2 days later,
Performing doesn't give me anxiety, I don't need pills for this. Interacting with the slightest amount of pressure, however, requires a whole bottle of Xanax, that's if it were humanly possible.
This... I could do with my eyes close. In a way, that's what I do. The clapping goes mute and faces in the crowd disappear as I'm placed into a robotic state. I don't think no one notices my lack of passion, which is good. I guess.
Bottom line: I don't plan on making this a career.
I think I've mentioned it before.
At once, I started with my back ached and my fingers over the keys. All day, yesterday, in the hotel's performance room— I fixed my upon meeting.
Gradually, I get to it and with a few stretches of my fingers, I played it out as I was suppose to. I'm sure, my mom and the judges will find something to critique.
You can never win, ever. Which is fine, too.
A monotone of claps brought me back, it alerted that I was finish and needed to get off the stage, which I did as the curtains closed in.
Quickly, I was approached by my mom, who had a phone pressed against her ear. "Alright Jen, I'll call you back, my daughter just got off stage, yes, okay, bye."
I was hoping she was distracted by the phone call. Sadly she wasn't, she concluded that I stampeded the last few notes and "required" that I work on it.
You see, there's no satisfaction. Whatsoever.
On the taxi drive back to hotel my mom's only words were, "With more practice, you'll get better."
The rest of my night was so uneventful that I fell asleep, as to the following morning I woke to an early drive back to Long Beach. By the time we arrived at my school, it was second period, meaning that I'd see Anthony sitting by himself.
As I pictured, he was.
The class turned heads as I walked in, and continued to the back to give my late slip to Mrs. Barker.
"Seat yourself and work on the project with Mr. Chalamet," she instructed, grabbing at my slip, without a lift of her head as she wrote on a stack of paper, vigorously.
It was on the way to Anthony's table that Amanda yanked my arm, pulling me in for a whisper. Cupping my ears, she frantically spoke.
"Gus's parents got a divorce yesterday."
Pulling away, she spoke louder, with aggression. "I've been trying to text you."
"Remember I told you I had a competition in Manhattan."
"When did you tell—
"At Gus's house. Remember?" "Well, do you have your phone now?" "Yeah but I haven't turned it on"
"Amelia! Amanda!"
Looking back, Mrs. Barker's glasses sat at the edge of her nose, with an expression that forced me to inch away.
"Turn your phone on," Amanda demanded in a loud enough whisper as I approached the empty seat beside Anthony.
"Hey, how did the competition go?"
Sitting down, I was adjusting to the news of Gus while staying in a degree of normalcy for Anthony's surfacing question.
"It was okay," I uttered, pulling out the folder for this class.
"What place did you get?"
Clearly, he's never been to a piano competition, "We don't place, we get a score and go by technique."
"How foolish of me."
My brows pulled in, "What do mean?"
As he wrote on the notebook in front of him, he next words bathed in a smile. "Like how foolish of me to think piano competitions are like sporting competitions."
"Oh," was all I had, before lurking into my bag's hidden pocket for my iPhone.
"Don't you know phones aren't allowed."
Was he serious?
Looking at him, I was assured that he'd been joking, but as of now I wasn't up for it. Gus's state of being my was my only concern.
As I waited for the phone to turn on, my anticipation grew and when my lock screen appeared, I slid right in and opened my Messaging app.
Amanda (3)
Gus (5)
Dad (1)
Surpassing Amanda's and my Dad's, I open those of Gus.
(1) hey
(2) hey
(3) are u home
(4) can we talk
(5) my dad left
Looking at the time stamps, his last text was sent at 11 pm last night. Then I went to check Amanda's messages.
(1) Gus is asking about u. I'm sure he told u about what happen
(2) hey TEXT ME!
(3) NEVERMIND see u at school
Going back to the message thread I have with Gus, I tapped to reply but all I could fixate on was the blinking space bar. It mocked the urge to say something but clearly, I had no idea how to go about it, and all the while Anthony was beside me. Most likely, peering over.
To that possibility, I lifted my head to see him doing exactly that, which forced me to put down my phone and open my folder.
"What?" I had to recollect, "How far have you gotten?"
Gus was screaming in my head, but there I went, working with Anthony on our project. It was minute after minute that I waited for the bell to ring and when it did, it felt like I was holding breathe the entire time.
Simmering a sigh, I collected my papers and empty folder and shoved them into my bag, which Anthony noticed.
"Are you okay?" He asked, standing up as he placed all his papers into his folder neatly.
Glancing at him, I got up and tucked my hair. "Yeah, I'm just tired," the bland tone in my voice was all I could give.
"I'll see you, Monday," he hollered as I walked to Amanda.
"So did you read the messages, did Gus text you?"
"Yeah."
"Well did you text him back?"
"No, I coul—
"What do you mean 'no'?" She spat as we continued out the classroom to a hallway full of students.
"Anthony was sitting there! Besides what am I suppose to say?"
"Aren't your parents divorce too? You should know wh—
"Your parents are too!" I said louder than I intended, while subconsciously making way to my locker.
"But I'm not his friend, last night he made me text you."
We halted at my locker, but as I opened it, I had nothing but frustration building up inside me. Even opening my bag was a drag.
"Oh shit." Her phones was inches away from her face that I knew she got a text.
"Emma just said Gus is missing."
"What do you mean?"
My question had enough stupidity but truly, I didn't want that to be true.
"Like gone! Emma said his mom didn't find him in his room this morning. He ain't at school either. Try calling him!"
Going into my bag, I pulled out my phone and did as she said but all I got were rings. Each becoming eerie than the next, followed by a dose of panic when my call went to voicemail.
"What should we do?" I asked, as the worry and possibilities of what might've happen circled itself through all the spaces in my head.
"Maybe he's just figuring things out—
Amanda had a point but also, I had to know if he was okay. Something like this had to be an expectation, "Let's go find him."
"You want to ditch?"
Shoving my bag into the locker, my expression spoke for me, I was already set on going.
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