  &quot;Tell me why you want this job busting your ass for people who couldn&quot;t care less if you were born unless you forget the refill on their Pellegrino.&quot; Jacob&quot;s rapid-fire question has me leaning across the kitchen table in his and Timothy&quot;s apartment. The first of my two final exams isn&quot;t until tomorrow, but already, I feel as if I&quot;m being grilled. &quot;Because I need money to pay next semester&quot;s tuition and living expenses and my rock star dad cut me off for failing to tell him I was at performing arts school.&quot; He cocks his head. &quot;Cute. One more time.&quot; I square my shoulders. &quot;Because I&quot;m a hard worker, I don&quot;t give up, and I&quot;ll wait whichever tables you tell me to for as many hours as you want.&quot; &quot;Good.&quot; Jacob rises from his chair and goes to the fridge, where he pulls out two Coke cans and hands m

  <div class="flex">
  <div class="item-main">
  <div id="quillEditor" class="episode-content ql-editor">
  &quot;There&quot;s a problem with your writing,&quot; Ms. Tamayo informs me, looking up from the computer in her office. It&quot;s quiet at Vanier since exams finished yesterday. Only a handful of students staying for the holidays remain, plus a number of the faculty. &quot;What&quot;s that?&quot; I ask. &quot;It&quot;s better than any other student&quot;s I&quot;ve seen. These lyrics you wrote are meaningful and specific.&quot; My shoulders relax. I didn&quot;t realize how much tension I was holding until she said those words. &quot;Thank you.&quot; &quot;I&quot;d like you to help me finish the book for this show. It doesn&quot;t pay much, but it&quot;s a good learning experience. And you should consider auditioning, at the right time.&quot; Excitement surges through me. &quot;I&q

  <div class="flex">
  <div class="item-main">
  <div id="quillEditor" class="episode-content ql-editor">When my eyes crack open, the world is black and empty. Maybe I&quot;m not awake after all. Maybe I&quot;m dead. But as I turn my head, something cool and soft glides across my cheek. Satiny sheets. They&quot;re over me and under me, and my head is cushioned by a fat, fluffy pillow. The green numbers on the digital clock next to my bed read 11:51. I&quot;ve woken up plenty and not known where I was, but as the hotel room comes back to me, I realize I&quot;ve done it two mornings in a row. The blackness from the heavy curtains doesn&quot;t help. My arm is numb. It&quot;s an improvement over the first time I woke up this morning, when it felt as if each muscle was being peeled from my fingers to my elbow. Once when I was a kid, a brick from a construction site my friends and I were screw

&quot;Tell me why you want this job busting your ass for people who couldn&quot;t care less if you were born unless you forget the refill on their Pellegrino.&quot; Jacob&quot;s rapid-fire question has me leaning across the kitchen table in his and Timothy&quot;s apartment. The first of my two final exams isn&quot;t until tomorrow, but already, I feel as if I&quot;m being grilled. &quot;Because I need money to pay next semester&quot;s tuition and living expenses and my rock star dad cut me off for failing to tell him I was at performing arts school.&quot; He cocks his head. &quot;Cute. One more time.&quot; I square my shoulders. &quot;Because I&quot;m a hard worker, I don&quot;t give up, and I&quot;ll wait whichever tables you tell me to for as many hours as you want.&quot; &quot;Good.&quot; Jacob rises from his chair and goes to the fridge, where he pulls out two Coke cans and hands me one. I pop the tab and take a long drink. &quot;Thanks for helping me practice for interviews.&quot;

CHAPTER 43