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“What’s new with Cap’n Z?” He nods in the general direction of the cell phone stuck in mypocket.
“Still won’t offer me a newdeal.”
I could be cutting albums right now instead of busting my ass on etudes forclass.
Beck frowns. “You should’ve told him what happened with your dad after you moved to NewYork.”
My entire body stiffens, and I flex my hand on the arm of my seat. It’s been months, but mentioning those events still affects me. Maybe it alwayswill.
“Zeke is business. Last year waspersonal.”
When I left Dallas and moved to New York last summer, I’d thought there was nothing left in me tobreak.
I was wrong. Less than a month later, life brought me to myknees.
The one silver lining is that I poured all my feelings into music. I’m better than I’ve ever been, and I want to get the hell out of this place. I’ve had enough of school, enough of people telling me what to do and how tobe.
“So, I signed up to be a peer mentor this year,” Beck announces. “Got any tips on educating the nextgeneration?”
I shift back in my seat, scanning the rows of students. “Don’t fuck whoever’s assigned toyou.”
“Appreciate the input. I’m gonna play that one by ear. You got some nerves to burn off yourself, roomie,” he continues. “You keep way too low a profile. And you’re gonna have to start paying me to keep out all the dreamy-eyed people showing up at our door. ‘Tyler around? I need to talk to him about class, the state of the Middle East, the state of my bikiniwax…’”
His exaggeration makes melaugh.
Yes, I’ve had my share of offers, but it’s been a while since I took a girl up onone.
It’s ironic because with all the pent-up energy that’s been building lately, I could fucksomeone.
God, could I fucksomeone.
For an hour, a day, a month, until I forget the resentment and frustration andemptiness.
Most of the people around here would get that I don’t want arelationship.
It’s like the Olympic Village, an entire community of hot, young, ambitious men and women who need to burn off steam. But at the end of the day, they’re here for one reason—to build a career, a future that’s brighter than what we camefrom.
The lights dim, and we train our gazes on thestage.
Vanier is nothing if not theatrical. The college has a rolling slate of A-list guest faculty including musicians, actors, anddancers.
Today, several of them perform, and Beck’s phone peeks up between the heads. I wonder what he’s going to edit this into later for massconsumption.
Finally, the dean—herself a former principle ballerina with a national company—clears the stage for her remarks. “Vanier has the nation’s most prestigious performing arts programs. We are steeped in tradition, a history of commitment anddiscipline.
“Some would say technology holds the key to the future, but we believe the arts are more important than ever in these troubled times. Where there is dark, there is also light, and we are seeking to reinterpret this world of struggle, of inequality, of burgeoning possibility and hope, through the lens of thearts.”
I’m not here to reinterpret theworld.
I’m going to find a way to get my contract back if it kills me. Starting today, I won’t rest until Ido.
The decision fills me withresolve.
My gaze locks on two girls a few rows up, and I tune out the dean’swords.
They’re both pretty from the back—whatever the hell that means—but it’s the dark-haired girl who has mestraightening.
Her hair falls in waves, a shiny river that ends somewhere below her seatback. The glimpse of profile when she turns to listen to something the blonde whispers shows full lips, a pointynose.
