When It Happens (23 page)

I try. But to no avail. Sara has a steady stream of tickets whirring out of the box every time she rolls a ball.Whereas I might have ten tickets by the time we’re finished.

During an exceptionally impressive round, I reach down to rip Sara’s tickets off.

“Don’t!” she yells.

“I was just ripping off your tickets. The strip is getting really long.”

“I like it long. It looks like I have more that way.”

“Like you need more?” At this rate, she’ll be able to trade in her tickets for a big-money item. She’ll probably pick one of the giant stuffed animals that float above all the loser prizes in the display case. Me, I’ll be lucky to walk away with a Superball and rock candy.

Sure enough, Sara picks out a giant stuffed penguin when we’re done. I get a Superball and hide the rest of my tickets.When Sara goes to the bathroom, I trade them in for a glittery plastic ring. To go with my Valentine’s Day plan.

I sleep better that night. But the second I wake up way before the alarm goes off, there’s that anxiety, punching me in the gut again. And for the whole train ride to New York, all I can think about is how much better all the other applicants probably are. I’m no longer Mr. Applied Guy. Now I’m Mr. Rampant Insecurities Guy.

What I was expecting the audition to be like was all bright lights on a big, empty stage. A row of anonymous judges would be in the audience, but I wouldn’t be able to read their expressions. Even the air would feel empty. I would play in a blur and then leave, with no idea how they’re deciding my fate.

What I wasn’t expecting was a sunny rehearsal space with friendly-looking people sitting behind a table. Which is exactly what I see when the door is opened.

“Tobey Beller?” the official-looking woman standing in front of me says.

“Yes.”

“I’m Jenna Segal, the—”

“Director of Admissions,” I say. I remember her name from the letter telling me when my audition was.

She smiles. “That’s right.” We shake hands.

The three people at the table smile. Ms. Segal introduces them to me.

I set up my stuff. There’s a stool and a music stand and some other equipment already there.

I balance on the stool. The judges already have my sheet music I sent in last week, but I don’t even need a copy. It’s just me and my guitar.

“Whenever you’re ready,” Ms. Segal says.

While I play, I practice a visualization technique Sara taught me. I see myself here in September, playing in this room, writing the best music of my life. Walking down to NYU every day to see Sara. Music. And Sara. The only things I need in life to be happy.

“Thank you,” Ms. Segal says. "We’ll be in touch.”

I look over at everybody. They’re all smiling at me again. Either they’re happy people in general or they like what I did. I think I did okay, but it’s hard to say since I kind of zoned out.

“Thanks for your time,” I tell them. “This really means a lot to me.” I pack up my guitar and smile at them on the way out. Happy people like other happy people.

In the hall, I see the next two applicants waiting on the bench. One’s this hardcore punk rock chick with pink spiky hair and leather pants and severe-looking studs in her lip. Then there’s this guy with glasses and a T-shirt that says VOTE FOR PEDRO with a clarinet case on his lap. I guess Manhattan Music Academy is into diversity.

Back on the train, I lean against the window and listen to my iPod. I watch the lights come on in people’s houses, beyond the tracks, through the trees.

This is the hardest part. Waiting to know what my future is.

CHAPTER 37

probability

february 12, 8:10 a.m.

Maggie’s eyes are majorly bloodshot. Her dad told her that he’s moving out. He did it while they were having breakfast.

“I can’t deal with gym,” she whispers. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”

We sneak in and stand at the sinks.

“This is so freaking horrendous,” Maggie says in a raspy voice. “I’m sure they’re getting divorced.”

She lets the cold water run and splashes her face a few times. I’m mad at myself for being petty enough to actually feel jealous. I could never just splash some cold water on my face in a time of stress. Then all my concealer would wash off and I’d have to put it back on and I don’t have my moisturizer here so my skin would get dry and it’s this whole complicated thing with me.

“I think he’s staying in a hotel. How pathetic is that?”

“He deserves it,” I say. “He should suffer for a while and think about what he did.”

“Yeah, whatever. He’s not gonna change. My mom told me that she tried doing all these different things to make him happy and nothing worked. That’s why they were always fighting.” She turns the water off. “Guys don’t change. They just get worse with age.” Maggie stares at herself in the smeary mirror. “This is not happening.”

I’m trying to think of something profound to say that will make her feel better. Something that will take away all of her pain. But of course there’s nothing.

Maggie takes a shuddery breath. “Anyway.”

“I’m really sorry, Mags.”

“I know.”

I’m in a sad mood the whole morning, feeling bad for Maggie. So when Laila and I are walking to lunch and Cynthia comes up to me, I’m not ready to deal with her. Even though I know she went out with Tobey last year, I still can’t believe he would like someone like her.

Cynthia walks right up to me. She stands there, blocking me.

“Sara?” she asks. As if she’s not sure that’s my name.

“Yeah?”

“Can you say hi to Tobey for me?”

Laila’s looking at her like she just escaped from the psych ward.

“Uh . . . yeah,” I say.

“Thanks. See ya!” Then Cynthia struts off down the hall.

“What was
that
?” Laila says.

I don’t say anything. Because what it looked like was someone a little too interested in my boyfriend. And I don’t want to say that out loud.

At lunch, it’s me, Tobey, Laila, Maggie, Mike, and Josh all at one table now. Laila and I put our stuff down. No one else is here yet.

“Are you going to tell Tobey?” Laila says.

“No,” I say. “She’s just trying to create drama. I’m sure she’ll be watching to see if I get mad at him.”

“Fascinating. I hope the quality of social interactions improves between now and college.”

Tobey comes in and puts his notebook down.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says.

“Hey.” I look into his eyes, searching for changes. But it’s the same intense gaze I always see.

In line, Tobey’s like, “Whoa. Déjà vu.”

“Why?”

“Don’t tell me you forgot about the dime!”

At first I don’t know what he’s talking about. But then I remember when Tobey and I bumped heads picking up that dime I dropped. Back before I got a clue.

"Never,” I promise.

Back at our table, everyone’s complaining about Mr. Carver.

“He’s obviously been smoking the weed,” Josh says.

“Seriously,” Mike slurps his drink. “The man is mentally disturbed.”

“He needs to reevaluate his career choice.” Josh looks at Maggie.

“Drill sergeant would be a good one,” Maggie offers.

I sip my iced tea and look around at my new lunch surroundings. Everything seems completely different on this side of the world. I can finally relax instead of being concerned about what Dave’s friends think of me. Sitting with Tobey and our friends all together feels like the most natural thing in the world.

Tobey takes my napkin and writes something on it. He slides it back to me.

It says:

I immediately turn pink.

He writes something else. He slides it back to me.

It says:

Mike’s ranting about how long it took to do his college essays.

“I swear, this one was like, ‘Write page two hundred eighty-seven of your autobiography.’ Who comes up with this stuff?”

“Oh my god,” Maggie says.

“What?”

“Where was that one from?”

“The New School.”

“I had the same one from Florida State!”

“Dude,” Mike says. “That’s scary.”

“You guys don’t know from essays,” Laila starts.

They actually have onion rings today. Tobey and I reach for our mustard packets at the same time. We give each other a weird look as we open them.

I stare at Tobey as he squeezes mustard onto his plate. “What’s the mustard for?” I say.

“This.” Tobey dips an onion ring in the mustard.

I’m like, “No way.”

“So way.”

“You do
not
like them that way.”

“I do, but there’s no way you can.”

“Why not?”

“Because the probability of two people sitting at the same table who both like their onion rings with mustard is too small. The stratosphere would ignite, and life as we know it would cease to exist.”

“That’s hot.”

“That’s boiling.”

“Let me get this straight,” Laila says. Everyone’s oblivious to the monumental event that just occurred between us. “You want to be an actor?”

“Definitely.” Josh smiles all big.

“That’s your career goal.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Do you have a plan B in mind?”

“Laila, you like John Mayer, right?”

She hesitates. “Right.”

“Well, I forget what song it’s from, but you know when he says how everyone always told him to stay inside the lines? And how there’s so much more on the other side?”

Laila smiles. “Point taken.”

Josh is gassed. “Does anyone want more cake?” he says.

“No, thanks,” Maggie says.

“Oh, well . . . Can I get you something else?”

Maggie looks toward the door, as if planning her escape. “Uh . . . no thanks.”

“Are you sure?” Josh is all wide, hopeful eyes.

“I’m all set,” Maggie says. I get the feeling that Maggie is starting to like Josh. She finally dumped Rick because he’s a manwhore. He went back to his game-playing and didn’t call her for like a whole week. Meanwhile, Josh is always paying attention to Maggie, and they’ve even talked about her parents. Josh isn’t her type, though, so she’s in denial. But now I know that eventually those feelings take over, and it won’t matter if he’s her type or not.

I catch Maggie’s eye to see if she’s feeling better from this morning. She winks at me.

Now my napkin wants to know:

Here’s our version of a road trip. Tobey drives us down the highway, and we get off at a random exit and eat rest-stop junk food and experience city life. It’s awesome.

At first I remember this inhumane problem set I have to do for calc and the scads of other homework I’ll have over the weekend. But then I remember how frustrated I feel when I miss out on the living part of life. I don’t want my life to go places without me. Plus, this weekend is Valentine’s Day.