I know I’ve hit a nerve. I can see her shift uncomfortably.

ME: I’m sorry, I know that is none of my business. I just … I want to be happy.

I finally let out a breath and take a sip of my mocha.

EMME: What would make you happy? Right now.

ME: Quitting the soap.

EMME: Okay.

She says it like that is so easy. But I guess it is. Money isn’t an issue. I technically don’t have to work.

EMME: And then?

ME: Take art classes.

EMME: Okay. So you need to quit the soap and take art classes.

Quit the soap and take art classes.

EMME: Does your mom have any idea about how you feel?

I shake my head. This has been her dream for so long, I don’t think she’s ever taken a moment to consider what I want.

ME: No, I’ve been keeping everything hidden from her. I don’t think she’d take it well.

EMME: But this is your life.

Yes, my life. Carter Harrison. Not “Carter Harrison” the all-American, blond-haired (thanks, lemon juice!), blue-eyed, sparkly white-teeth (thanks, bleach!) act. Me. Plain Carter. I hesitate as I want to tell her more, but I figure trying to quit the soap will be hard enough. So I’ll talk to Mom about quitting the soap and taking art classes.

Yeah, that’s going to be fun.

EMME: Can I see your art?

Even though Emme has told me to basically flip my world upside down, this is what scares me the most.

ME: I’ve never shown anybody my art. I don’t know, this is going to seem stupid, but it feels too personal.

Emme nods her head.

EMME: I know exactly what you’re saying. I feel that way about my songs sometimes. But for me it’s easy — Sophie is the one who gets up there and sings my words. It actually helps me when I’m writing the lyrics. I don’t have to censor myself, wondering if people will read into something, because I know it won’t be me up there singing it. I kind of see Sophie as my security blanket. I guess artists don’t have that luxury.

I never thought of it like that before. That Emme, who has this incredible support system, would feel self-conscious about her songs. And I never realized how much she needs Sophie. I always saw it from Sophie’s perspective, that Sophie needs Emme’s songs.

I guess we’re both hiding in our own ways.

ME: Well, I’m going to have to show it to people sometime. Although I do need to warn you, I’m no Trevor Parsons.

EMME: Trevor had to start somewhere. You know, he would be a great person to talk to.

I laugh. Emme makes this all seem so simple. But maybe it is. It can’t be any harder than keeping a straight face saying lines like “Dammit, Charity, I’m not a mind reader, I’m just a guy trying to tell you how I feel inside!”

I think about my conversation with Emme as I go for a run in Central Park the next morning. Running helps clear my head, and I need it for what awaits me at home. I come back to our Central Park West apartment to find Mom at the kitchen table, reading scripts for me.

MOM: Honey, I made you some eggs.

I go to the counter, scoop up the eggs, and pour myself a glass of orange juice.

MOM: No juice — too much sugar.

I sit down and don’t say anything.

MOM: Nervous about school on Monday?

I shake my head. Nope, not nervous about that. Although about the conversation I want to have right now? I believe terrified is the word I’m thinking of.

ME: I need to talk to you.

She puts down the script and removes her reading glasses.

ME: It’s about the soap. I don’t want —

MOM: I know, honey, and I’m so sorry about the pressure the producers have been putting on you for the new Charity story line. At first, I thought it would help with school starting, they know your hours are being cut and I think they wanted to give you something big before you wouldn’t be around so much.

ME: It’s not that. I don’t want to do it anymore.

MOM: I’m confused. You don’t want to do the Charity story line or the show?

ME: The show.

MOM: Oh.

She looks down at the table and nods.

MOM: Okay, Carter. But you do realize you’re on a contract.

What is going on? She’s so calm. This isn’t what I was expecting; this isn’t how she reacts when I …

I try to think about a time when I stood up for myself and said I didn’t want to go on an audition or accept a role. And I can’t. That’s impossible. I …

ME: How long is the contract for?

MOM: Just until next September.

Next September? That’s a year.

MOM: Let me talk to the producers and see what we can do. We’ll work something out, but you won’t be able to quit right away.

I shake my head. That’s it. She’s not going to …

To what? I start going through all the scenarios in my head of when I’ve taken roles, and it’s always been my decision. I’m the one who put myself in this circumstance. I’m the one who thought a soap would be a good way to balance school.

MOM: I’m glad you said something to me, honey. I didn’t know you were that unhappy with the show, but you’ve been demonstrating so much promise at school, it makes sense you’d want to concentrate on your senior year.

I’m in shock. I quietly eat the rest of my eggs as I try to even think about what must be going through her mind.

Mom hands me the script she’s been reading.

MOM: I think this is really good; you should read it. Tell me what you think. Maybe you can do this next?

She kisses me on the cheek and pats my back before she heads to the living room.

I’m so shocked that I don’t even bring up art. No point doing that until I know what’s going on with the show.

I clean the dishes in a daze. Then I automatically pick up the script she handed me and head to my room. Anything to take my mind off what will happen once I stop acting, once I don’t have a role to hide behind.

So the question is: Am I really ready to be just plain old Carter?

On Monday, while the rest of the school begins classes, the selected performers wait backstage as Dr. Pafford does his usual scaring of the freshman class. Reminding them that while they were probably the top music/art/dance/drama students in whatever borough they came from, they are average here. That on top of academics, they’ve got four studio classes. That they are here for an hour longer than “normal” high schools.

Emme approaches me with a smile on her face. I told her about my conversation with my mom and she was really happy. Sophie, on the other hand, can’t believe that I’d want to leave the show.

It isn’t until after Emme gives me a hug that I notice that Trevor Parsons is behind her.

EMME: Hey, Carter, do you know Trevor?

TREVOR: Hey, man. I, of course, know who you are.

I shake his hand and can hardly speak. I’ve been around a bunch of celebrities in my life, but there’s something about Trevor that renders me utterly speechless.