Page 86 of The Goal

“I’m cutting a demo,” she admits.

I’m not part of the Briar arts crowd, so I have no idea what she’s talking about. “Oh. Cool.”

The bewilderment must show on my face, because Joanna adds, “It’s pretty much a sample that I can send to various A&R people in the industry. They listen to it, and, hopefully, someone signs me and I get a record deal. If that doesn’t work, I’ll sing covers and post them on YouTube, maybe try to gain visibility that way. It’s all kind of up in the air.”

“That’s great,” I tell her, but in my head, I don’t understand.

Why in the world would anyone leave a paying singing gig for something that seems risky as hell? If I had a good job right now, maybe I’d keep this baby. I think that if I’d gotten pregnant at the end of lawschool instead of the beginning, I’d view things differently.

“It’s terrifying, actually. I had to get a job waiting tables, which I’ve never done before. But there’s no other way to pay my bills. And by leaving Broadway now, I might never be able to go back.”

“I, ah, I—” I stutter. The potential of losing everything I planned for all my life because of this pregnancy has paralyzed me. Joanna sounds like she purposely jumped off a cliff with no safety net. “I hope you follow your dream,” I finish lamely.

“That’s exactly what I’m doing.” She sighs. “And despite what my parents believe, I’m not having an existential crisis because Beau died. In fact, he’d totally be on board with this, don’t you think?”

Beau loved his sister, so yeah, if this made her happy, then he would have supported her. “He’d want you to be happy,” I agree.

Joanna bites her lower lip. “Did you know that Beau didn’t really want to go pro? I mean, the team sucked last year and he had offers to go to other schools, maybe win another championship. That would’ve put him in a better position to be drafted, but he loved his team and he wasn’t interested in playing at the next level. Beau was all about being happy.” She starts to choke up, and I pray to God those tears don’t spill over, because if she cries, I’m going to start sobbing too.

Pregnancy has turned me into a weepy, emo bitch.

“Then you should do this,” I say firmly.

“I know.”

She wipes her face with her sleeve while I dig into my purse to see if I can find a tissue. There’s a crumpled one in the corner, but it’s clean, and Joanna gratefully takes it.

“He really liked you,” she says in a soft voice. “You guys could’ve made a great couple, but maybe it’s better that you didn’t fall in love with him.” Her face collapses as the grief she’s been holding at bay swamps her. “Then you wouldn’t be a mess like I am.”

Without a word, I drag an empty chair next to mine, and then sit beside her while she cries. A few of the other patrons give us weird looks. I return their nosiness with a death glare.

Fortunately, Joanna composes herself in no time. Soon she’s blowing her nose and casting me a chagrined look out from under the veil of herhair. “Fuck. I hadn’t cried all day,” she mumbles. “It was a new record.”

“If I were you, I wouldn’t even get out of bed.”

“I did that for the first couple of weeks, and then I woke up and thought, Beau would kick my ass if he saw me shitting my life away. So here I am, trying something stupid and new.”

“Doesn’t sound so stupid to me.” And it doesn’t anymore. Joannaisyoung. If pursuing a different career in music is her dream, better to chase it now than later.

“You really believe that?”

“Of course I do.”

She stuffs the tissue in her coat pocket. “Beau always said you were so driven. I figured this was the sort of thing you’d look down on.”

I frown. “You make me sound like a callous asshole.”

“No. I didn’t mean it that way. It was a compliment.” She pauses. “I was the same way. I had everything planned out—I’d get a degree in performing arts, get a fantastic role in a Broadway play, and ride my star to the top of the marquee. Then Beau died and all of it just seems unimportant now, you know what I mean?”

I think I might.

“Anyway, I better get going.” She leans forward and hugs me again. This time her grip is surprisingly fierce. “Take care of yourself, Sabrina. I hope you live your life making yourself happy.”

Yeah. If only I knew what path that required.

The next day,I find myself in front of my advisor’s office. Professor Gibson has her head bent over her desk, grading papers. I knock softly so I don’t startle her.

“Sabrina, come in.” She waves me forward with a welcoming smile. “How’s your last semester going?”

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