today?

"You're talented, and you don't deserve to not be able to perform in the midterm show just because some manipulative wench sabotaged your audition." He rallies.

"It's really fine—"

"No, it isn't. I already have the time slot—do another duet with me."

His offer takes me by surprise.

He runs a hand through his dark hair and lets out a snicker, "Yeah, that doesn't really sound like me, does it? I'm just as confused as you are."

My mouth slightly curves upwards, "Can I at least think about it?"

"Sure, yeah. Just text me whatever you decide," Oliver says.

He thoughtfully lifts a finger, like he wants to say something else. But he refrains from doing so, walking back down the hallway in the direction he initially came.

I really, really need a nap.