It doesn’t matter how many times I look at the calendar, the dates aren’t changing in my favor. I have four classes a week and three of my end of the quarter exams are on the same day. Some would say this is a twisted form of karma, but as far as I know, I haven’t wronged anyone or the universe to deserve this sort of agony. Yet, here I sit with my study guides spread across the picnic table, watching my classmates as they do everything but study, wondering why I’m sitting here when I could be lounging under the shade tree or playing Frisbee with the guys from the baseball team. Surely, I can’t be the only one who slacked off this quarter and is now in a mad rush to cram.

The truth of the matter is, I probably am, but honestly, no one has gone through what I have in the past year or so. I almost lost my sister, my twin no less. Something of that magnitude really screws with your psyche. Quinn’s right though, I’m not taking my life seriously. Thing is, I’m not sure I want to.

Life is supposed to be about living. Peyton’s accident has shown me that. I don’t want to spend countless hours combing through the material I’ll likely never use again. I’ve seen the memes about any form of math ending in ‘try” and can easily say the only one my profession will require is adding and subtracting, and the occasional percentage. Being a music manager has been my dream for as long as I can remember. The horrors my dad and uncles went through are things I never want my brother or any other musician to experience. This is the route my parents encouraged, but I think a well-placed internship might be a better angle for me. For one, there would no tests and no one telling me how to act. I’d be learning from the best and thrown into the mix right away instead of writing fifteen-page papers on how country music has shaped America, which in my mind is subjective.

However, I’m already facing academic probation and can’t afford another screw-up. Since the other night when Quinn had a self-imposed intervention, I’ve done everything I can to avoid my parents. I was already giving them the cold shoulder, but now it’s worse. For the most part, I’ve kept my phone off, turning it on only to see if Peyton or Ben has texted me, but even talking to Peyton right now is hard. She’s harping on at me as well, but doing so in a sisterly fashion. I know she cares about me, she loves me, but enough is enough. My life is what it is right now, and I’m enjoying myself. As for my parents, I know my time is limited with them until one or either drive up and ream me a new one. I’m biding my time and failing grades this quarter will undoubtedly have my dad towering over me with his finger pointing in my face, screaming about how I’m throwing my life away, that I’m entitled and in need of help.

According to everyone except Peyton, I’m on a downward spiral, heading toward the bottom of the gutter, destined to piss my life away because I like to have fun and party. Quinn says there are unflattering pictures and videos of me online, but I’ve searched my friends’ accounts and have come up empty. I wouldn’t put it past my dad’s publicist or legal team to make sure the pictures have been removed. He’s always prided himself on keeping a squeaky clean image, and God forbid the less perfect of the twins do anything to tarnish his reputation.

A small breeze rolls over me, and I close my eyes, imagining it’s my father. He’s here, holding my hand, guiding me to make the right decisions. I don’t remember him. I don’t know his laugh or the way he would say my name. If it weren’t for pictures and random home videos, I’d know nothing about my father other than what my mom or Uncle Liam have told me. My memories feel empty. There are times when I wish my father were still alive. Of course, it means I wouldn’t have my dad and I’m not so sure I could live without him either. It’s a hard line to tow, wanting both men in your life, but knowing if one is there, then the other could be hurting.

Chatter from my fellow classmates has me opening my eyes. They’re hollering at each other, laughing and enjoying each other’s company while I stress over the situation I’ve put myself in. It’d be so easy to quit. To throw my hands up in the air and say I’m done. In fact, the thought appeals to me. There would be no more early morning classes. I could do what I want and when. There would be no one to report to, telling me what to do or looking down on me because I messed up. I could start my own business. Sign some talent and get started on their careers. I know the ins and outs. I’ve been around the scene long enough to know how everything works. I have connections, a network built by the band from the many parties I’ve attended with them.

“That’s what I’m going to do.” As soon as I say the words aloud, the pressure I’ve been feeling starts to dissipate.

“What’re you doing?” The voice behind me belongs to Quinn. I turn to find him standing there, looking every bit like our dad with his combat boots, baggy shorts, and the beanie… always with the beanie. The only thing missing is the tattoos. While our dad is covered, Quinn has opted to stay ink-free. If there were ever to be a movie about the band, Quinn would have the lead for Harrison James, drummer extraordinaire.

He doesn’t wait for me to respond as he walks around the table and takes a seat opposite of me. I start to pick up my papers, and he helps. Stacking them nicely and handing me the small pile he’s created.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. You were gone before I woke up this morning. It’s unlike you.”

“Long day. Finals are coming up.”

“Are you prepared?”

I shake my head and feel my throat tighten. As much as I want to be angry with him, I’m not. He means well, even if it’s underhanded and a bit demeaning. I’m an adult and can take care of myself.

“Would you like me to help you study?”

“I think I’m going to drop out.” The way Quinn’s eyes widen, you would think I dropped a bomb on him. I suppose, in a sense, I have. “I’m behind, and my focus isn’t on school.”

“It’s on the social scene.”

“No, I'm focused on life and what I want to do.”

“And what’s that, Elle?”

I lean forward, almost as if I’m telling him the best-kept secret. “Music. It’s my passion. My desire to make musicians like you feel appreciated in an industry which is hell-bent on destroying peoples’ dreams.”

Quinn looks around, turning his head from side to side. He does this often, especially before he’s about to sing or when he wakes up. He says it’s to loosen the muscles around his throat. I think it’s a nervous tick, but who am I to argue.

“Let me get this straight.” Quinn leans forward, bowing his head so only I can hear him. “You’re planning on dropping out, days after I told you Mom and Dad aren’t happy with you, to pursue a managerial role in music with no one currently signed under your company? Do I understand you correctly?”

I nod. I smile. My heart drops when I see Quinn’s expression change from contempt to annoyance, maybe even anger.

“What?”

Quinn shakes his head and throws his hands up in the air. “What part of this makes sense to you, Elle? From day one, our parents have pushed our educations on us, making sure we had a backup plan. Pushing us to be better than them at everything we do so we’ll never have to struggle.”

“Are you serious right now? We have trust funds, Quinn.”

“And you think the money will last forever?”

“No, but—”

“There are no buts, Elle. This is real life, and right now, I think you're a coward. You messed up, and instead of fixing it you want to quit. You want to throw in the towel and have a pity party for one.”

“Two,” I counter. “Ben will back me up.”

“You don’t get it.”

“I do, Quinn. I’m supposed to be perfect like Peyton. I’m supposed to be this good little girl who never steps out of line.”

“Peyton isn’t perfect. Neither am I. No one has ever said we have to be perfect. Yes, our parents have expectations, but whose don’t? You know what, don’t answer that. I’m sure your friends’ parents don’t care what they’re children do. Ours do, and I feel like I’m beating a dead horse.”

“Well, stop.”

He nods. His lips form a fine line. I know I’ve won this battle. “You’re right, but since you’re going to be a college dropout, I’m not comfortable with you taking on the role of my manager, so… yeah.” My mouth opens as Quinn stands, avoiding all eye contact with me.

“You can’t be serious?”

“I am, Elle. There’s a reason you followed me here. It’s because of the education and what you’re learning. Having a network already bodes well in your favor, but being business smart makes a manager more attractive in my opinion. I want someone who is going to protect me, and right now, you’re a bit self-absorbed for my liking.”

Quinn walks away before I have a chance to form a comeback. He’s wrong on so many levels. I don’t need a college education to be a good manager. My compassion should be enough. My love for music and knowledge of the scene should be the driving force behind any musicians or bands’ desire to work with me. However, I was relying on Quinn to be my first client, to be my flagship star. Together, I expected us to move mountains.

Digging my cell phone out of my bag, I turn it on. As soon as it comes to life, messages roll in. Most of them are from my friends, or the people Quinn says are using me. One message catches my attention. It’s from Peyton, asking me what I’m doing for Ben’s birthday. Quickly, I go to my calendar because surely I haven’t forgotten my best friend’s birthday. The date, today, glares at me, mocking me for being so lost in my own world I’ve completely spaced off his most important day. I have to fix this because Ben deserves better.

I type my reply to Peyton: Super short notice. Finals have me cray. Surprise party on Friday. Can you come?

Yes. Noah says we’ll be there. We’ll stay at Mom and Dad’s though.

Thank you! Party of the century!!

Oh, Ben will love this… not!

She’s almost right. Ben will love having a birthday party, but it’ll be low key and our close friends and family. I’ll force Quinn to be there if I have to, but having Peyton and Noah come to town will make Ben’s day. It’s important to me he’s happy. I know I don’t always show him how much I care or what our friendship means, but he was my rock when Peyton had her accident. If it weren’t for Ben, I don’t know how I would’ve made it through the ordeal. There were countless nights I cried myself to sleep with his arms wrapped around me, holding me. His words were comforting, reassuring and hopeful. Ben is every bit my best friend, and I’d be lost without him.