Monday morning...
life picked up right where it had left off.
School.
Homework.
Practice.
The talent show was coming up.
On the surface...
everything seemed perfectly normal.
But it wasn't.
Not for me.

More than anything...
I wanted to see Maybe.
I'd thought about her every day I was gone.
I'd imagined telling her everything.
The concerts.
The crowds.
The bus.
The musicians.
The feeling of walking onto those stages. The feeling of hearing people applaud. Every night I'd collected another story. I couldn't wait to tell her.
Then I finally saw her.
She smiled.
I smiled back.
She asked how the trip had gone.
I shrugged.
"It went pretty good."
That was it.

Funny...
For two weeks I'd stood around after every concert talking to complete strangers.
Answering questions.
Telling stories.
Signing autographs.
I couldn't seem to stop talking.
But when the one person I'd thought about every single day asked me about the biggest experience of my life...
I suddenly had almost nothing to say. I've spent a lot of years thinking about those four words.
"It went pretty good."

The truth is...
it went far better than "pretty good." It was the most exciting thing I'd ever experienced. Nothing else in my fifteen years came close.
Not because I loved it more than I loved Maybe...
but because I'd never felt anything like it before.
Somewhere during those two weeks...
something inside me began to change.

Ordinary life suddenly felt...
ordinary.
School.
Homework.
Walking the halls.
Even the wonderfully ordinary life Maybe and I had built together...
no longer carried quite the same excitement it once had.

I didn't choose for that to happen.
It just did.
I think that's what I was really afraid to tell her.
Not about the concerts.
Not about the crowds.
About me.

She knew me well enough to see when something had changed.
And whether I admitted it or not...
something had.
I wasn't afraid she'd be jealous of the tour.
I was afraid she'd realize...
before I did...
that the boy she'd fallen in love  with was beginning to chase a dream  that couldn't be left standing in the  school parking lot when the final bell rang. I think she would have seen it in my eyes.
I know I eventually did.
So instead...
I smiled.
"It went pretty good."
Four words.
Safe words.
Words that kept us from having the conversation I wasn't ready to have.
Because if I'd told her everything...
she might have realized...
before I did...
that music had quietly become the most exciting thing in my life.
And once that happened...
the first goodbye had already begun.

We talked.
We laughed.
We walked the halls together.
Everything looked the same.
Everything sounded the same.
Everything felt...
just a little different.
Not because of her.
Because of me.
She hadn't changed.
I had.
I just didn't know it yet. I think that's what makes growing up so confusing. You don't wake up one morning and become someone different.
It happens quietly.
One experience at a time.
One opportunity at a time.
One standing ovation at a time.
Until one day...
the people you love begin talking to someone who isn't quite the same person they knew before.
Neither of you realizes it.
Not yet.

A few days later...
a large envelope arrived in the mail.
California.
Dad laid it on the kitchen table.
For a moment...
neither one of us said anything.

There were contracts.
Schedules.
Information about the tour.
Information about school.
There was even a plan for a private tutor  so I could keep up with my classes while I traveled. One section described the person who would  be responsible for looking after me on the road.
Reading through it...
it was obvious somebody had thought of everything.
Dad looked at me.
"Looks like they've done their homework."
I nodded.
"It sure does."
Truthfully...
neither one of us really understood most of what we were reading.
Dad closed the folder.
"I think we need somebody smarter than us to look this over."
A few days later...
he took everything to an attorney.
For about a week...
we waited.
I don't remember worrying whether the contracts were legitimate. I'd already made up my mind.
In my mind...
I was going.
The attorney finally called.
Dad met with him that afternoon.
When he came home...
he laid the folder back on the kitchen table.
"Everything's legitimate."
"The contracts are solid."
"The people are exactly who they say they are."
There wasn't a catch.
There wasn't a scam.
There wasn't a hidden surprise.
The dream…was real.

For a long moment...
neither of us said a word. I think that was the moment it truly hit Dad. This wasn't just his fifteen-year-old son dreaming anymore.
Now...
it was his job to decide whether to let that dream become reality.

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