Jesse's Girl
Page 73
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
“Wanna drive it?”
“Uh, yeah, kinda.”
“Well, maybe later.”
A chauffeur opens the back door for us. Taking a deep breath, I climb into the limo and find Holly smiling at me. She’s wearing her usual long, flowing, bohemian-style dress.
“Hi, Maya. I can’t believe you’re here,” she says.
“That makes two of us,” Jesse says, hip-checking me across the leather bench.
“Where’re we going?” I ask as Mr. Logan climbs in the limo.
“It’s a surprise,” Jesse says.
“Getting me back for the birthday party we crashed?”
“You could say that.”
The limo weaves through traffic while we explore the minibar, finding root beer and orange soda. Jesse, the health nut, cracks open a diet root beer.
“Sacrilege,” I tell him.
Twenty minutes later, the limo rolls to a stop outside a tall building labeled New York University, Tisch School of the Arts.
I jerk my head to look at Jesse, who has a subtle, but nervous, smile on his face.
“Jess?”
He takes one last sip of root beer before opening the door and stepping out. “For me?”
I take his outstretched hand and don’t let go as he leads me up to the building and through a set of glass doors. Holly and Mr. Logan follow, and even though my palm starts to sweat, Jesse doesn’t drop my hand. I swallow hard as we go inside.
“You know why we’re here?” Jesse asks.
“I’ve got a guess.”
Holly leads us down a long hallway past a few students to a music room filled with instruments. A tall African American man looks up from playing his harp and goes to give Holly a long hug.
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” she says, patting his chest. “This is my dear friend Dr. Edgar Davidson—he’s dean of Tisch.” She introduces Jesse, Mr. Logan, and finally, me. “Maya’s got a unique tone to her voice. I wanted you to meet her.”
“Let’s hear it,” Dr. Davidson says in a deep baritone voice.
For some crazy reason, I feel a lot more nervous now than any other time I’ve performed, including earlier today. I mean, Dr. Davidson is dean of the NYU music school. This audition could help me prepare for the Vanderbilt tryout. This performance could shape my whole future.
Jesse adjusts his cowboy hat and smiles at me as I sing the P!nk song I’ll perform tomorrow for the next round of auditions. I try not to look at Dr. Davidson, because he makes me nervous, but I occasionally peek at him. He taps his chin with two fingers. He seems deep in thought. I finish and clasp my hands together behind my back.
“That was enjoyable,” Dr. Davidson says. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for letting me sing for you,” I reply.
He shakes my hand. “Is this your senior year?”
“Yes, sir.”
He smiles. “You should submit an application. We’ll consider this your audition for the program.”
Jesse throws an arm around me. “Big-time.”
I look to Holly, not quite understanding what this means. Did he like my song? Or does he tell everyone to apply? She smiles encouragingly at me.
Mr. Logan claps his hands together once. “I have a business dinner to get to.”
Dr. Davidson asks, “Can I take the rest of you to dinner?”
Holly says, “I’d be delighted, but let’s not subject Jesse and Maya to our boring gossip.”
So after thanking Dr. Davidson again and getting his business card, Mr. Logan takes us back outside to the limo. He pats Jesse’s cheek. “I can count on you to behave tonight, right?”
“Of course.” Jesse rolls his eyes. “I’m almost nineteen, Mark.”
“Yet he still acts like he’s twelve,” Mr. Logan says to me, chuckling. “Keep an eye on him, Maya. Last time I let him loose in Manhattan, he tried to buy an antique organ from the Met.”
Mr. Logan hails himself a cab, and then it’s just me and Jesse. Together. In New York City. We slide inside the limo, and Jesse starts rooting around in the minibar again.
“Why’d you do this for me?” I whisper.
He turns away from the snacks to focus on my face. “I wanted to show you that even if Wannabe Rocker doesn’t work out, you’ve got lots of options. I know you’d never ask me for help, but I want you to know that you can, okay? I’m here for you. We have to trust each other.”
I swallow. “Thanks so much. I don’t know about New York though. The people I love aren’t here…my family, my friends. You.”
“Uh, yeah, kinda.”
“Well, maybe later.”
A chauffeur opens the back door for us. Taking a deep breath, I climb into the limo and find Holly smiling at me. She’s wearing her usual long, flowing, bohemian-style dress.
“Hi, Maya. I can’t believe you’re here,” she says.
“That makes two of us,” Jesse says, hip-checking me across the leather bench.
“Where’re we going?” I ask as Mr. Logan climbs in the limo.
“It’s a surprise,” Jesse says.
“Getting me back for the birthday party we crashed?”
“You could say that.”
The limo weaves through traffic while we explore the minibar, finding root beer and orange soda. Jesse, the health nut, cracks open a diet root beer.
“Sacrilege,” I tell him.
Twenty minutes later, the limo rolls to a stop outside a tall building labeled New York University, Tisch School of the Arts.
I jerk my head to look at Jesse, who has a subtle, but nervous, smile on his face.
“Jess?”
He takes one last sip of root beer before opening the door and stepping out. “For me?”
I take his outstretched hand and don’t let go as he leads me up to the building and through a set of glass doors. Holly and Mr. Logan follow, and even though my palm starts to sweat, Jesse doesn’t drop my hand. I swallow hard as we go inside.
“You know why we’re here?” Jesse asks.
“I’ve got a guess.”
Holly leads us down a long hallway past a few students to a music room filled with instruments. A tall African American man looks up from playing his harp and goes to give Holly a long hug.
“Thanks for seeing me on such short notice,” she says, patting his chest. “This is my dear friend Dr. Edgar Davidson—he’s dean of Tisch.” She introduces Jesse, Mr. Logan, and finally, me. “Maya’s got a unique tone to her voice. I wanted you to meet her.”
“Let’s hear it,” Dr. Davidson says in a deep baritone voice.
For some crazy reason, I feel a lot more nervous now than any other time I’ve performed, including earlier today. I mean, Dr. Davidson is dean of the NYU music school. This audition could help me prepare for the Vanderbilt tryout. This performance could shape my whole future.
Jesse adjusts his cowboy hat and smiles at me as I sing the P!nk song I’ll perform tomorrow for the next round of auditions. I try not to look at Dr. Davidson, because he makes me nervous, but I occasionally peek at him. He taps his chin with two fingers. He seems deep in thought. I finish and clasp my hands together behind my back.
“That was enjoyable,” Dr. Davidson says. “Thank you.”
“Thank you for letting me sing for you,” I reply.
He shakes my hand. “Is this your senior year?”
“Yes, sir.”
He smiles. “You should submit an application. We’ll consider this your audition for the program.”
Jesse throws an arm around me. “Big-time.”
I look to Holly, not quite understanding what this means. Did he like my song? Or does he tell everyone to apply? She smiles encouragingly at me.
Mr. Logan claps his hands together once. “I have a business dinner to get to.”
Dr. Davidson asks, “Can I take the rest of you to dinner?”
Holly says, “I’d be delighted, but let’s not subject Jesse and Maya to our boring gossip.”
So after thanking Dr. Davidson again and getting his business card, Mr. Logan takes us back outside to the limo. He pats Jesse’s cheek. “I can count on you to behave tonight, right?”
“Of course.” Jesse rolls his eyes. “I’m almost nineteen, Mark.”
“Yet he still acts like he’s twelve,” Mr. Logan says to me, chuckling. “Keep an eye on him, Maya. Last time I let him loose in Manhattan, he tried to buy an antique organ from the Met.”
Mr. Logan hails himself a cab, and then it’s just me and Jesse. Together. In New York City. We slide inside the limo, and Jesse starts rooting around in the minibar again.
“Why’d you do this for me?” I whisper.
He turns away from the snacks to focus on my face. “I wanted to show you that even if Wannabe Rocker doesn’t work out, you’ve got lots of options. I know you’d never ask me for help, but I want you to know that you can, okay? I’m here for you. We have to trust each other.”
I swallow. “Thanks so much. I don’t know about New York though. The people I love aren’t here…my family, my friends. You.”
