[written in 2012 | edited: Nov 2020]

"Congratulations, Lily!" I cheered.

My best friend and I were having a mini-celebration at the school cafeteria. She was so lucky to have many—and mad—skills. As a freshman, Lily could dance, sing, act, draw, do gymnastics, swim, and many other things. It was no surprise that she would pass the dance audition for the Annual Performing Arts Competition this spring.

She tossed her silky black hair off her shoulders and said something that made me choke a mouthful of soda: "Hey, Bloom. You should audition for the songwriting contest."

"Huh? Songwriting?" I exclaimed, which made her giggle. "No way! I suck at making music."

She rolled her eyes. "Come on. You got the writing skills and the voice. I think it's an amazing combo."

"How can you say so? You've never heard me sing."

"Sure, but I do hear you hum every time you listen to music on your phone."

It was my turn to roll my eyes. "Lily, it's just humming."

"Still, I think you got the voice."

Oh, Lily. I know you're trying to encourage me, but...

I wasn't well-rounded in artistic skills. I even doubted I had one. One time, my fourth-grade teacher had told me that I would never be good at music because of my bad grades. I loved music. I loved playing and listening to them, but I was bad at memorizing their history and studying all those musical notes. Other than that, there was another person who had discouraged me from making music. Agatha Harrington, my ex-best friend. A very talented girl.

Their criticisms had been harsh, but I supposed they were right. You can never master some skills, no matter how hard you try. So, I stopped trying to pursue music and decided to take on another interest instead—being someone else's cheerleader.

I smiled at Lily, shaking my head. "No. I'll pass. I'm not exactly interested in songwriting and stuff."

"Really? You're not interested?" Lily pouted her lips as she rummaged through her bag. "So would you care to explain this?" She pulled out a familiar crumpled paper that had my handwriting on it. I lunged at her, trying to get that stupid paper, but she pulled away from me so quickly.

Groaning, I sank back in my seat in total defeat. She laughed and lifted the paper to her eye level.

"'Smile, so people won't see your tears. Laugh, so no one thinks you have any fears. Sing to make yourself free...'" she began reading. She was loud enough for the students at the other table to hear the cringe-worthy stuff I had written. I covered my ears and chanted random words to block her voice.

"Seriously, Bloom," she said after reading, "this is the perfect audition piece. It matches the theme of courage and growing up!"

I made a face. "Lily, did you really dig through the trash just for that?"

She grinned, ignoring my question. I asked her to hand me the paper, but she pleaded to keep it as a memento. Whatever.

As we headed to our next class, my gaze darted to a colorful poster on the bulletin board.

Audition for the literary competition will be held today at 3:30 PM in Room 121. For the songwriting: kindly prepare your piece and melody with regard to the theme...

I ripped my gaze away and tried to compose myself. Okay, I had to admit—the song that Lily had dug from the trash was for the songwriting audition. But I was sure that no matter how much I had poured my heart and soul into the lyrics, the song wouldn't make the cut.

When I turned fifteen last month, my parents told me I should start building my confidence so my skills wouldn't go to waste. What skills? I wasn't like Agatha, who could wow anyone with her dexterous piano skills. I wasn't like Lily, who could act naturally on stage. I was just someone trying hard to be good at something I would never be.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ♫ ⋅.} ───── ⊰

Two days later, Lily and I had to go our separate ways after school because she had to stay for her dance practice. I was happy for her. She had already made the first step toward her dream of becoming a professional dancer.

Before we bid each other goodbye, she congratulated me in a cheery voice. I had no clue what she meant; I guessed it was just another prank of hers. But when I began to walk down the hallway, some of my classmates, whom I barely talked to, said, "Hey, congrats!" and "Good job!"

When I gave them a baffled look, they pointed at the bulletin board, and what I saw made me shriek.

The qualifier for the songwriting contest: Bloom Landry - freshman. Congratulations! Please proceed to Room 121 at 3:45 PM.

My face must've made the most hideous expression in history. I ran through the crowd toward the designated room. What was that? Some kind of a joke? Whoever had done it must be laughing their lungs out by now.

My heart was pounding in my ears as I opened the door of Room 121. A guy was hunched over a table, writing on a yellow notepad. He didn't look like a teacher. He was wearing a red plaid shirt, jeans, and black sneakers. His black hair was messy, but it looked good on him. Based on his appearance, he must be a senior student.

His gaze moved from the paper up to me, and he stood up from the chair, smiling. I stepped back as uneasiness overtook me. Oh, no. Did I enter the wrong room?

"Ah, you must be Bloom Landry," he said. "Come in. You're ten minutes late, but that's fine."

So it wasn't a prank after all. Maybe this was just a huge misunderstanding. Maybe there was another Bloom on this campus, and he had mistaken her—

"Oh, sorry. Forgot to introduce myself." A warm chuckle escaped him. "I'm Chad Harper, one of the contest coordinators and your coach. Why don't you sit down? Let's start arranging your lyrics properly, shall we?"

"Wait!" I almost yelled out loud. This could not be happening. "I-I think there's a mistake here. You see, I've never auditioned for songwriting. I've never even stepped into this room before. I think you got the wrong person..."

He grabbed a paper from the table. My eyes almost popped out of their sockets when I noticed it was the paper Lily had kept.

"'Being Free' by Bloom Landry," he said and eyed me. "This is your piece, right?"

"But I didn't submit it myself! I-I don't even know how it got here."

"Lily gave this to me."

I was dumbstruck for a moment, wondering why he sounded like he had known Lily for years. A realization then hit me. Chad Harper... Lily Harper. Oh my God. They were related! Maybe they were cousins or something.

"And," he continued, "she told me that you wanted to try out, but you were sick, so she submitted this on your behalf."

Of course, another great talent of Lily was to act a lie.

Oh, Lily. You are so dead.

I tried explaining everything—that I didn't want to join the competition and that I didn't have the right skills. Unfortunately, his team had already chosen me as their representative, and I had no choice but to give this competition a shot. Six other people had submitted their work, but none of it matched the coordinators' taste or the contest theme. My work was the only one that had passed the criteria.

I protested once more, but Chad laughed and told me to stop being so humble.

"I'm not being humble. I really am not good at this," I said.

"It's okay. This is just your first draft, and we can improve this. You'll be fine," he replied, still amused. "By the way, have you already created a melody for this?"

I grumbled yes without looking at him.

"Perfect." He returned to his table. "Let's start working on the lyrics. No pressure, though."

No pressure? Yeah, right. If only he knew how close I was to puking right there.