Awakening Foster Kelly

by Cara Rosalie Olsen

  “Jake and Emily’s, too,” I offered.

  “He could get in a lot of trouble—possibly even kicked off the team. Students aren’t supposed to use the pools alone.” His eyebrows pulled together sardonically. “Due to the possibility of drowning, I presume. Thomas said one of the other guys on the diving team was supposed to meet him there, but he never showed. He knew it was a bad idea to practice his dives alone, but did it anyway.”

  “Are you going to let anyone know what happened?”

  He pulled his mouth to the side and reached up the rub the back of his neck. “I don’t think so . . . he looked pretty spooked. I told him as long as he promises not do anything stupid like that again, I wouldn’t mention it to anyone.”

  “And you? You’re okay, right?” I squeezed his hand involuntarily, overcome by a delayed rush of worry for his safety. I slowed to a stop, surprised when he didn’t pull me onward.

  Turning to face me, he looked down and smiled, small creases forming at the corners of his eyes. “I’m much better than okay.”

  I was reminded how tall he was when he stepped close enough that I was forced to tilt my chin upward. “But—are you sure you wouldn’t rather go home? Rest?”

  Dominic looked outraged by the suggestion, and just a little affronted. “What? And miss your audition?”

  “I wouldn’t be upset with you,” I assured him.

  He blinked hard. “I would be upset with me. I promised you I would be here. I’m not about to break that promise because I happen to stink very badly.” He smirked playfully, but I was unable to summon anything beyond awe and incredulity.

  I stared at him, amazed. Someone was alive because Dominic had been there at precisely the right moment—knew exactly what to do. And here he was . . . about to walk me into my audition in a wrinkly set of spare clothes, reeking of chlorine, when he should be celebrating or telling his story to a news station or whatever it was heroes did when they rescued someone—not coddling me while I attempted not to succumb to hysteria.

  But here he was—beside me—because he’d made me a promise.

  My throat was incredibly thick when I spoke. “What you did . . . it was important.” The words were all wrong; they lacked in both the gravity and substance of what had transpired today.

  Dominic tilted his head to the side and raised a hand to stroke my cheek. “It is,” he agreed. “But this moment is important too, Foster.”

  I gave an awkward head jiggle-shrug-nod trio that I imagined looked a lot like I was having a seizure.

  “Yes,” I said huskily and swallowed. “I know that. You being here to support me, it’s . . . well, I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you. But still, it’s not as important as saving someone’s li—”

  There was a sudden ringing in my ears; it wasn’t shrill, but as if someone had reached up and rustled a wind chime. And among the high tinkling sounds, I heard my words repeated back to me. Something occurred to me in that moment, the significance of it wrapping around my back, chest, and shoulders—like a life jacket, I thought wonderingly. Dominic may not have pulled me from a pool or dislodged a piece of candy from my throat, but one act of kindness at a time . . . he was saving me.

  Steeling myself, I breathed deeply, erecting the air and manner of a girl confident and composed. I was elated to realize it wasn’t completely a farce.

  “I’m ready.”

  I was rewarded with a look that set my heart on fire; a grin, warm and wide and devastatingly beautiful. “Hold that thought, okay? I have a surprise for you.”

  “A surprise?” I asked, a catch in my voice, but we were already in motion. Dominic wrapped an arm around my waist, propelling us forward.

  “A good surprise,” he confirmed. “You’ll like it, I promise.”

  As we rounded the last corner, the auditorium loomed up into plain sight. And there, standing in front of the closed double doors, were Jake and Emily.

  Their expressions couldn’t have been more different; Emily wore the pleased grin of someone delighted by their part in an expertly crafted surprise, and Jake, the mellow and motiveless joy of seeing that surprise acted out.

  Emily had one small hand posed on her hip, the other reaching high, just barely wrapped around the back of Jake’s neck. Together they made a comradely pair. “You didn’t think we’d miss your audition, did you?” she called down to us.

  “I, ah, no . . . I—but you . . .” I stuttered horribly, too many realizations brought forth at one time. I glanced from Emily to Jake, and to the one who had no doubt arranged all this. Dominic and I continued up the slightly inclined walkway, closing the last couple of feet separating us. “What about water polo practice?” I asked worriedly.

  Emily lifted and dropped one bare shoulder, smiling blithely. “Yeah, we’re skipping that.”

  “But you’ll get in trouble, won’t you?”

  “It’s a definite possibility,” Emily said in dry tones, rolling her eyes up toward Jake. She smacked the back of his head lightly, and dropped her arm, putting a quick end to their amicable posture. “If pea-brain here would have just followed the plan and done as I’d said, then—”

  “Look,” Jake interrupted, unruffled by the deliberate abuse, “I wanted to tell our coaches the truth; I think they would have been cool with us missing ten minutes of practice, but you talked me into lying. And then you left me there. I did the best I could do,” he said calmly, lapsing into a yawn as he reached an arm across his chest and stretched.

  “The plan was simple, Jake,” Emily declared. “A three-year-old could have pulled it off.”

  “It’s not my fault I wasn’t born with your black heart. You wanna hatch up evil plans, fine. But you’re gonna have to do the dirty work. I’m the good twin.”

  Emily made a noise deep in her throat. “Good for nothing, is more like it.”

  Jake grinned, raising a bushy white eyebrow. “Except this,” he retorted, pressing his knee to the back of Emily’s legs so she collapsed.

  She caught herself just in time, hunkering in a squat. “Fail,” she sang, bouncing up adroitly. “Anyway . . .” Emily drawled, glowering at her twin. “Everything would have been fine, but Mr. Virtuous over here totally panicked when we split up to go find our coaches.”

  Jake started to interrupt again, but Emily clapped a hand over his mouth. “Instead of just telling him we had food poisoning, he decides to improvise and goes into this long spiel about how our friend, you,” Emily clarified, “is auditioning for a part and how you will be devastated if we’re not there to—” Emily ripped her hand away from Jake’s mouth with a dark look of disgust. “You are so gross,” she growled, wiping her hand, shining with Jake’s saliva, on her shorts. “Is Maddie ever going to domesticate you?”

  “Be grateful.” Jake smiled angelically. “I could have bitten you.”

  Dominic cleared his throat beside me. “I’m glad you guys could make it, but I think Foster should probably head in there. It looks like they may have already started.”

  A sensation like bubbles popping reminded me I was nervous. About to thank Jake and Emily myself, suddenly the specificity of Dominic’s words penetrated.

  A little confused, I stared up at him. “Don’t you mean, ‘we?’”

  Three hours ago I couldn’t have imagined I would be about to walk on stage—willingly—and sing for an auditorium full of people. Since then, however, I was no less nervous about the possibility—or rather the probability—I might not be able to do it, but with Dominic sitting in the front row, giving me something to hold onto, and the addition of Jake and Emily there to support me should I fail, I was considerably more determined to do this. As a team. There was strength in numbers, I reminded myself.

  From the corner of my eye, I caught Jake and Emily exchange a look, Emily concealing it better than her brother.

  “What is it?” I asked in sotto voce, my eyes darting around the half-circle, finally resting on Dominic.

  His face no longer resumed the glow of
eagerness and anticipation; the smile—a strained pursing of the lips—looked nothing like the smile he wore when he was happy. Clearly something had disappointed or upset him. That in combination with Emily’s marked reticence and Jake’s abrupt shift in demeanor was causing me a stiff anxiety with sudorific results. I resisted the urge to fan myself.

  “Are you going to tell her or am I?” Emily said in grim undertone.

  Dominic’s eyes remained fixed on me. I studied his face, noting every small gesture that precluded me from relaxing so much as a finger. He raked a hand through his hair, then clasped both hands supportively around the sides of my arms, shooting a glower over my head.

  “Unfortunately,” he began woodenly, “the rest of us are uninvited.”

  “Uninvited?” It was as if the blood pumping in my veins had turned to icy sludge. “What do you mean?”

  Dominic gestured with his chin. I pivoted slowly, my heartbeat thumping imperiously at my eardrums. At first I saw nothing but the closed doorway to the auditorium. Then my stomach bottomed out, leaving me with an acute hollowness, but also so bloated with trepidation that I wondered if I might be sick.

  The notice taped to the door read:

  CLOSED AUDITIONS IN PROGRESS

  Permission to enter the auditorium is limited to those trying out for “Star Spangled Banner.” Severe repercussions will follow any unauthorized disruptions.

  A small sound escaped through my lips, muffled by the hand I pressed forcibly against my lips.

  “So lame,” Emily regarded with quiet animosity. “What are they going to do? Expel us for sitting quietly in the back?”

  “Seriously,” Jake agreed, sounding genuinely disappointed. “What’s the big deal if a couple people are there to watch?”

  I couldn’t tear my eyes away from the notice, but heard Dominic reply stolidly, “They probably knew it wouldn’t be just a couple. Half the school would turn out to watch if they held open auditions.” His arms reclaimed my shoulders, turning me away from the foreboding proclamation. “Hey,” he said softly, gently prying my hand from my mouth. “This is probably for the best,” he asserted. I could hear the disappointment threading each word. “The less people in there, the better, right? You won’t be as nervous with only a few kids from class.”

  There was some truth in that. Still, I would have rather been left to contend with hundreds of faces, so long as the three in front of me were included among them. I forced myself to nod, determined not to fall apart now. After all Dominic had done and went through to be here, to get me here, it would be cruel to show him how terrified I was at the prospect of doing this alone.

  “You’re right,” I said, summoning a smile from the deepest regions of my heart. “I’ll be fine.”

  “No. You are going to be great,” he ameliorated adamantly. “Just remember everything you told me today, all right? Remember how much you love singing. Remember that this has nothing to do with winning or being perfect. This is about you and the music. Believe in yourself, Foster.” He brought me close, dipping his head to brush a kiss across my forehead, and whispered, “Because you know I believe in you.”

  Pulling back, the unadulterated smile he gave me did wonders for my heart. Despite the sweat dripping in too many places to count, and a heartbeat that had yet to cease accelerating, I smiled back, encouraged by what I hoped was a flutter of confidence.

  “Ahem.” Emily’s voice was thick with implication as she came to stand in front of me. She tucked one side of the long bangs framing her face behind her ear. “I think what he meant to say was ‘we’ believe in you,” she offered, with a saucy smirk of her own.

  Dominic chuckled. “Yes. That is what he meant to say.”

  “You’re going kill it, Fost,” she declared, nodding. “Nothing to be nervous about, okay? Clark Kent has a point: this isn’t all about winning. It’s—”

  Jake rushed forward, laying the back of his hand against Emily’s forehead and stopping his sister short.

  Piqued, Emily slapped his hand away, tossed her head up, and glared. “What is wrong with you?”

  Jake’s eyes went round and wide; he shook his head from side to side slowly. “I . . . I can’t believe those words just came out of your mouth,” he said tonelessly, regarding his twin with blatant stupefaction.

  “What?” Emily’s eyes narrowed into slits. “What words?”

  Jake guffawed. “You said it isn’t all about winning! Since when, huh? And how would you know? You haven’t lost at anything since you stepped on my face and beat me out of Mom’s stomach.”

  I expected Emily to haul off and punch her brother, or otherwise cause him some sort of anguish and suffering, but she merely gave him a steely gaze, inquiring dryly, “You done? Can I continue now?”

  Jake swung his head from side to side, but she had already turned back to me. “Anyway,” she transitioned, only a slight edge in her voice. “If you can, try and forget there’s anyone watching you. When I’m playing water polo, I have teammates I am constantly thinking about. I can’t really shut them out. But surfing is different; me and the waves and that’s it—nothing else. Like he said, Fost, it’s just you and the music.”

  “Thank you, Em.” All jesting aside, I was genuinely touched by what Emily had to say. Again, I was reminded how fortunate I was to be surrounded by such wonderful people.

  “Okay.” Dominic took my hand, gave it a gentle squeeze. “I don’t know how long ago they started, but you should get in there soon.”

  Although he didn’t appear agitated, I could sense a bit of urgency. “Right, of course.” I smiled up at him. “Thank you—all of you, for being here. No matter what happens, I want you to know that I appreciate you wanting to be here.”

  Jake suddenly leaned forward and clamped his hands around my shoulders. “Just picture everyone in chicken costumes,” he suggested earnestly. “Nothing scary about poultry.”

  “Oh, ah . . .” I really had no idea how to respond. “Thank—”

  “Yeah.” Emily wrapped her hands around Jake’s wrists, breaking his claim on me. “This is why people don’t come to you for advice, Jake,” she said without heat, and gave him a sharp inquisitive look. “What is wrong with you today? Have you eaten recently?”

  “Come on.” Dominic tugged me forward, refusing to be delayed any further.

  “We’ll be waiting here when you finish,” Emily called out.

  I was reminded of the risk Jake and Emily had taken in order to be here, and felt awful that they wouldn’t even get to see me perform the song on stage. I called over my shoulder. “If you guys would rather go back to practice, I—”

  “No.” Emily cut me off with a shake of her head. “We’ll be here.”

  Dominic deposited me at the threshold, then taking a few steps back, unconsciously moved into formation to stand with Jake and Emily. The three of them, Emily in the middle, faced me—all wearing completely different expressions.

  I didn’t know if it was Dominic’s inexorable faith in me, or the way Jake and Emily’s playful banter always seemed suppress my anxiety, but I felt lighter somehow. Nothing would rid me of fear completely, but if anything could, I thought, my heart full and saturated with gratitude . . . it was these people.

  “We’ll be here,” Dominic echoed. A smile flickered on his mouth. “Good luck, Moon-pie.”

  ~

  Dominic was right; the auditions had already started. The door opening caused a cone of light to spread over the carpet. I cringed, expecting to see a dozen heads whip around and stare at the intruder. I was left to assume everyone was engrossed by the performance, as not one person seemed to notice my entrance. I pressed my palms flat against the cold door, easing it closed one inch at a time, watching as the cone of light thinned until it was nothing but a sliver, and then only darkness.

  Shayla Sparks stood center stage, her eyes gently closed and lithe fingers curled around the standing microphone; her flowery voice swum about the room in bravura like a fresh spring bre
eze. Although a spotlight illuminated Shayla perfectly, she was the extent of my visibility. I waited another moment while my pupils adjusted to the dimness, then tiptoed to the right. I slipped between two rows, trailing my fingertips along the back of the seats, prepared to grab hold of a chair if I began to trip.

  Taking a seat somewhere around the fourth chair in, I squinted toward the front of the auditorium. The gleaming concert hall was sparsely filled, the balcony barren. Only my teacher, our principal, and what couldn’t be more than fifteen students were seated in the front row. That was more than I remember singing up. A few more people must have decided to tryout, once Vanya was no longer there to threaten them.

  Obscured by the dark, my breathing began to slow and I was quickly caught up in Shayla’s performance. After listening a moment, I thought her interpretation was very refreshing. What was usually a gradually escalating ballad, she had revamped into something gently depicted. The last note, the punctuating C, was not brought into a crescendo, but resolved with ease and control. I brought my palms together soundlessly.

  Shayla released the microphone and stepped back, clasping her hands loosely in front of her. The courteous applause lasted for only a few seconds, and she made to exit the stage, detangling her beaded necklaces from her long, pale hair. Mr. Balfy met her at the stair, beaming with the untenable evidence of proud acclaim on his face.

  “How about one more round of applause for Miss Shayla Sparks, everyone,” Mr. Balfy exclaimed, offering her his arm and escorting her back to her seat. A few people enveloped her as she sat down, praising her performance. I felt a sad tug that I wasn’t one of them.

  Mr. Balfy cleared his throat, and laying his hand over his chest with a flourish, announced grandly, “Next, I present to you, for your listening enjoyment . . .” He dipped his head, holding the dramatic pause. “Mr. Austin Marin, ladies and gentlemen.”

  The class hollered loudly as Austin jumped out of his seat and leapt onto stage, forgoing the stairs. He grabbed the microphone brusquely, adjusting it to accommodate the height difference. His cheeks had pinkened, donning the light flush of embarrassment.