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None of the blood and sweat and tears are in these photos. I know the personal toll it takes. We’ve lost students this year who’ve dropped out. I’ve seen the dancers with their bleeding feet weep when they sustain an injury, when normal people would be grateful for the reprieve from constant torture. Actors get contorted into so many roles and forms they don’t know where they end and their characters begin. And themusicians…
Well, we spend our days and nights chasing something fleeting. The perfect song or verse or moment of connection with an audience—one that will be gone the moment it happens, unless like Beck with Tyler, someone managed to captureit.
We bend over backward to create somethingextraordinary.
None of us fit in, so we trade our souls, our bodies, our egos, our emotions, for a chance to standout.
“MissJamieson.”
The admin assistant motions me into Talbot’s office, and I follow her, gathering myself and smoothing down my outfit. Talbot looks impassively at me as I take a seat across fromher.
The door clicks quietly closed before she speaks. “Do you know why you’rehere?”
“I assume it’s about missing class today. I’m sorry. I had a chance to perform with Finn—Mr. Harvey—in LA. I promise I won’t miss any more classes thissemester.”
She rounds the desk to take her seat, folding her lined hands in her lap and levelling me with cool eyes. “And what about the showcase? What’s your excuse for missingthat?”
“That was… a bold choice,” Iconcede.
“You turned your back on an opportunity every student waits their entire lifefor.”
“I did it for someone I care about. And I’d do itagain.”
“Why?”
“When I came to Vanier, I wanted to prove myself, and I thought that meant getting attention at all costs. But some things matter more than thespotlight.”
Her brows twitch, but I continue. “Since coming here, I’ve learned there’s a lot more than a bunch of talented people who want to be famous. Everyone has their own reason for being here”—I think of Tyler, of Beck and Elle and Rae—“but we all want to connect to something. To be part of something bigger thanus.”
I shift forward in my seat. “I don’t just want to make people see me. I want to make people see themselves. To believe in something more than they think they can.” I take a deep breath. “I want to write. Like youdo.”
If I’d thought it was impossible to surprise my acting professor, apparently, I was wrong. Her eyes are wide and unblinking, as if I just spit a string of colorful curses onto herdesk.
But she recovers,straightening.
“Your showcase piece,” she says at last. “It was very moving. Writing, in the long run, is less about the words and more about the writer. A fresh voice, an interesting perspective. How honest they’re willing to be with anaudience.”
I nod. “I understand. At least I think I do,” I go on at her expectantlook.
“Good. In that case, as penance for missing my class, I’d like you to write something forme.”
* * *
My phone buzzeswith a text as I head out of Talbot’soffice.
Tyler: It’s done. I’msigned.
A wave of excitement rolls throughme.
Annie: That’s huge. We should celebrate.Tonight?
Tyler: I have a midterm tomorrow. We go out tonight, I’m getting zero studyingdone.
I can’t resist teasinghim.
Annie: I could have you in bed bymidnight.
Tyler: I could have you against my dresser, in my shower, on my kitchentable.
