I gripped my backpack straps, closing my eyes, and I counted my breaths. The buzz of the halls slowly died, the heartbeat of the school going silent. Fifteen breaths went by before I dared to walk through the band room's door and saw Mr. Burka at his computer, his glasses halfway down his nose. He looked busy. I shouldn't bother...

Ever since band class, his words had haunted me, "Your mom emailed me. Did I read it right? Are you really leaving orchestra?"

My brain halted all motor functions. Overwhelmed with too much to say, I couldn't say anything at all. Nothing intelligible, of course. Very on brand. My words tumbled out of my mouth like a box of Legos scattering down some stairs.

"Um, she did? Um, yeah..." I played with the tail end of my braid, examining the split ends. "I don't know. That's weird."

Why was lying always my default?

I sighed.

The anxiety in my stomach was multiplying like popcorn in the microwave, bouncing off the walls and soaking up the acids. I couldn't believe my mom talked to him. Behind my back. Without my blessing. She had her own life, so she didn't have to go around controlling mine. I touched my hair, cooking up a few bad ideas of my own that I wasn't planning on getting her blessing to do.

"There you are." Parker appeared around the corner. Her voice bounced around these empty halls. She jogged to my side. "Hey, like what's Camille's deal? You'd think she'd be happy that she got cast, but she's raining all over my parade." She stopped by my side, following my stare into the band room. "What are you doing? The floor's not lava, you can go in."

"I don't want to," I muttered.

"Why? Who's in there? Do I need to rough somebody up?"

I snorted and some of my anxiety flew away the way surprised birds jumped from tree branches. "Sure, if you wanna rough up Mr. Burka, be my guest. Maybe you can knock him in the head so hard he forgets every single embarrassing conversation we've ever shared."

"Whoa, whoa. You're fighting with Mr. Burka?"

Squinting at the teacher, I dropped my braid. "It's not really fighting if only one person has a problem and the other one is oblivious."

"Oh." Parker nodded as if understanding. "Been there." She crossed her arms, dropping her shoulder against the wall to face me. "So...?"

"So?"

"So, what's up?"

My stomach twisted, tucking itself into a tiny ball. "My mom thinks I should quit orchestra. I um..." I adjusted my bag, looking down at my shoes as if I had never seen a pair of converse before. "I sometimes cry on stage, so my mom thinks I don't like it, so she emailed Mr. Burka about it and I don't wanna quit. What I really want is another chance to audition for the spring symphony again with ninety-five percent less tears."

"Say all that then, you're rehearsed." Parker grinned. She walked behind me, putting her hands around my arms. Putting pressure against me, I straightened my legs. Parker insisted, "Just breathe-"

"Don't push me," I grumbled and tried retracting my neck inside my chest like a little turtle before a speeding eighteen-wheeler crushed it.

Parker pushed a little harder. Her breath tickled my ear. "Get in there."

"Don't push me," I said again, losing this battle. My sneakers squeaked as they slid over the linoleum.

"Speak your truth," she said and gave me one last hard shove and I tripped, stumbling into the band room. Behind me, Parker slammed the door. I jumped, snapping my head around at Parker waving behind the window, where she was out of my reach and safe. For now.

Before I could fight back and tear that door open, Mr. Burka spoke up from his desk. "Lizzie? Is everything okay? Is that..." he pushed his glasses up his nose, "Parker?"

"Uh, yeah," I grumbled and walked a little closer. "She'll be fine after a lobotomy."

"Sorry? What did you say?"

"I said, yeah everything's fine..." I scratched the side of my face, picking at a zit and slowly approached Mr. Burka's desk. Glancing behind my shoulder, Parker waited by the door. She threw a thumbs up and I took a deep quivering breath.

"So, I uh asked my mom about the email," I said my second lie of the day. At this rate, I was never going to notice a difference. My hands started to shake, so I grabbed the straps of my backpack. Mr. Burka looked up with a small smile, patiently waiting for more. Heat trickled into my face as I went on.

I wished I spoke louder.

I prayed he couldn't see me trembling.

"Um, it was just a misunderstanding. I'm not quitting band."

"Oh, good." Mr. Burka let out a huge sigh. "That's good. I was worried. You're so talented, Lizzie. I'd hate to see you give up. Sometimes performing is difficult, sometimes life is difficult, but you'll regret the things you don't do more."

I nodded. "I know..."

That was always easier said than done.

"And I also wanted to ask you something else..." I stole a glance at Parker again, feeling the corner of my eyes pool. I took a deep breath and returned her little smile. "I kind of bombed my audition, right?"

Mr. Burka's face softened. "You didn't bomb, but I do wish you stayed after. We could've talked."

"I know." My face was breaking records with how hot I was blushing. My face was going to lead this town single-handedly back to the summer. "I was wondering..." As I spoke, it was like the words carved out pieces of my chest and I just felt hollow. "Is it possible to get another chance. I really don't want to miss out and I know I ran, but you know I can sight read and-"

"Lizzie, Lizzie." Mr. Burka raised his hands. "It's alright. I wished you stayed after. I already filled out all the spots."

"Oh," I deflated. All the heat suddenly vanished, and my veins ran cold. My voice came out so small. "Oh, I get it."

"But," he smiled, "I could always use someone on the piano. Now..." He rubbed the scruff around his chin. "I've never had an assistant before for symphony. Have you ever considered trying to conduct?"

I blinked. "Oh, um I haven't."

"You might like it. I know it's not playing the violin but-"

"No! I'll do it!"

"Great. Practice starts after we're done with Cinderella."

"Thank you. Y-you won't regret it!"

Before I had the opportunity to screw everything up, I ran back outside and wrapped my arms around Parker, whirling her around the hallway, making my backpack slide off my shoulders. It wasn't an easy task, tossing around the resident giant. "I'm in! I'm in!"

"Of course, you are! He'd be crazy not to let you in."

My heart thumped against my chest as if to reach out and high-five hers. Not gonna lie, in middle school, Andrew Miller asked me out on the bus. I said yes (just because all my other friends said yes when boys asked them out) and then, we very romantically high-fived.

Camille still hasn't let me live that down.

Before I realized it, we stopped moving. Parker grinned down at me and I almost didn't believe I couldn't have done this without her. Ashley Marie Parker. She may have been more than I bargained for. A smile pulled up my cheeks and I said, "This is exciting. I don't know what to do with all these feelings. I've like never felt like this. I feel like I could lift a bus over my head or skydive or..." I grinned wider. "Cut my hair. Would you really cut my hair?"

"Are you sure you don't want to skydive?"

"No, seriously. Let's cut my hair. I feel like I'm finally taking control of my life."

Parker laid her hands on my shoulders as if knighting me. "Elizabeth Marie Hernandez-"

"That's not my middle name."

"Everyone's middle name is Marie until proven otherwise-"

"Okay, that's weird and still not my middle name."

"Lizzie, I would be honored to cut your hair. I gotta run to practice first," she said, motioning her thumb over her shoulder. Without taking her eyes off me, she walked backward down the hall. Her voice echoed, tinged with excitement. "But after that, okay?"

"Okay." I nodded, eagerly. I watched her turn the corner and closed my eyes, burning this feeling into my memories. I wanted to remember this fluttering, this uncontainable nervousness for after this trial was over, so maybe one day I could find it again. I'd find it pure and unplanned, not because of a bet or a trial.

With a skip in my step, I hurried to the auditorium. I started humming without meaning to do it, unable to get the tune of the Prom Musical out of my head. Never had I understood why people in musicals broke out into song better than today. I wanted to be like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain, swinging from lampposts.

I almost made it through the doors, when Lizzie sent me a text.

Unprovoked.

My heart did a little spastic happy dance. Grinning, I backed up and let my back hit the far wall. I opened her text and a link to one of her playlists appeared:

1. Green Light by Lorde

2. Immortal by Fall Out Boy

3. (Just a) Simple Sponge from SpongeBob the Musical

4. Remember the Name (feat. Styles of Beyond) by Fort Minor, Mike Shinoda

5. Etc.

Snickering, I sent her back:

The theater doors swung open and a few girls stumbled out, all part of the ensemble. One of them, I recognized as like one of the million Taylor Smiths at this school. She was a tiny thing with a wavy blonde bob. She always wore oversized T-Shirts and leggings. Like I love a good legging, but it always struck me as strange when girls spent hours on their makeup but decided to put on a T-shirt with a mustard stain on the hem.

Don't people like her?

Why won't anyone tell her?

Taylor Smith locked eyes with me and rolled her eyes. "You're back again? I'm wondering if you even have a single costume done or are you just going to do everything last minute?"

I glared back, gripping my cell phone. "Don't worry about me. I just wanna watch Camille's first practice. So-"

"Don't worry about Camille," Taylor snapped back like the crack of a whip. "Why don't you just worry about the costumes? If you want to be helpful, go home. We could use one peaceful practice without you."

Taylor whipped around with her horde and headed to wherever demon girls entered Hell. I swallowed the vile feeling of being small and looked down at my phone. She was wrong, I worked on the costumes all the time... but maybe I wasn't working on them enough. Maybe I've been distracted lately. My thumb grazed over my phone screen. I had twenty-three more days until the play. That number suddenly towered over me, standing at its full height so it could swallow me whole and I'd melt in its stomach acids.

I chewed the inside of my mouth, staring at the auditorium doors. I really didn't want to be annoying. Back in New York, that was how I always lost my friends. Camille already seemed pissed at me and I didn't want to try my luck. Dragging myself away, I sent a couple of texts.

One to Camille to tell her that I was sorry about earlier.

A second to Lizzie to cancel our plans tonight.

And a third, asking my stepmom to come pick me up from school.

What did you think about the end to day three? Can you believe Lizzie is going to let Parker cut her hair? What do you think Parker should have said to Taylor Smith #1000? I've referenced a dozen musicals in this chapter, can you believe it? Haha. Will I ever be stopped? Who knows???