I can tell by the way that Emme reacts that she’s worried that I’m going to get back together with her. I believe the term a cold day in hell would best describe the possibility of that ever happening.

Better get right to the point.

ME: You know she’s using you, right?

Emme drops her spoon and she slouches down in her chair. Happiness gone, just like that.

EMME: I know what everybody thinks, okay. I’m not that stupid. And don’t think that I don’t ever get upset when she only reappears when she needs something, because I do. It really does hurt my feelings. But what does everybody expect me to do? She is the one who has been singing my songs. I never would’ve had the nerve freshman year to get up in front of the school to sing — I don’t even know if I can do it now. So for the past three years, she has given me the confidence to have my songs be heard. I can’t just dump her because I’m going to try to sing. I know we aren’t the friends we once were, but you have to remember that I’m the one who started a band without her. That I’m the one who hasn’t had a lot of time for her. Not to mention that I’m the one that is having ice cream with her ex-boyfriend. So don’t put all the blame on Sophie.

She picks up her spoon and scrapes the bottom of the glass.

WAITRESS: Excuse me, Mr. Harrison?

I look to see an older lady with a camera in her hand.

ME: Please, call me Carter.

I flash her the “Carter Harrison” smile. Some roles are hard to forget.

WAITRESS: Would you mind if I took your picture for our wall?

She gestures toward photos of a few local politicians and actors from the studio who grace their walls. I’ve always noticed it and will admit I often wondered why they never asked before. But I guess I always came with a baseball hat and hoodie and got my sundae to go. This is the first time I’ve ever sat down.

ME: Sure.

Emme starts to get up from her seat.

WAITRESS: It’s okay. Your little girlfriend can be in the picture.

I smile at Emme, grab her hand before she can protest, and pull her so she’s sitting on my lap. We hold up our empty sundae glasses, and the woman gets the photo she needs. She has us both sign the guest book up front and then hands us each a coupon for a free sundae as a thank-you.

EMME: Would it be wrong if I got another one now?

I pull her outside and we start walking back toward school.

I figure now is as good a time as any.

ME: So there’s something else I want to talk to you about.

EMME: I really don’t want to talk about Sophie anymore. Or Ethan, for that matter. All everybody wants to do is to talk about that stupid kiss. It was just the high from performing. Believe me when I say that I’ve seen him kiss a lot of girls after a show. A lot. It isn’t the big deal that everybody is making it out to be. I just happened to be the closest person next to him.

And here I thought I was the one playing pretend.

ME: No, it’s not that. It’s about school.

EMME: Oh, um, sorry.

ME: That’s okay. It’s just, I think … I think if I can’t transfer to the art program, I’m going to drop out of CPA.

The words just hang out there. I turn to study Emme as she walks. She starts nodding slowly and I can tell she’s planning her next words carefully.

EMME: Dropping out of high school really isn’t the best idea, Carter.

ME: I know. It isn’t high school; it’s CPA. I’m tired of having all these acting roles forced on me. If I can’t do art, there’s no reason to be there. I can take the GED — that’s what I was going to do when I was being taught on the set. So I don’t really need to have my diploma from CPA, especially since it would mean keeping up the Carter Harrison Acting Charade. I’ve been acting for as long as I can remember. It’s not something I want to do anymore. I’m really sick of living a lie, doing things that don’t make me happy.

Emme and I walk to the park and I talk. Not lines that have been written for me, but what I’ve wanted to say for years.

So for the first time since I can remember, I let it all out. My frustrations with school, the teachers, the principals, how CPA really hasn’t been what I thought it would be. That I need so much more. That I deserve so much more. I want to be happy. I want to create art, real art, not recite cheesy lines.

I decide to not hide behind a role or pretend to be someone that I’m not. Instead, I do the one thing that terrifies me more than anything. I drop the act. I just be.

I believe the saying is “The truth shall set you free.” But what they don’t say is that once you unleash one shackle that’s been holding you down, you want them all freed.

I wait outside Dr. Pafford’s office. And I’m not even nervous. I know what I’m about to do might be considered crazy to some, maybe even a little self-destructive, but I figure it’s worth a shot.

Dr. Pafford’s secretary lets me know he’s ready to see me.

DR. PAFFORD: Carter, so great to see you. We’re all looking forward to your audition for the showcase!

He shakes my hand. I sit down in the chair opposite his desk.

ME: That’s what I’m here to talk to you about.

DR. PAFFORD: Would you like my thoughts on your audition piece? I think you do such a great job with Arthur Miller’s work.

Here goes nothing. I take out my portfolio and unzip it and place several of my art pieces on his desk.

ME: I was hoping that I could be considered for some of my art pieces instead of acting.