Page 116 of Behind the Net

I wish they could be proud of me. I wish I didn’t have to shove myself into some job I don’t want to gain their approval. My throat tightens with the ugly realization. I know their intentions are good; they tie happiness to financial stability, because it’s what they lacked growing up.

I didn’t, though. Working a job I don’t like won’t make me happy, even if it does pay my bills. My heart twists in my chest, and like he can feel it, Jamie’s hand is on my back, rubbing slow, calming circles.

I got swept up in what they wanted, just like with Zach. Jamie looks at me right now the same way he looks at me every time I’m about to step up on a stage—like I can do anything. The flame in my chest is a pilot light, fueled by memories of singing on New Year’s and recording songs that I wrote in the living room. That fire is my love of music, the way I feel like I’m flying when I sing my heart out. It’s the reason I can’t walk away from the music industry even though I tried. Something sharp and glowing rushes through my blood, and I suck a breath in.

I’ll figure out how to tell my parents. The idea of letting them down makes my stomach clench, but it’s what I need to do.

“You want to tell me what you pictured?” Jamie’s mouth tilts. “You don’t have to.”

Jamie isn’t Zach. He’d never laugh at me, never tell me my dreams are stupid or that I should stay in my lane.

“I want to.”

I tell him everything, and when I’m done, his eyes are bright with affection and excitement.

“Would you ever reach out to her?”

I blanch. “Who? Ivy Matthews?”

He nods.

“Um.” I blink. My instinct is to say no, but I catch myself again.

No more putting up roadblocks for myself. No more letting what Zach said weigh me down. If I want what I imagined just now, I’m going to have to do scary things… like send my music to people who could reject me.

“I guess I could.” Determination pours into my blood, and I nod at Jamie. “Yeah. I’m going to do it.”

His smile is so broad, it makes my heart break open. “Good girl.”

I laugh, and he slings an arm around my shoulder as we keep walking.

While Jamie is at the gym that afternoon, I study Ivy Matthews’ website. There’s an email address, but no information about whether she takes submissions. She probably wouldn’t want to work with me unless I’m signed by a record label. She didn’t even want to work with Zach. His manager tried to arrange something with her and she turned them down. He was so angry about the rejection.

This is such a long shot, it’s not even funny, but I told Jamie I’d do this. I write a brief, professional message about my experience in the music industry and attach links for my viral video and the songs I wrote for Jamie for Christmas.

Hesitation rears its ugly head again and again, but shoving it away gets a little easier each time.

I hit send and blow out a long breath. Even if nothing will come of it—and I’m certain that’s the case—I tried. I took one step forward.

* * *

That evening, I’m about to feed Daisy dinner when my phone rings with an unknown number, and I answer.

“Is this Pippa Hartley?” a woman asks.

“That’s me.” I drop the cup of dog kibble into Daisy’s slow-feeder bowl, and she races to eat it.

“My name is Marissa Strong. I’m Ivy Matthews’ assistant.”

My brain stops working.

There’s a pause. “Are you still there?”

“Yes,” I say quickly. “I’m here. Just wondering if I’m hallucinating.”

She laughs. “Yeah. I get that response sometimes. I saw your submission and passed it along to Ivy. She’s in town recording, and the band has wrapped up early, so she’s free tomorrow. If you’re free, she’d like to record a demo with you.”

I’m staring at nothing. I don’t think I even have a pulse right now.

---