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Last night I made the decision that Kennedy is right. I have to give myself the best chance of success and lead with my best piece of music. Subsequently, I hardly slept a wink. Tossing and turning, I imagined all the ways today could go wrong. This audition is going to be brutal. There's no two ways about it.

Despite Ethan's attempts to engage me in conversation in the morning, I'm distracted and incapable of muttering more than one or two-word responses. It's a relief when he guiltily tells me Ainsley's dad is picking up him and Asher and I can take the Cassidy's driver. I'm just relieved I don't have to make any more attempts at conversation.

Instead of dropping my guitar in the music room, I take it to the auditorium, where the senior students are waiting around. Quickly, I find my group of friends, nerves causing all of us to talk quickly and offer plenty of encouragement. As soon as the teachers open the doors, students flood the large open area, searching for the best seats.

The air conditioning in the auditorium is pumping, just like it always is, and I'm sans blazer, but I'm still boiling.

I feel like I have a fever.

A flush spreads over my skin and I feel like I'm about to puke as Mr Bradley explains how the day will proceed. All too soon, the auditions begin, starting alphabetically, and the first person takes the stage.

Kennedy squeezes my hand and I squeeze hers back, trying to give my focus to the performer, but it's a struggle.

As soon as they finish singing about how incredible their life is now that they've met someone that gets them better than anyone else, the feedback session starts. Judging us from the tables set up in front of the stage is a panel of five music teachers, including Mr Bradley. I listen to their feedback, agreeing with most of it. Every criticism and every compliment are deserved. At least they're being fair.

Once all five teachers have delivered their feedback, the teachers ask the student a set of questions: whether there is anything they wanted to share about the song? How they feel about the idea of a duet? What qualities would they prefer in their ideal partner?

After the inquisition has finished, the student leaves and the next senior called takes the stage. It is a full day of auditions, which makes it even more imperative to stand out.

As performance after performance takes their turn to wow the judges, I can't decide whether the day is going too quickly, or not quickly enough. The first hour both drags and speeds by.

An hour and a half into the day we hit the Cs, and Asher's name is called.

My heart races as I watch him walk onto the stage. I don't know if it's because seeing him reminds me of how nervous I am, or whether I'm nervous for him. The first option makes more sense.

As he takes a seat in front of the microphone, adjusting it so it's the right height, he holds everyone's attention. I've heard Ethan practice a bit at home, and he sounded great, but I haven't heard Asher play more than a few notes here and there. Still, I know what everyone else knows. Asher is the best singer-songwriter at the school and he's going to nail this audition.

"Asher Cassidy, welcome to the stage," Mr Bradley says.

Asher strums his guitar a couple of times. "Thanks."

"What song are you singing for us today?"

"It's called, Nothing."

"Nothing?" Mrs Reiner repeats.

Asher nods.

"Take it away, Asher."

I expect something heavier than the few notes he starts with, but the moment he starts singing, his melancholy makes up for the lighter notes. I feel every bit of sorrow he's injecting into the song. Each word – each note – vibrates with emptiness, loneliness, and futility, leaving tears in my eyes, a lump in my throat, and goosebumps down my arms.

Looking around at the expressions on my classmate's faces, I imagine everyone in the auditorium going home and slitting their wrists, poisoned by the sense of hopelessness he's instilled in all of us with one three-minute song.

"That was..." Kennedy whispers.

"Brilliant," I whisper back, still sounding choked. "And super depressing."

"M.O.D. are going to be so famous," Bri says to me, leaning across Kennedy.

I nod.

At least while Asher was up on that stage, I stopped thinking about my audition.

"Ethan's turn," Kennedy says, motioning to the stage after the judges congratulate Asher on his standout performance.

Like Asher, Ethan is incredibly talented. Asher writes most of the songs for their band, but Ethan sings a fair portion of them. His voice is smoother than Asher's, and he has an easy charm that people respond to when he's on stage. Everyone sits riveted as Ethan sings about how he goes through the motions of his life, putting on an act to keep everyone around him happy. The judges are nearly as impressed as they were with Asher.

The rest of the 'C' names pass by in a blur, and then Kennedy's turn arrives as the first 'D' surname comes. Instead of singing, she plays her violin and the piece she composed. It's...magical. It transports me to someplace else – a land filled with creatures that I've never seen before. There's a sense of wonder to every note she plays; a feeling that anything is possible.

The response from the judging panel is positive. Like Asher and Ethan, there are barely any negative comments made by the teachers.

"You were amazing," I tell her when she gets back to her seat.

She beams at me. "Thanks. You'll be amazing, too."

It seems to take forever for us to get from the Ds to the Js, and people are starting to grow restless, waiting for lunch.

When the last J takes the stage, my heart races so fast I think I'm going to pass out. Even with Kennedy squeezing my hand, I'm not positive I won't either fall off my chair or vomit. My feet tap against the floor. I can't stop fidgeting and telling myself over and over that I can do this. That I'm okay. That Kennedy wouldn't steer me wrong.

As soon as they call my name I stand and nearly fall back into my chair, my legs are shaking so hard.

"Deep breath," Kennedy tells me.

"You've got this," Bri says.

The rest of my friends give me a thumbs up, and I give them an awkward smile before making my way to the stage on legs that are so rubbery, I'm worried they're going to give out on me at any moment.

Once I get to the stage, my heart is beating so fast and so loudly, I'm sure everyone in the auditorium can hear it. I make one clumsy attempt at fixing the microphone before securing it in place and taking my seat.

"Lilah, welcome to the stage," Mrs Reiner starts. "What are you singing for us today?"

"It's a song called..." I trail off so I can clear my throat. "The War You Want."

Mr Denny Watkins, the teacher who graded my songs last year – the teacher who told me I write bubblegum pop looks intrigued.

"OK, then, let's hear it."

My fingers tremble as I pull my guitar into position and throw the strap over my head. The sound of my blood rushing and my heart beating competes with everything else. I take a deep breath then another, gulping oxygen to calm myself as I strum my guitar randomly, something I do to centre myself.

This is what you want to do, I remind myself. Sing for an audience.

Unfortunately, as I look around, I make the mistake of making eye contact with Asher, his stare bored as he waits.

For a moment I contemplate singing something else. But I didn't come here to wimp out at the last second. I keep my eyes locked with Asher's for a moment, and then I close my eyes and begin to sing.

You do your best to hurt me, and you love to hate me.

You made your case against me, then you tried to break me.

I worked hard to make it better, let go of every hurt.

Ignored your cruel words when you looked at me like dirt.

All I wanted was peace, for you to see me in a different light.

I didn't know then, you'd never give up the fight.

You got in between us, forced us apart,

Asked him to leave me, made him break my heart.

I pause for a moment, listening to the silence surrounding me before I launch into the chorus.

So, you won't give up the fight, and now neither will I.

Because when you're around, nothing is right.

If it's war that you want, it's war that you've got.

Just remember that in the end, this is all your fault.

No more white flags, I won't make amends again,

We might be family, but hate is our game.

The days of trying to get through to you are over for me.

The only way this ends, is with you begging me.

Try to ignore me, and I'll try to avoid you.

Or go ahead with your bullshit, see what I do.

You're the thorn in my side, the problem I can't get right,

But I'm starting to accept, this war is my life.

By the time I've gotten through the last two verses and another chorus, I'm breathless, perspiring, but also exhilarated.

I did it. I actually did it.

And I was so lost in my zone that I forgot everything else and just sang my heart out.

A second later, I hear applause and whistling, and open my eyes. Kennedy is standing up and wailing like a madwoman, causing me to grin. I look over the crowd, noting most look pretty impressed. Then my gaze locks with Asher's.

He sits forward in his chair, his elbows on his knees, his gaze intense enough to make my breath stutter in my chest. Instead of boredom, something else blazes in his eyes, but I can't tell what it is. It hits me then – I've just declared war on my stepbrother in front of every senior at the Academy. There can be no doubt in Asher's mind – or anyone's for that matter – who I was singing about.

Maybe once the adrenaline high wears off, I'll be worried about that, but right now I feel untouchable. Listening to the applause die down, I study Asher's expression, attempting to figure out what he thought of my song. Right now, he's giving nothing away.

Have I made everything worse between us – is that even possible? - or is that the tiniest sliver of respect I can see in his eyes as he claps slowly?

I wrench my gaze away from his and focus on my teachers, who are all smiling, Mr Watkins especially.

"Lilah," he starts. "That was...surprising."

"In a good way, I hope," I say breathlessly.

"Would you like to explain your inspiration."

"I'm pretty sure it's self-explanatory."

Some of the students whisper behind their hands while others laugh. And I swear I hear a few people shout Asher's name, while trying to hide it under a cough.

I laugh it off, feeling like I've just been to hell and back. And survived.

I'm on a high I won't be able to shake off for a while. My teachers look impressed. That means whatever Asher and Ethan's reaction is to my song, the risk was worth it. Kennedy said last night that I have to take risks with my art; she was right.

"How do you feel about performing a duet?"

"Honestly, excited. I've worked hard to improve the quality of my song writing and music. I feel that with a strong partner, I can improve further."

The panel nod in unison. "So, who would that be your ideal partner? A strong songwriter?"

"Yes. Someone who brings out the best in me."

The teachers look at each other, appearing to have a silent conversation with their eyes. Mrs Reiner makes some notes, then dismisses me.

"Thank you, Lilah."

I walk back to my chair, my legs nearly as shaky as they were when I walked up.

I can feel Asher's gaze on me the whole way back to my chair, and I'm sure Ethan and Ainsley and a lot of my fellow seniors are looking at me too. But right now, I don't care. I don't want to know whether they are shocked, horrified, think I'm an idiot, or respect me. I want to take one moment to celebrate the fact I went through with it – I didn't wimp out.

And when I sit down next to Kennedy, she gives a small squeal, throws her arms around me and tells me I'm awesome and she's so, so proud of me. Right this second, I feel confident that no matter what anyone says to me, singing about Asher is a decision I won't regret.

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A/N: What do you think? Will she regret it? Who will she be partnered with? 😉