Rewound {PTX}

Over

A week of touring in 2015, a week of songwriting in 2011, a week of touring, a week of recording, a week of touring, and so on. Everything takes twice as long because I'm living two lives. It feels endless, but then it's over.

Our album is out. The fans love it. Everyone loves it. It feels good to have original music, not just covers, received so enthusiastically. We're promoting it constantly, and every time I leave the house, more people recognize me. More people know me by name.

Four of the songs on the album are from 2011 Pentatonix. We've changed them a lot, but they're the ones I'm most proud of. It's amazing working with other writers, but we don't need them. Between the five of us, we have more than enough musical and lyrical skill.

Scott and Kevin know, but Avi and Kirstie still don't get that I'm only spending half my time here in 2015. They thought I wrote those four songs myself. It's not like I haven't told them; they just don't believe me, and I haven't tried hard enough to convince them.

Avi and Brittany are spending a lot of time together now that we're back in L.A. He's read all her fics now, and he thinks they're adorable. What a sap. He assures me she's a very talented writer, and it's true that she's not bad, but she has nothing on some of the Scömìche shippers. I've gotten to know her better personally now, and I have to agree that she's perfect for him. He's going to miss us, but they'll be happy if they stay together.

Last week, he told her we were splitting. I called my parents and told them as well. They said it's an opportunity to move on to new things. No one seems to get it. It doesn't matter if I make fifty million dollars or if I never earn another penny. It doesn't matter if everyone on the planet knows my name or if everyone forgets it. It matters that I won't get to see Kirstie every day anymore. It matters that I won't get to hang out with Kevin whenever we want. It matters that I'm leaving Avi.

As hard as this is for me, though, I at least get to keep Pentatonix in 2011, and I at least get to hold onto Scott here. Kirstie, Kevin, and Avi are all going their separate ways. So why do I feel like I'm the only one who's really upset?

We've held our last concert together already. Scott and I leave for Arlington tomorrow. Avi will visit his family for a couple of weeks, then come back and write music. Kirstie will stay here and dub the main character for the American release of a Japanese animation. Once that's done, she'll replace us with a drummer, guitarist, bassist, and pianist so she can go on tour with some other band. Kevin has already set everything up to start his record label, and he'll record both solo and with Tryptiq on top of that.

I wrote our farewell letter for the fans. Scott revised it, I copied everything by hand, and we all signed it. I hold my breath as Kevin hits the submit button. "No," I whimper. No.

While all my classmates went to college, I went to L.A. While they did homework, I wrote songs. While they went to class, I went to interviews. While they got internships, I went on tour. When they started their senior projects, I won a Grammy. When they graduated and got jobs, my band and I traveled the country with a legendary pop star.

Scott scoops me up onto his lap and holds me like a child while I cry. It's over. Sure, it's an opportunity. Sure, it's going to be okay. Yes, I still have Scott. Yes, I still have my band in 2011. But I still feel wretched, abandoned, empty,  lonely, unwanted, inadequate, rejected, superfluous, pathetic, sad... very sad. I never meant as much to them as they meant to me. I just didn't see it until now because they were always so nice.

I feel another hand on my back. "We'll miss you," Kirstie says. "A lot. But we'll stay in touch, right? And we'll see each other at the Grammys. We'll be on Twitter so much it will hardly feel like we're apart." Her voice cracks a bit. "Call me whenever you miss me, m'kay? I'll always call you back."

We've done what we gathered for. We say our goodbyes, but none of us leave. We won't all be together again for far too long. Esther shows up with Chipotle. She knows all our orders by heart. "Call me the moment you need a tour manager," she says.

"But what if Kirstie needs one? And what about Kevin?"

"I'm starting an agency. I'll manage all of you."

"You can only be in one place at a time. What do I have to do to make sure you're the one who comes on the road with me?" I whisper conspiratorially.

"One word: chocolate."

"As much as your beautiful heart desires."

None of us go until well past midnight. We have to catch early flights, but this is more important. We hug each other and cry more and finally go back home. I lie down in my bed, turn off the lights, and pull out my phone. I'm exhausted, but I don't feel like sleeping. I scroll through Twitter all night long. People say goodbye and thank you. They wish us well and promise to keep following us. I click on Pentaholics' accounts to see what they're really thinking. Some say they're sad. Some are crying. Some say they saw it coming. Some have theories about why we're separating, and others are self-righteously chastising them, sometimes directly and sometimes indirectly. I'm going to miss these predictable drama llamas. #GoodbyePentatonix has been trending ever since we posted the letter. "#GoodbyePentaholics," I tweet. "I love you from the bottom of my heart. Stay close." The sun peeks through my shutters to assault my weary eyes. Goooood-byyyyyye I sing to myself softly.