Sing Me to Sleep

by Angela Morrison

  Leah puts down the brush and tries to get a look at Meadow’s screen. “You have a boyfriend, don’t you?”

  Meadow shrugs. “He’s starting to get on my nerves. Derek here is definitely an upgrade.”

  “Meadow!” Her mom’s voice bellows up from the depths of the church.

  “Let’s go, Beth.” Meadow drags me to the basement lair.

  Downstairs her mom has transformed the dingy basement. Big lamps. Lots of mirrors. Four portable wardrobe racks glistening with ruby dresses. There’s a screen in the corner. Four other girls are wearing long slips and stepping into their gowns.

  Meadow’s mom herds me behind the screen and hands me an extra-long slip. My tee is really tight. I set down my glasses, pull off my tee, and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the screen. Put my glasses back on for a clearer view. That bra makes me look way sexy. How can a lacey bra and cleavage transform my bony body like that? My too-long legs are waxed smooth, my stomach is flat, and there isn’t a single zit to be seen anywhere on me. Maybe I can go to the beach this summer. Lake Huron never really warms up, but I love wading in the icy water on a muggy July day. I haven’t done it since I was a kid.

  I pull the satiny slip over my head. The fabric slides over my body like a whisper. I shimmy my designer jeans that I only wear to Bliss rehearsals and for Meadow’s excursions out from under it. The soft fabric touches my skin, clings to the curves of my body. Totally luxurious. I feel like I did when Scott touched my lips.

  Scott.

  What would my old friend with his white teeth, clear skin, sexy-guy neck, and wispy locks of blond hair think of me like this? I can almost picture myself with a guy like that Derek. I stand there working out a hopeful chorus.

  An awkward tadpole

  Turns to graceful frog.

  The swan can swim

  Beyond her deep bog.

  Delicate petals escaping the storm

  Beautiful prince who says

  He’ ll keep me warm—

  “Beth—” Meadow’s mom saves me from my insane thoughts.

  She pulls me over to one of a half a dozen women with tape measures around their necks and pins in their mouths working on girls in the room. This one’s got a bunch of pretty ruby fabric draped over her arm. Cranberry. If it were Christmas we could call it that. The fabric turns into my gown when she holds it up.

  I step into it, put my arms through the short sleeves that are gathered at the shoulder, puff briefly, and then gather onto my arm a few inches later. I wriggle to get into it. Meadow’s mom zips me up in back.

  The gown is simple. Round neck—not low enough to show my bracreated cleavage, but my lovely clavicle is exposed. Empire waist—the bodice is gathered tight under my bustline, and the full skirt flares out from there. Nothing tight across the stomach. Terri’s so practical. We can use our gut for breath support and not burst our seams. Or look fat. The whole effect, from the short feminine sleeves to the soft gathers that give me more bust, to the perfect drape of the richly colored fabric broadcasts elegance. If you cut off my head, I’d look amazing. It must be good from the back, too, with my perfectly cut, dyed, highlighted, flattened hair hanging down my back.

  Meadow’s mom claps her hands. “Meadow, come look at Beth! ”

  Meadow rushes over. “Take off your glasses, so we can get the full effect.”

  I obey. Her mom gasps. She’s an artist seeing her creation for the first time.

  The seamstress makes me step up on a stool and marks my hem. She walks around sticking pins here and there where the fit doesn’t measure up.

  I squint down at Meadow. “Is there a way I can unfriend that Amabile guy?”

  “Don’t you dare do that. I need access to his page to prepare my offensive.”

  “What if he wants to chat again?”

  “Call me, and I’ll tell you what to say. Better yet, send me as a friend suggestion.”

  “How?”

  “Never mind. I’ll do it.”

  Sarah calls down the stairs. “Too bad, Meadow. We found him, too. Looks like he’s got a girlfriend. She’s all over his profile.”

  “What’s his status?” Meadow calls back up.

  Leah replies, “Complicated.”

  Meadow smiles. “Perfect.”

  “Ouch.” The seamstress just poked me instead of the side seam she meant to pin. I can’t believe Meadow is going on like this. Her boyfriend is so hot. “You’re going to break up over this Derek person?”

  Meadow rolls her eyes at me. “Not yet. Don’t be stupid. When I get together with Derek in Lausanne—”

  She’s so sure—so cocky—exactly like him. They’ll be perfect for each other.

  “I can send Teddy a text calling things off.”

  “Won’t a long-distance relationship be difficult?”

  “I’ll have the Porsche, silly. Maybe I’ll bring him to driving school with me. I better get Daddy to make a reservation for him—just in case. What do you think, Mom?”

  Meadow’s mom absently agrees and sends Meadow up to get my purse and a couple more girls. They’ve got to get through eighty—and quickly so we can practice. The seamstress finishes and starts to unzip me.

  “Not yet.” Meadow’s mom searches my bag, finds the untouched mulberry lip gloss—it’s way too dark. I stick to the watermelon. She smears the rich wine goo on my lips, touches up my foundation and blush, goes at my eyes like the pro she is. She stands back. “The girls have got to see this. And it’s only going to get better when your face finishes healing.”

  “We’re going upstairs?”

  “The girls need to see how our hard work has paid off.”

  Our hard work won’t pay off until we’re on the stage in Lausanne singing way better than those Amabile guys ever dreamed they could. “I need my glasses.”

  “No. I’ll lead you.”

  “That’s okay. I’m not blind.” I hate that, though. Walking around in a blur. I wonder if they’ll let me put my glasses on the whole time we’re in Europe. The dress swishes as I mount the stairs. A few girls catch sight of me. “Look. Shhh. It’s Beth,” goes around the room. Meadow’s mom, with a hand firmly in the center of my back, guides me up onto the stand.

  Meadow appears beside me. “Well, girls, what do you think of our soloist?”

  I only see their blurs, but I can feel it. The awe.

  The voice of a younger girl blurts, “Can I have your autograph?”

  That breaks the silence, and they mob me.

  “You’re beautiful, Beth.”

  “Look like a model.”

  “It’s amazing.”

  I get giddy, overwhelmed, laugh and hug them, careful of the dress. Stressed that Meadow’s mom will yell at me if it gets crushed. They can’t be serious. Beautiful? Me? I really want to believe them. Believe this excitement that makes my heart go nuts in my chest. It can’t be true, but the girls keep coming.

  “I didn’t know your eyes were that blue.”

  “You’re going to be a star.”

  “You should do pageants next year.”

  Pageants? Get real. It’s the dress. Just the dress.

  After about fifty girls tell me it’s true, I start to believe them a tiny bit. I just wish I could see the swan, too.

  chapter 7

  FIXED

  Last night I had a nightmare. We are onstage in Lausanne. Everyone is stunning in her red choir gown, except me. All I have on is the satin slip. And Scott is in the middle of the audience, staring at me with that look on his face like last Thursday in the hall. If he doesn’t get a girlfriend soon, I’m going to go nuts and attack him in the music room—friend or not. The Beast legend would be out of control after that.

  Gather round little kiddies

  And say your prayers.

  Hike up your jammies

  And skedaddle upstairs.

  The Beast, she’ ll be prowling

  All through the night,

  Hunting sweet laddies


  Who look just right.

  I don’t know how I can feel like this. Scott is like a brother. We’ve been friends forever. I can’t like him romantically, but I find myself noticing strange things. Like the shape of his shoulder. It’s hot out this week, and he’s wearing a wifebeater today, and I can’t stop staring at his shoulder. It’s not zitty like it used to be. And there’s muscle on it.

  He catches me in choir. “What?”

  “Nothing.” I force myself to keep my eyes focused on the boring music we’re singing the whole rest of the period. Bolt at the bell.

  “Beth.”

  I don’t stop. “See ya, Scott. I’m kind of in a hurry.” He doesn’t know I’m sparing him a fate worse than death.

  My cell vibrates, and I pull it out of my pocket, flip it open. “What, Meadow?”

  “It’s your mother.”

  “Sorry. I’m losing it today.”

  “What gives? I thought your face was getting better.”

  Like I’m going to tell my mother what’s on my mind right now. I’m sure she’d really appreciate a conversation about Scott’s sexy shoulders. “I’m just tired. Practice last night went late.” And then I had to drive all the way home from Ann Arbor—didn’t get back until one in the morning.

  “Would you like to take this afternoon off school?”

  “Yeah. That would be great.”

  “Good. Walk to the office and pass the phone off so I can get you excused. I’ve got an appointment for you, and then you can sleep all afternoon.”

  “An appointment? Not you, too.”

  “It won’t take long. Meet me at home. I need to drive you.”

  It must be major. She’s taking off work. “Mom . . . ”

  “Please, Beth. Humor me on this one.” Her voice sounds excited—as bubbly as an accountant is ever going to get.

  “What’s going on?”

  “I thought of something they haven’t.”

  “I feel like Frankenstein.”

  “You mean his monster?”

  “Yeah. You and Meadow’s mom can fight over the mad-scientist part.”

  “You may not realize it yet, but what’s happening to you is big. I’m going to be a part of it.”

  “Clapping in the audience isn’t good enough anymore?”

  “I’m not going to be in Switzerland like them.”

  “You’re jealous of Meadow’s mom?”

  “She’s done so much for you.”

  “How can you even compare yourself to her?” It’s tough to say this into a stupid cell phone while standing outside the office. “You’re everything, Mom.” My voice breaks and I have to whisper. “Where would I be without you?”

  She sniffs. “I know it hasn’t been easy for you. The boys—you used to come home crying from grade school.” Until third grade. I had Scott to share it with after that. It made such a difference. “You hide it from me, but I can tell how they hurt you.”

  If Mom knew about the near-nude boy chained to my locker, that mask, a whole hall of guys howling when I walk by, all the creative ways high school boys can remind a girl she’s damn ugly. Less than human. Worthless. The way the girls shun me, too. No one ever wants to get stuck with me. If Mom knew, it would destroy her. “I look fine now.”

  “What about your glasses?”

  “I won’t wear them when we perform.”

  “Not good enough.”

  “You find some space-age contacts?”

  “Better.”

  A huge billboard I’ve driven by hundreds of times on my way down to choir unfurls through my brain. “Oh, no. Not more lasers.”

  “This will be easier than fixing your face. It just takes a few seconds.”

  “No, Mom. Please. Burning off zit scars is one thing, but that thing in my eyes?”

  Her voice gets firm. “Suck it up, girl. Just one more step toward your genetic independence.”

  The hair. The acne. My awful eyesight. All from him. Now I see what she wants. No more reminders. No more guilt. Her daughter released from every curse he left behind. She wins. No way can I argue that one.

  Monday I go to school for the first time without glasses. It’s like I’m invisible. No one notices. No one says anything. Not even a single bark. I’m nuts, but negative attention is still acknowledgment.

  I don’t see Scott until choir.

  “You trying contacts again? Not a good idea, Beth. You’ll end up blind or something.”

  “Nope.” I try to smile. “This is something more permanent.”

  “Did they dye your eyes now? They’re really blue today.”

  “Maybe it’s the drops. I had laser eye surgery Friday. Cool, huh? It makes me dizzy, but the doctor says my brain will adjust, and I’ll have almost perfect vision.”

  “Whoa. You don’t need glasses at all?”

  “Don’t lecture me, okay. I’m kind of shaky. Probably should have stayed home.”

  “No, no, of course not.” He puts his arm behind me for support, rests his hand in the middle of my back, guides me up the tiers to our tenor seats. “This actually makes sense. It’ll change your life. I can’t believe the Cosmo team came up with it.”

  I don’t sit yet, lean back against his hand—it feels so good. “It wasn’t them. My mom kind of insisted on it. Remember grade school?”

  Scott’s empathetic, “Yeah,” floats into my ear.

  Squirrel Face. Viper. Boys stealing my glasses every recess. Four pairs got broken. The lenses were so heavy—always popping out. Scott rescued one pair from the boys’ bathroom and got beat up for his trouble. “It still haunts my mom.”

  “Not you?” His hand moves to my elbow, and he steadies me into my chair.

  “It is me.”

  “Not anymore, Beth.” He sits beside me.

  “It’s not so easy to not be that girl anymore. You know what I mean?”

  He nods. He’s been there, too. And, snot that I am, I assumed he could shrug it off and go act like Mr. Charming to snag a girlfriend. He’s a guy. No feelings allowed. He’s supposed to just want action.

  “Let’s turn over a new leaf together.” His hand returns to my back, moves up and down, gently soothing. “What do you say?”

  “Remember when we were going to run away? In fifth grade? I’ll make the sandwiches again, and we can take my car. How much cash do you have?”

  “I was thinking we should face it this time.” His hand stops moving. “Let’s go to prom.”

  I laugh at that. “Like I could ever get a date.”

  He leans in closer. “I just asked you, stupid.”

  I stare at him. “You want to go with me?” My head shakes back and forth at how impossible that is. “I’m too tall.”

  “And I’m too short.” He grins.

  Crap, this is for real. “Will you make me dance?”

  “Can you?” His hand, with arm attached, moves to my far shoulder.

  “I doubt it.”

  He squeezes a hug into a split second. “I can teach you if you want.” Scott dances? “I’ve been to loads of family weddings.”

  “Isn’t there someone else you’d like to take?”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “You’re sweet, Scott, but maybe this isn’t a good idea.” My head won’t stop slowly shaking no way. “I don’t want to muck up our friendship.”

  His arm drops, hangs casually between us. He frowns. “Why can’t friends go to prom together?”

  “It won’t creep you out?” I can’t look at his face. “Going with me?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Guess I need a dress.” I stick my tongue out at him. “Meadow will be thrilled.”

  Scott sits up as tall as he can. “This I gotta see.”

  chapter 8

  PROM

  Prom ends up being the same night as our concert. Such a pain. Scott comes to the concert in his black tux, looking way too good to be my old grade school bud. We’re leaving right after. Port High has a tradition of having its
proms at a country club. We’re going to be way late, but that’s good. The party will be hopping, and we can lurk quietly in the back for a few songs and then leave.

  Meadow peeks through the side door of the sanctuary before the concert starts and spots Scott in the audience. She takes him for an Amabile spy, searches the crowd wildly for Derek.

  “No, that’s my friend, Scott.”

  “Your prom date?”

  “Yeah. We’ve been friends forever.”

  “He’s way hot,” Sarah chimes in. “Introduce me after.”

  Not on your life. I’d never sic Sarah on my poor, defenseless Scott.

  Terri walks in from the side and takes a bow. She’s in a gorgeous black outfit. Guess Meadow’s mom got to her, too. She welcomes the crowd, says a spiel about golden Olympic dreams in Lausanne, and then we’re singing. The numbers whirl by. Each one gets a lot of applause. The audience is our family and friends. They’ll applaud anything.

  Our finale is “Take Me Home.” I nail my solo. The hall goes nuts when it’s over. They are on their feet, pounding their hands together while we take a bow. Terri bows. The pianist bows. I have to step forward and bow by myself. Then we all bow together. The audience still claps. They won’t shut up until we sing it again.

  I’m surrounded when it’s all over. Mom pushes her way through and gives me a big hug. “You’re beautiful. And not just the outside.” It’s her gift that shines through me. That is the only really stunning thing I have. She squeezes again. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Scott’s waiting in the background. He does look nice in that tux. It accentuates his shoulders. Dang, those shoulders. Why do they get to me? He was going to get his hair cut for tonight, but I told him I wouldn’t go if he did. He so liked that. I hope I can control myself this evening. I don’t want to do something stupid and freak him out. He’s being so nice to take me.

  I finally shake the last hand, hug another old lady, and break away to change.

  My prom dress is cream-colored silky stuff, almost the same style as our gowns, except the skirt hits me a few inches above my knee and the scoop neck shows more than my clavicle. Meadow insisted. I’m glad the acne all over my chest is history. This outfit definitely wouldn’t have worked. I used a whole bottle of self-tanning lotion to get my legs tan. They turned out okay. My dress makes them look excessively long.