She looks down at the table and nods.

MOM: Okay, Carter. But you do realize you’re on a contract.

What is going on? She’s so calm. This isn’t what I was expecting; this isn’t how she reacts when I …

I try to think about a time when I stood up for myself and said I didn’t want to go on an audition or accept a role. And I can’t. That’s impossible. I …

ME: How long is the contract for?

MOM: Just until next September.

Next September? That’s a year.

MOM: Let me talk to the producers and see what we can do. We’ll work something out, but you won’t be able to quit right away.

I shake my head. That’s it. She’s not going to …

To what? I start going through all the scenarios in my head of when I’ve taken roles, and it’s always been my decision. I’m the one who put myself in this circumstance. I’m the one who thought a soap would be a good way to balance school.

MOM: I’m glad you said something to me, honey. I didn’t know you were that unhappy with the show, but you’ve been demonstrating so much promise at school, it makes sense you’d want to concentrate on your senior year.

I’m in shock. I quietly eat the rest of my eggs as I try to even think about what must be going through her mind.

Mom hands me the script she’s been reading.

MOM: I think this is really good; you should read it. Tell me what you think. Maybe you can do this next?

She kisses me on the cheek and pats my back before she heads to the living room.

I’m so shocked that I don’t even bring up art. No point doing that until I know what’s going on with the show.

I clean the dishes in a daze. Then I automatically pick up the script she handed me and head to my room. Anything to take my mind off what will happen once I stop acting, once I don’t have a role to hide behind.

So the question is: Am I really ready to be just plain old Carter?

On Monday, while the rest of the school begins classes, the selected performers wait backstage as Dr. Pafford does his usual scaring of the freshman class. Reminding them that while they were probably the top music/art/dance/drama students in whatever borough they came from, they are average here. That on top of academics, they’ve got four studio classes. That they are here for an hour longer than “normal” high schools.

Emme approaches me with a smile on her face. I told her about my conversation with my mom and she was really happy. Sophie, on the other hand, can’t believe that I’d want to leave the show.

It isn’t until after Emme gives me a hug that I notice that Trevor Parsons is behind her.

EMME: Hey, Carter, do you know Trevor?

TREVOR: Hey, man. I, of course, know who you are.

I shake his hand and can hardly speak. I’ve been around a bunch of celebrities in my life, but there’s something about Trevor that renders me utterly speechless.

EMME: I’ve been talking to Trevor about possibly doing some artwork for the band.

ME: Cool.

Cool? This is not the impression I want to make with somebody like Trevor.

EMME: I hope you don’t mind, Carter, but I was telling Trevor about how you’ve been doing some of your own art, and how I thought that maybe he could give you some pointers.

TREVOR: Can totally do that. I love seeing other people’s work. And seeing anything that’s being done outside these walls would be a welcome sight. Here, let me give you my number.

This really is a lot simpler than I thought. What was my excuse all this time for continuing to do something that makes me unhappy?

Emme stands back and watches as Trevor and I exchange information. I want to run over, pick her up, and give her a hug.

But there isn’t time. The cue comes up and we all take our places. Over the next thirty minutes or so, the new class is treated to performances from my peers. They shine onstage because it’s what they love. They are CPA’s finest.

And then there’s me.

I’ve wanted to blame my mom for the position I’m in, but her reaction made me realize that maybe she wasn’t the one pushing me this entire time.

I never once complained about being an actor. About going on auditions.

This was all on me.

As I take to the stage, a line from Death of a Salesman comes into my mind. Not from the part I’m going to be performing, but from Willy Loman’s son, Biff.

I look out into the audience and hear the screaming from the girls. Those words echo loudly in my head.

I realized what a ridiculous lie my whole life has been.

There is one thing I can say with certainty: I am not anywhere near the worst disaster at the freshman performance. Far from it. That honor belongs to one Carter Harrison.

We file into our first studio class for music composition after the performances. “Well, we’ve always known he hasn’t gotten by on his talent,” Jack says as he takes his usual seat in the back row.

“Be nice,” Emme scolds as she sits in front of him. Ben sits next to Jack, and I sit in front of him, next to Emme. This is pretty much how it’s been since freshman year.

“Plus,” she continues, “he’s been going through a lot. So he botched a few lines — that’s happened to all of us.” She looks directly at me.

Okay, she has a point, but Jack isn’t one to back down.

“How would you know what’s going on with him?”

Yeah, why does Emme know anything about Carter’s life? Like one after-concert talk makes them lifelong friends. It’s not as if Sophie would ever dare discuss anything that didn’t revolve around her.