I was sure that it didn't have to end this way, but it felt more and more real the further the bus was driving from the stop. Mr. Holland was still standing there by the bench; I couldn't tell his facial expression—he was already too far away. The spot on my cheek where he had kissed me goodbye still burned. As I reached out to touch it, I remembered the piece of paper he had placed in my hand with the name of his old friend. At least he cared about me enough to make sure I had a decent place to stay when I arrived in New York.

Paul and Nancy Laurence were the names, with their address scribbled hastily under that. I heaved a deep sigh as I looked up from the paper and to the empty seat beside me. I just wished he could have come with me…Mr. Holland. That talented, talented man. He was wasting his time at that silly little high school and he knew it. But somehow I still admired him staying behind. There was obviously something about his life that he loved. As for me, it was the opposite. The only thing I loved about being back there was Mr. Holland, and he would never had me; he made that abundantly clear back at the bus stop.

After what seemed like hours the bus came to a stop at the airport. I hummed a little tune to myself as I climbed down the steps onto the concrete. I may as well practice singing in front of complete strangers since that would be what I was planning on doing for the rest of my life. I don't even remember walking into the airport; I must have blanked out for that time. It was starting to get unreal again. I soon found myself waiting in line to board the plane, boarding pass in one fist, my suitcase in the other.

"All 'A' passes are to board the plane!" blared the voice over the loudspeaker. With a pounding heart, I looked at my pass and saw that I, as a matter of fact, had an "A" pass. Oh well. At least I would get my choice of seats. I took a deep breath, flipped my godforsaken bush of curly brown hair out of my face, and marched forward.

"Come on Rowena…" I muttered to myself as I walked through to the door of the plane, and quoted myself from something I said to Mr. Holland earlier. "If I don't do it now, I never will." After all, it was only an airplane; it wasn't like I was on a spaceship to Mars or anything like that. I smiled, the first smile I cracked since I was performing on stage in Mr. Holland's Gershwin review hours before then, and stepped forward through the door and onto the plane. It seemed that the only time I remembered smiling was when I was on the stage, or with Mr. Holland. I guess that was why performing and singing was my dream. I took my seat and watched as the plane took off, leaving Oregon far behind in small specks of trees and buildings. It was scary, but I held my ground. If Mr. Holland knew I could do it, I had no right to question it. I was on my way to New York.

After sever head-pounding hours in the air (I had soon figured out, after my first time ever flying, that I hated airplanes), the plane landed. Wincing in pain as my ears popped yet again (another thing…no one told me that chewing gum could help that issue) I made sure that all my carry-on bags were safe and with me. The plane was safely on the ground and I was glad I got a seat close to the front, because I was one of the first ones off. I raced to the baggage claim and picked up my stuffed-to-the-brim suitcase and reached into my pocket for the paper that Mr. Holland had given me with Paul's and Nancy's names and address on it.

I walked outside heaving at all of my heavy bags to a taxi who was waiting on the curb. The driver, knowing I'd be taking him to my location, popped his trunk and let me toss all of my bags in. They landed with a loud thunk and I closed the trunk and got into the backseat.

"Where to, ma'am?" asked the driver.

"This address please," I said, handing him the paper. "And I'll have that back when you're done; it's very important."

"Whatever you say Miss," said the driver. We didn't speak another word all the way to my destination. Perhaps I freaked him out a bit by saying how important to me a little piece of paper was. Of course he had no clue who wrote the paper and what it meant to me, but to explain that whole crazy story to a taxi driver would be odd even for me. Even that little piece of paper made me remember how much I missed Mr. Holland, even now. I didn't think I would give another man the amount of love I had for him in a million years. My whole trip, from bus, to plane, to taxi, I was thinking how strong I had to be to leave him. I wondered what his friend Paul was like. If he was anything like Mr. Holland, I'd be sure to be in good hands.

"We're here ma'am," said the driver as he pulled up to a house. It was a mid-sized stand-alone house, much to my relief, and not the shabby little New York apartment I had been expecting. There was a nice little white picket fence surrounding a green garden, and a welcoming porch.

"Thank you sir," I said, paying him there. I got out of the cab, took my luggage, and dragged everything to the porch as the taxi drive off. I was very nervous; yes, these were Mr. Holland's friends, but what if they were horrible people? What if they held me back from what I wanted to do? My dream was to sing on Broadway, not to simply live in New York. It was starting to look like I had to start small. Maybe they'd let me sing a little in the living room…yes, parlor songs, a little Stephen Foster. Maybe Gershwin would have to wait for later I was barely eighteen after all, much too young to hit the big time just yet…no…maybe I was overthinking things.

"Got nothing to lose," I said as I knocked on the door. I stood back and anxiously waited. The door opened a crack and I nearly jumped out of my skin. It opened more and I saw a very friendly-looking middle-aged woman with shoulder length honey blonde hair, wide blue eyes, and an inviting smile.

"You must be Rowena!" greeted the woman.

"Yes," I said, relieved at the friendliness. "You must be Nancy Laurence. Mr. Holland said you were expecting me?"

"Yes dear, hold on a moment, I'll go get my husband," said Nancy. She looked back into the house and called for him. "Paul! Paul, Rowena's here, the young woman Glenn told us about. Come out and meet her!"

"On my way," said Paul. He arrived in the doorway, a man a little older than his wife, chubby and balding with a bushy mustache. He looked like a fatter, jollier version of Mr. Holland, but that was possibly because I still couldn't get him out of my mind…in time, Rowena, in time. "Ah! Miss Morgan, it's about time!" said Paul with a big smile, taking uo my hand in a very firm handshake.

"It's very nice to meet you," I said as he shook the life out of my arm. It was a good thing I didn't play an instrument. "Am I late?"

"Oh, not at all," said Paul. "Come on in, Nancy and I will help you with your bags."

"Thank you," I said, giggling shyly. "They're pretty heavy."

"It's not a problem dear," said Nancy. The couple helped me grab up my bags and got them into the living room.

"We'll let you settle in a little before we start unpacking everything," said Paul. "You must be starving. Do you need anything to eat?"

"Oh, I'm fine for now," I said sitting down on the couch, not used to this much hospitality. "So…Mr. Holland told me that you used to play in a band with him."

"Yes I did!" said Paul as Nancy prepared a sandwich for me in the kitchen despite my answer for food. "I was his guitar player."

"And a darn good one too," said Nancy walking out of the kitchen and presenting the sandwich on a plate to me. "Eat up Rowena, you look like you've had a hard time."

"Thank you ma'am," I said, not having the heart to reject the food. Nancy smiled and took her seat next to me.

"Glenn tells me that you sing Rowena," said Paul. "That's why you came here, right?"

"Yes sir," I said. "I want to be on Broadway someday."

"Well, why not now?" asked Paul.

"I mean, it'll take a lot of time, won't it?" I asked. "I have classes to take, auditions to do, it's a lot of work!"

"Well, Glenn told me that you have a lot of talent," said Paul. "He seems to believe in you."

"I suppose if Mr. Holland believes in me there must be some truth to it," I said.

"How old are you Rowena?" asked Nancy.

"Just turned eighteen," I said. "So I still have time—"

"Don't get lazy with it now!" said Paul. "You're already here in New York, aren't you?"

"Yeah…" I said.

"What my husband's trying to say is to not stop once you think you're ahead," said Nancy. "He has some great connections, he'll get you to where you need to go."

"That's why Glenn sent you to me," said Paul. "If you didn't already know. He told me that he wants you very much to succeed."

"He said that?" I said, feeling like that silly lovestruck teenager I was back when I took his class and performed in his review. He really did care…

"Of course he did, kid," said Paul. "I tell you what, we'll give you the rest of today, and starting tomorrow, I'll start to help you look for places to go, got it?"

"I guess that could work for me," I said. "Thank you, I really appreciate the help sir."

"You can call me 'Paul'," said Paul. "Any friend of Glenn's is a friend of mine!"

"All right then Paul," I said, blushing a little.

"Paul honey, why don't you call Audrey down here, maybe she and Rowena will get alone, they're about the same age," said Nancy.

"Of, of course," said Paul. He turned to me. "Audrey's our daughter, she's an only child, she'll be happy for some company." He faced to the top of the stairs. "Audrey! Come down here, Glenn's friend is finally here!"

"Coming!" called a girl's voice from the top of the stairs. There were footsteps, and from her room emerged a slightly-build girl of seventeen or eighteen with a headful of long jet-black hair and dark brown eyes, definitely taking after her father more than her mother. Her skin was very pale, as if she spent very little time outside, and she wore clothes that seemed like they should have been worn seven years before at the Woodstock festival. "Hey, I'm Audrey, I guess you're Rowena?"

"Yeah," I said. "Nice to meet you."

"Great to meet you too!" said Audrey brightly, much more brightly than I would expect a girl who looked like she did to speak.

"Oh, girls," said Nancy, "I thought you should know that since our guest room is—well—not really ready to be seen by the human eye…"

"Garbage up to your knees," whispered Paul to the side, making me and Audrey giggle. Nancy looked at him, a little annoyed, and Audrey and I quit giggling, but kept smiling anyway.

"You two will be sharing a room," finished Nancy. Right away, Audrey looked positively thrilled.

"Oh, Rowena, this'll be awesome!" she said, clutching my shoulders. I wasn't really sure what to do at this point, but I didn't really mind; I was just taken by surprise. "We'll be just like roommates! We can talk about anything! This'll be so much fun, right?"

"Yeah, it'll be great!" I said, happy about it, but impossible to be as enthusiastic about it as Audrey was.

"I'll help bring some of your bags up," said Audrey. Without another word, the girl snatched up one of my suitcases and bolted up the stairs with it.

"Yeah, sorry about that," said Paul.

"Oh, no, please, she's fine," I said. "She's just excited."

"Yeah, and a little lonely," said Nancy.

"Deadbeat hippie boyfriend just dumped her—again," said Paul. "I think this time was the straw that broke the camel's back."

"Ah," I said. "Well…I just got kind of rejected back home too…at least we'll have something to talk about." Somehow I didn't think about not saying what I had just said, but it came out anyway,

"Oh, really?" said Paul. "Dumbass high school kid?"

"Oh—uh—yeah, yeah, total dumbass," I said, covering up my nearly fatal error. If Paul knew the intense feelings I had (and still had) for Mr. Holland, who knew what would had happened.

"Well don't tell her all men are jerks," said Nancy. "I still want grandchildren sometime in the future." She and her husband helped me with the rest of my bags up the stairs and we left them in Audrey's (and now mine also) room. Paul and Nancy nodded at me and left, closing the door. Just as Audrey was dressed, he room was the hippie's biggest dream—posters of Janis Joplin, Jim Morrison, Jimi Hendrix, and John Lennon were plastered on her walls.

"Yeah, sorry about that scene back there," said Audrey, helping me unpack. "Just…not used to company, that's all."

"It's fine," I said, trying to put my sheets on the top bunk of the bunk bed that Paul and Nancy had probably bought especially for my arrival. "Company's nice to have."

"Yeah, it is," said Audrey.

"Listen, I don't mean to pry," I said. "But your dad told me you…well…had a bit of a falling-out with someone."

"Psh!" huffed Audrey, swatting her hand. "You mean that lazy jerk Jake? Ha!"

"Well...I guess so," I said. "Just—just making sure everything's all right."

"It is," said Audrey. "And don't let anyone else tell you otherwise. Especially Jake. If I'm right, and I usually am about him, he'll be around in a day or so to come and beg me to take him back…which I won't! Not this time…" I saw a glimpse of sorrow in her eyes that she was trying so very hard to hide.

"The way I see it," I said, "is that if you two are really meant to be together, it'll happen." Of course, I said this to comfort myself too.

"Yeah, that's what everyone keeps telling me man," said Audrey. "So what about you? Any guys?"

"Nothing important," I said quickly, not really wanting to discuss my feelings for Mr. Holland while one of his old friends was within earshot.

"Okay then, suit yourself," said Audrey. "My dad told me you're here to sing, right?"

"Yeah," I said. "Are you a musician too?"

"No, I'm an artist," said Audrey. "Maybe I can do the album art for your first record!"

"I'd like to think I'll be releasing records," I said. "If I do, I'll call you then."

"You better," said Audrey with a wink. "Say, do you think you can sing me a little song?"

I smiled, bashful. "Well…I guess I had better get used to it," I said. "What would you like to hear?"

Audrey squinted her eyes and pursed her lips in thought. "Hmmmm…." She said. "Sing me…some…Cass Eliot!"

I laughed. "I don't know much by her, but I can do 'Dream a Little Dream of Me' if you want."

"Go for it!" said Audrey. I smiled again and started to sing. That song was easy for me, it felt like I had been singing it since I was eight or so. Of course, I couldn't help reverting back to thoughts of Mr. Holland as I sang it, but controlling my emotions when I sang did nothing for me—once again, another thing Mr. Holland had taught me. I finished the song to a wild applause from my one-person audience.

"Thank you!" I said, doing a little bashful bow.

"You have a beautiful voice," said Audrey. "Ya know, I think you'll do well here. Headed for Broadway I presume?"

"Hopefully," I said.

"You'll get there Rowena," said Audrey. "Lemme tell you, my dad knows every trick in the book, your Mr. Holland sent you to the right people!"

"Good to know," I said with a grin. My first day in New York had ended up pretty well, I had to say. Of course, there was still so much more to see and learn. I hoped that the word of a teenage girl would be the same word of New York, and maybe in a few years, the world. Night fell sooner than I expected—it must have been the jetlag—and Audrey and I were asleep in our bunks. Two girls with much in common…lost in love, trying to hone our talents. But while Audrey's love was not all she had imagined, it made me feel just right to know that somewhere, somehow, Mr. Holland was still watching over me. And in the morning, I would show him I could do anything.