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The car ride was dead silent, the radio not even turned on to provide background noise. My eyes watched the skyscrapers pass and cars move in and out of lanes at an alarming speed. There were people littering the sidewalks, walking out of restaurants, and hailing cabs. The only noise in the car was that which leaked through the streets and seas of people.

The city was nothing like growing up in Maine, where it was quiet and the tallest building was the lighthouse. Here there was so much noise: constant honking, people talking on cell phones, homeless men begging for change on the side of the road. I watched through the safety of my mothers car with what should've been in awe, but instead with dull eyes.

"I did not miss the city," My mother mutters from the drivers seat, her eyes darting in every which way, her hands tightly around the steering wheel. "These drivers are insane."

This was yet another attempt at starting conversation that was greeted with silence. I didn't want to talk, even though she was playing nice for some reason. Maybe she realized how much I was hurting, that my heartbreak was transparent to her, and didn't want to criticize me and make it worse. But even with her attempt at kindness, I was wallowing in the depths of heartache.

She pulls in front of a large building, a beautiful brick masterpiece with a sign engraved in the glass above the entryway: The Juilliard School. We had driven seven something hours to arrive in the thick of the city, to finally get here, the school that had just been a figment of my imagination during years of practice, but was now a reality. I was finally going to audition, something that just a few days ago I swore to my mother I would never do.

I wince and reel back as my mind begins to wander to my last day at camp. I didn't get to say goodbye to Teddy or the twins or the girls in my cabin, because I was in such a haste to get the hell out of there. To be in the same vicinity as him after what he said to me would only break me down even more, drive me mad. I couldn't stay and watch Katie pounce on Carter while I licked my wounds and told myself I didn't care.

The reality was, I cared. I cared too much, even, that now my heart is a sad, tattered excuse for a soul and I was even more lost about what I wanted in life than I was before.

"Amelia," My mom's voice calls gently, and I feel her put her hand on my arm.

I shrug her hand off and turn to face her, pulling myself away from my thoughts that dripped toxicity. "Yeah?"

"Did you hear me?" She asks, but there's no malice in her voice, only mild concern. "I said we should go sign in."

I look up at the building again and nod, then get out of the car for the first time in hours, stretching my legs until I'm comfortable. I grab my sheet music despite the fact I know the composition by heart now and then follow her into the elegant looking building, the one that has been taunting me for years. We go inside, where there's a flurry of activity all around us, and make our way to the reception desk.

I don't listen as my mother signs us in, but rather take the opportunity to look around. There were students roaming around the area, some carrying cases with instruments enclosed, some with athletic clothes on that seemed to be dancers, some carrying thick stacks of paper that resembled scripts.

My eyes zeroed in on a familiar brown haired boy carrying a guitar case, and my heart fluttered as I stared at Carter, before the boy turned around to show me it was definitely not Carter, and my heart fell in my chest. It felt like the breath had been knocked out of me, and I stared at the strange boy as he retreated into a room, and then my hardened gaze was fixed on the empty door.

"Right this way, Mrs. Stevens, I'll take you to the waiting room. There are only a few other participants waiting to audition before you." The receptionist said sweetly.

I turned and followed my mother, who was being led by the woman, through the school. We walked up the stairs and past countless classrooms, most of which resembled studios instead of actual classes. The art hanging on the walls all matched, looking extremely polished hanging on the white walls that matched the off white tile on the floor.

The building was everything I expected. Polished. Clean. Beautiful. And yet, despite the pleasing aesthetic of the school, I found myself feeling out of place. Finally, we came across a waiting room outside an auditorium of sorts, and there were three boys my age sitting there on the chairs, staring holes into the composition sheets as if that would improve their performance.

My mother thanked the receptionist before taking a seat opposite one of the boys. His left leg was jiggling and he was clenching his composition sheet so tightly that his knuckles had long since turned white. Thick rimmed glasses framed his face and he wore a light blue button down that was tucked into khaki shorts. The other two boys wore similar articles of clothing.

I glanced down at my white sundress and suddenly felt underdressed compared to them. They were wearing dress shoes, and I was wearing flip flops. Of course, my mother had practically jumped out of her skin when she saw my choice in shoes, but she didn't say anything rude, for a change. In fact, she hadn't said anything rude since we left camp.

"Are you nervous?" My mom asks, her eyes flickering from the other boys to me.

I shake my head. "Not really," I say truthfully. "Are you?"

She gives me a tight lipped smile. "Very."

A woman with her brunette hair pulled back neatly into a tight bun, wearing a black pencil skirt and blazer matched with a white blouse and black heels suddenly steps out of the door. She looks down at a piece of paper and then back up again. "Jamison Ramero."

The boy who had been holding his composition far too tightly stood up abruptly and followed her into the audition room, leaving his parents behind. I could see the beads of sweat threatening to trickle down his forehead before he disappeared behind the heavy door, and the room around us fell into silence, as if everyone were terrified for him.

The thing was, I didn't feel nervous. Playing piano came naturally to me, and I didn't feel the need to worry myself over the act of simply playing. My lack of nerves also could've stemmed from the fact that I didn't really want to be here in the first place, but I had told myself to give the audition a real chance anyway, just to see if I could get in.

Who knows, maybe I'll change my mind about Juilliard. After all, the words my parents had drilled into me so many times before were still present in my thoughts. It was a great opportunity, it would open a lot of doors for me, I would be regarded highly as a pianist if I come out of Juilliard with a degree.

It felt like an hour had gone by before the waiting room had officially cleared out, and the door was opened by the same woman who had gathered all the other candidates before me. She simply looked at me and nodded, and I followed her into the auditorium without a glance back at my mother.

The door led to the back of the stage, which was insanely large. She stood by the door and gestured for me to go forward, where I could see, beyond the curtains, a single Grand Piano sitting in the center of the stage, lit by a spotlight above. I straighten up as I walk out onto the center of the stage, and then look out into the crowd.

I could make out five people sitting in the middle of the bottom half of the red velvet seats in the crowd, sitting behind a wooden desk. "Amelia Stevens, I presume."

There were no lights on them, so I could only see their silhouettes, but I smiled anyway. "Yes, that's me."

"And what do you have prepared for us today, Miss Stevens?" One of them asked.

Only then did a little bit of nervousness begin to creep in on me, when the situation itself settled. This was it, the moment that my parents had been discussing since I was young. The moment I would test my skills in front of a panel of professionals to see if I was good enough to compete for one of the few spots in the acclaimed school.

"I'll be playing Beethoven's Sonota Number 29, Hammerklavier in B flat major," I announce proudly, and then set the composition on the stand before sliding onto the bench.

When I sat on the bench and hovered my fingers above the keys, the fleeting feeling of nervousness dissipated, and I took a deep breath and shut my eyes. Instantly, I was transported into the small auditorium at Camp Wisahickon, with Mrs. Brady sitting beside me listening to me practice my composition for hours. I could practically smell the fresh air, practically feel the old piano underneath my fingers.

With that image in mind, I press my fingers to the keys and start playing, my eyes shut and all. The sound of the composition filled the silence in the echoing auditorium, not a note missed or beat done too early or too late. I was perfectly in rhythm, letting my fingers follow the muscle memory from all the mornings I had practiced at camp.

The last note hung in the air for a moment once I had finished, and when I did, I finally allowed myself to open my eyes. I glanced out toward the panelists, but still couldn't see their faces, so instead I stood up and gathered my papers. I stood out in front of the piano and smiled at them, even if they could see me and I couldn't see them.

"Thank you for your time," I say genuinely, and turn to move.

"Miss Stevens," A ladies voice interrupts me before I can walk away, and I turn back to face the faceless judges. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but did you have your eyes closed during that performance?"

I smile again. "Yes ma'am."

"And how long did it take you to memorize that composition?" Another voice asks, sounding equally as impressed.

"About a month," I divulge. "Maybe three weeks."

I can hear quiet conversation between the judges, but none of it is loud enough for me to make out what they're really saying. Finally, after a moment, another panelist speaks.

"That's all for now. Thank you, Miss Stevens."

I nod and head back to where the woman had led me backstage, but we walked across the stage, behind the velvet curtains, and she showed me out a different door. I walked out and saw my mother standing by the door already, her eyes welled up in tears. When she heard the door open, she glanced toward me and immediately engulfed me in her arms.

I stood, tense, while she wailed, "Honey, you were absolutely wonderful. The composition couldn't have sounded better if Beethoven himself played it."

Not used to her showing me affection or complimenting me, for that matter, I was slow to hug her back. "Thanks, mom," I say, but it's muffled by her shirt, and I'm almost positive that she didn't hear me.

After a few more moments of an uncharacteristic display of affection, she releases me and holds me at arms length with a proud smile. "God, Amelia Kate, you've grown up to be a wonderful young woman. I couldn't be more proud."

I stare at her for a moment before her words pull at my heart, and my own eyes water. "Thank you, mom. That means a lot."

Because it did. Her approval, whether I liked it or not, meant the world to me. It was the only reason why I dragged myself through years of strenuous practice, the only reason why I was here auditioning in the first place. She smiles at me warmly, something I'm still not accustomed to, before leading me down the hallway.

"Let's go back to the hotel," She says with a sigh. "We have a long car ride back to Maine tomorrow morning."

+ + +

It only took me fifteen minutes to find a way onto the roof of the hotel.

I was walking through the empty hallways on the top floor, clad in sweatpants and a sweatshirt, at three in the morning. After my audition, we had come back to the hotel and then ate dinner, but I couldn't fall asleep. I laid wide awake in the hotel bed which should've been the most comfortable nights sleep I've had in awhile, thanks to the bunk beds at Camp, but I couldn't even get comfortable enough for my eyelids to feel heavy.

So I started walking around the top floor in my slippers and pajamas, and followed the signs that said ROOF ACCESS. The first door it led me to was locked, but after a little more exploring, I found a latch connected to a small door in the ceiling, right above four horizontal metal bars that was supposed to act as a ladder. This time, when I tried the latch, it wasn't locked, and it swung open easily.

I climbed the rest of the way onto the flat roof, and took off my sweatshirt to stick it under the latch, so the door wouldn't shut and lock me up here. It was a little chilly for just sweats and a long sleeve shirt, but I didn't mind much. I looked around and found the base of where the sign for the hotel stood, illuminated by large red letters, and walked over. From where I stood at the edge of the "L" in "Hotel", I could see the entire city.

I stared in awe out at the large buildings, still lit up despite the fact it was the middle of the night, and looked down at all the cars that crawled through the streets like ants. The honking and talking and constant noise of the city finally seemed mute up here, somehow suffocated by the height. Instead of the insane hustle and bustle that I had seen during my drive, it somehow seemed more peaceful from up here.

Without really thinking about it, I pulled out my phone and called Poppy. As it rang, I realized the time, and decided to hang up when I heard a click and the familiar, "Mina!"

I finally allowed myself a small smile after my hectic day, and leaned against the large L. "Hey, Pops. Long time no talk."

"I miss you so much, it's unreal that it's only been a day," Poppy gushes, her words coming out a tad slurred, and then I heard the loud music mixing with conversation in the background.

"You're in Cabin 14," I say with a slight laugh. "I'm sorry, I should let you be so you can hang out with everyone."

"Oh shut up, I would rather talk to you," Poppy tells me firmly. "Don't hang up."

My smile grows at the sound of my drunk best friend. "I won't. How is everyone? Is Teddy pissed that I didn't get to say goodbye?"

"Hold on," Poppy says, and her words are followed by rustling on the line.

I wait patiently for a minute, listening to the sounds of the party going on back at Camp, before I hear a familiar deep voice say, "Well, if it isn't my supposed best friend who left me high and dry without a goodbye."

In the background, I hear Poppy giggle, "That rhymed."

"Hi Teddy," I say softly, my eyes grazing over the city. "I'm sorry I didn't get to say goodbye, I was leaving-"

"In a hurry, I know, Poppy told me." Teddy says, and then lowers his voice. "Do you need me to kick anybody's ass before Camp is over? I'm sure Zach would love to help."

I let out a breathy laugh, shaking my head even though he can't see me. "No, that's not necessary. I'm doing just fine."

"That sounded like a lie," Teddy tells me confidently, but I can hear the slur in his voice.

"You're drunk, therefore you can't tell a lie from the truth," I tell him cleverly, hoping that he would drop it. "You know I love you, Teddy, and I'm sorry I didn't get to say bye. Truly. But I promise I'll see you again soon, okay?"

"Like in another year?" Teddy asks, but his tone isn't full of malice, rather question. "We're going to be counselors next year, right?"

Even though my mother had restricted me from doing so, and even though I had no idea which direction my life would be heading in a year, I knew one thing for certain: I would be coming back to Camp next year, because that was the only place I was truly happy.

So, with this in mind, I promise him, "Right." I shut my eyes. "Listen, Teddy, can you give the phone back to Poppy? I need to talk to her."

He sighs dramatically. "Yeah, yeah, yeah. As long as you promise to call me sometime."

I open my eyes again and the corner of my lip turns upward. "I promise."

"Bye, Mina," Teddy chirps.

And before I can say goodbye, properly this time, I hear Poppy's voice say: "You wanted to talk to the great and mighty Poppy, my dear Amelia?"

I open my mouth to ask him about Carter- something that I, myself, am not actually sure I wanted to know the answer to- when a voice in the background makes my heart stop. It's muffled by the sounds coming from the party raging on back at Cabin 14, but I would recognize that voice anywhere.

"Ask her how her audition went," Carter says somewhere in the background.

I feel my heart drop at the sound of his voice, and with just his few words, I feel my eyes begin to water as the memory of what he last said to me hits me full force. I barely have time to think before I'm hanging up my phone call with Poppy and the first few tears begin to fall down my cheeks, and the sounds of my sobs get mixed up with the wind, carried from the top of the rooftops to mingle with the sounds of the city below.