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I actually don’t mind the noise.
I’ve never felt so alone in my entire life, and that’s saying something. I suppose it stems from the fact that I’ve always lived in places where I shared a room, especially in the foster homes and at the group home. At Rosethorn, I had my own room, but the house was always filled with so much life, I didn’t seem to care.
I bounce on the bed, feeling the springs, though I have no idea why I do it. Maybe it’s just from seeing other people do it on TV. I unzip my duffle and start to unpack, but then I stop, unsure of how long I’ll actually be here. A night? A week? Hopefully it won’t be any longer than that.
On the nightstand, by the bed, I see a notepad and a pen. I use them to jot down my new cell phone number and then I rip the paper off the pad and drop it in the shoebox. I close the lid, stuff it under my arm, and head back out into the city.
The sun’s down now, but the city’s still bustling. I have a short walk across the street before I arrive at my destination. It’s incredibly close, which isn’t a coincidence. It’s the reason I picked my hotel in the first place. I sit on the concrete steps that face Alice Tully Hall and patiently watch people filing in and out of the building. It’s not immediately clear whether they’re all students or not, but some of them are my age, walking together and chatting. There’s a group of girls in tight leggings and workout gear. One of them has ballet slippers hanging down around her neck, and a few guys pass behind them with guitar cases slung over their shoulders. They walk into the glass atrium of the building, and I find myself wishing I could go in after them.
“Are you an incoming freshman too?” a voice asks beside me.
I jerk my attention to my left to see a girl with black hair and almond-shaped brown eyes smiling my way.
“I just figured,” she continues. “You’re staring all moony-eyed. I wondered if you were starting in the fall too.”
My throat tightens. “Oh, no. I’m just…”
“Sitting. Hey, I get it. Why do you think I’m here?” she quips.
“Are you about to start here?”
She grins. “Yes. In the drama department.”
“You want to act?”
“No. I’ve been accepted into their playwriting program.”
“Wow. That’s really cool.”
“What about you? What are you going to apply for?”
I rear back and shake my head. “I’m not applying for anything.”
She tips her head as a smile stretches farther across her face. “So, you just sit outside of Juilliard at night for fun?”
Well, when she puts it like that…
“I play the piano. That’s what I’d like to pursue.”
“So then just apply for a Bachelor of Music. I think those guys take some music theory and history classes, but it’s primarily focused on applied training.” Then she laughs, probably at the way I’m looking at her. “Sorry. It’s been my dream to come here for a long time, and I’ve looked into just about every program they have. If I hadn’t gotten into their playwrighting program, I would have applied for something else, literally anything, though playwriting is what I really want to do.”
“It’s not all that easy to apply and get in,” I say, looking down at the shoebox.
“No. Of course it’s not. They accept like no one here. I had to apply three times. My parents wanted me to stay home and go to Michigan State, but here I am, in New York City, finally doing it. Well, not quite doing it—classes don’t start for a few weeks. I’m just here working for a little bit, saving some money up, and…sitting.”
She chuckles, and I can’t help but smile.
A guy comes out of the building with a backpack slung over one shoulder. He calls out for her and the girl stands and waves to him, looking down at me before she moves to join him. “Hey, good luck with everything.”
I nod. “Yeah, you too. Congrats, by the way.”
She smiles then trots down the stairs toward her friend. He throws an arm around her shoulders and they turn down the street then disappear.
I continue to sit there as people come and go around me, staring at the school, dreaming about what it would be like to attend and then trying to convince myself it doesn’t just have to be a dream. It’s why I’m here, I remind myself. Well, one of two reasons.
I stand up and pull a little piece of paper out of my pocket. I look at the address Cornelia jotted down for me this morning.
Nicholas’ apartment.
He doesn’t know I’m in the city and I have no idea how he’ll feel when I just show up unannounced on his doorstep, but well…it’s called a leap of faith for a reason.
