“I’m okay!”

She jumps off the couch, slightly out of breath, and sits back down. “I really needed this.”

I nod at her. Happy to have Emme back, even if it’s temporary.

She turns to me. “I’m sure you’ll hear any day.”

I pause for a second. “I did hear back.”

She swats at my good arm. “You were supposed to tell me!”

“You were the first person I called, but, um, you weren’t returning my phone calls.”

“Oh.” I didn’t want to remind her of why she wasn’t talking to me. “Well?”

I jump back onto the couch. “Flippin’ Juilliard!”

She cheers for me and jumps back on with me to celebrate. We bounce around like idiots for nearly half an hour. I didn’t want this moment to end. I’m afraid that the second our feet touch the floor (literally), she’ll go back to Upset Emme.

But truthfully, I’ll hold on to whatever part of her I can.

Alumni night.

Jack is uncharacteristically pacing around backstage. He finally pulls me aside. “I’m not cool with this. Emme hasn’t run through her solo once.”

Every time we’ve practiced, she’s stopped playing when the break came for her solo. She’s simply said that she’s been practicing and knows what she has to do.

I don’t doubt for a second that she’s ready. Although there’s a small part of me that’s nervous for her, worried that she might freeze up. I don’t know if it’s because she got into the Juilliard audition, or she’s becoming more comfortable singing her own songs, but Emme’s starting to get this quiet confidence about her. I’m more excited for her than anything. I want to see her perform her solo, to finally be the center of attention.

“I don’t know, man.” Jack folds his arms. “I don’t like this. It’s like she’s suddenly become the unpredictable one. Look at me! I’m a nervous wreck. My hot girlfriend is standing over there in a ridiculously short flapper dress and I can’t even enjoy it!” Jack motions toward Chloe, who is getting ready for her twenties dance number.

Jerry Shan, the junior who’s playing Emme’s part, comes over to me. “Emme looks freakishly calm.”

Emme’s been standing in a corner, staring at her guitar.

I have no idea why this isn’t freaking me out. I, more than anybody, want to see her succeed. Maybe I’m just in denial about how much is at stake once we get on that stage. If it goes poorly, her confidence will be shattered.

Ben joins us. “What’s making me nervous is that you are calm. That’s unnerving to me.”

“Can everybody relax?” I plead. “Emme is going to rock this out. There’s no doubt in my mind.”

Okay, maybe there’s a tiny fraction of doubt, but I don’t think it would help Emme if she saw everybody in the band freaking out.

Jack throws his hands up. “Okay, is this some kind of a joke? Seriously, you are being the voice of reason here? I can’t handle this. Please start freaking out.”

My laughter just makes Jack more agitated. So I laugh even harder.

Emme walks over. “What’s going on?”

“I have no idea. It’s like an episode of The Twilight Zone over here!” Jack walks away.

“What?” Emme looks confused.

“Nothing.” I smile at her. “You’re going to be brilliant.”

She shrugs. I start to get that familiar nervous feeling I get in the pit of my stomach before we go onstage. But for the first time, it isn’t about me. I so desperately want this to go well for Emme.

She gestures at my black long-sleeve shirt. “You can hardly see the sling with that thing on.”

I decide to not hold back anymore. I grab her by the waist with my one good arm and kiss her on the forehead.

Before she can respond, we’re told to take our places.

Emme is up front with me. Ben is to my right, and Jerry is to Emme’s left. Dr. Pafford introduces the eighties by showing famous alumni from that decade. Once the lights come up, I start the opening notes of the song on the keyboard with my one good hand, then Jack comes in with a harder beat than the original.

Emme begins to play the opening riff with such force it feels like the entire audience has been awakened after boring concertos and period dances.

As I start to sing and the crowd begins to move to the beat, I hear cheering from the current students standing in the back. I take the microphone out of the holder. I can’t dance and there’s no way that I’m going to even attempt it on a song by such an iconic dancer as Michael Jackson, especially with a sling on. I’m doing it because when Emme does her solo, I want her to be alone at the front of the stage.

We come to the break. Jerry plays a few notes as an intro and then it’s Emme’s turn. I look to her and see her completely calm and composed. And then she starts.

There are no words.

Okay, there are a million.

I see most of the front few rows with their mouths open. Because Emme, the petite redheaded girl of the group, the one who is happy to be background, completely and utterly rips that solo up and throws it on the ground.

I was doing some complicated moves in mine, but she …

I’m frozen, transfixed as I watch her fingers move so quickly up the neck of the guitar, hitting notes that I can only imagine in my dreams. I glance back at Jack, whose eyes are practically bulging from his head.