CHAPTER 30

The rest of the weekend, I"m a bundle of nervous energy—practicing with Timothy and alone. Because of the tight timeline, we"re all business. Every minute, from dawn until midnight, we write and rewrite, play and sing, go over every section of my vocals and his guitar until the result is real and powerful and moves me from the first chord. Monday morning, I can barely listen during Entertainment Management, my stomach flipping over as I stare off into space and go over the arrangement in my head. On my way out of class, I notice a missed call from Haley, plus a voicemail. Emily, we sent you flowers for midterms, but the florist couldn"t deliver them because there was no one with your name at the dorm address you gave us. I told them to try again, but here"s the number— I write down the number, then hang up on the voicemail. This is bad.

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