Mr. Balfy shh’d the class good-naturedly, taking a seat at the end of the row beside Principal Flemming. “Whenever you’re ready, Austin.”
Austin nodded, his chest puffing full of air as he took a deep breath and began. “Oh, say can . . .”
As Austin’s deep baritone rang out, I acknowledged the arrangement of students, ascertaining that they weren’t going in alphabetical order, but certainly following some sort of premeditated sequence. The odds of Shayla and Vanya sitting next to one another, voluntarily, were not high. I found the open spot, the one I should have been seated in. I stared at the obvious vacancy, wondering how it was possible for an inanimate object to petrify me. But it did—especially because it was telling something I didn’t want to hear.
You’re next.
The now familiar dread rose up, and I took another imperative twenty seconds to focus all my energy on not succumbing to nausea’s messy conclusion. Stretching my arms out in front of me, I dropped my head between my knees and breathed—deeply; though, staying mindful not to elicit attention.
I assailed myself with the blunt facts. I had approximately a minute and a half until Mr. Balfy called my name. Ninety seconds to get myself from here—in this chair—to there—on that stage—preferably without blacking out at any point before, in between, or after. This was going to happen. Whether I wanted to or not, I would walk up there and sing the Star Spangled Banner. Letting down any of the people waiting outside those doors was not an option. I would faint or be sick, or . . . not an option.
I lifted my head so abruptly my vision blurred, but I didn’t care. A feeling of complete and utter relief swept through my body. I let it come, the realization unfolding one blissful piece at a time. The feeling . . . it was similar to the way the sun, in one moment was absent from the sky, hidden behind thick imprisoning clouds, suddenly fought its way through, piercing the gloom for an instant and filling the heavens with a blazing light.
I won’t be chosen.
The smile on my face grew more pronounced, the truth of these words the promise I needed most right now. I counted thirteen people auditioning; thirteen profoundly gifted people. Each of them—while mostly supportive of their opponents—were vying competitively for this. Even Shayla, not a singer, had given an exceptional audition, made all the more interesting by her off-kilter charisma. The same could be said for Austin—again, not singer, but proprietor of a personality laden with charm. Yes, I could sing well; charisma, however, was not part of the package. Normally my lack of magnetism wasn’t cause to gloat or celebrate, but right now, I was nearly giddy with this knowledge. It meant that all I had to do . . . was be ready when Mr. Balfy called my name. From there, it would be a little more challenging, actually succeeding in ungluing my body from this chair would take a little coaxing. But I could do it; because I was in possession of a certainty that soothed like Novocain.
I won’t be chosen.
This, more than anything else, was what I had been most afraid of. Hearing Dominic talk of the possibility of being chosen, I had begun to consider it a possibility, caught up in his confidence in me. The last thing on earth I wanted was to have my failure witnessed by many, as I choked out unfinished notes, my peers and their families forced to listen to their National Anthem defiled.
But I did want Dominic to be proud of me—Jake and Emily, too. And if I could do this—arrive on that stage when it was asked of me, sing the Star Spangled Banner without massacring it for these thirteen people—fifteen, including Mr. Balfy and Principal Flemming—then I could step off that stage knowing two things: I will not have disappointed my friends, something for which no value could match, and secondly, I would never, ever have to do this again; overcoming my fear will have been enough, for me and for them.
The sound of clapping brought me out of my reverie.
“Amazing.” Mr. Balfy’s voice was packed full of emotion as he strode toward the stage, one arm extended. “You melted that song, my friend.”
Austin grinned, gripping Mr. Balfy’s hand and allowing him to assist him down from the stage. Even from my hidden location, I could see the light reflected in his glistening eyes.
“Austin, that was an evocative performance,” he said. “Thank you for sharing your voice with us, my friend. Let’s hear it for Austin, guys.”
My stomach rolled, an unwelcome reminder that my ninety seconds had expired.
Mr. Balfy released Austin and threw his hands into the air joyously. “You guys are blowing me away! I am . . . completely overwhelmed by your conviction and by the originality you have each brought to the song. I couldn’t have asked for anything more than what you’re giving me.” He shook his head with sentiment. “You’ve made me exceptionally proud today, everyone. I just want you to know that.” Glancing down at his clipboard, he flipped the sheet over, beaming. “All right, he said, exhilarated. “Let’s keep the momentum going. Who do we have next?”
I clamped my eyes shut and held my breath, realizing there was none in my lungs to hold. I gasped and nearly gave myself away when I began to cough. Fortuitously, someone sneezed just then.
“Ah, yes . . .” I heard the papers fall back into place, my teacher clear his throat ceremoniously. “Next up, is none other than my lady, Foster.”
My eyes snapped open, and instinctively I slunk down, pressing the flat of my back against the seat cushion. It was an unnecessary maneuver, as there was no chance of anyone seeing me up here, panicking in the darkness. As long as I remained quiet, that is. But besides that, I was only delaying the inevitable. I had already decided I would go through with this, hadn’t I?
It seemed my body, however—namely my legs and fingers—had other plans altogether.
“Uh . . . I don’t think she’s here, Mr. B,” someone, possibly Stephanie, announced. It was hard to hear horizontal with the ground.
Slowly, I began to slide upright—like dripping slime in reverse—panged with guilt at the look of dismay on Mr. Balfy’s face, taking in the empty seat meant for me.
He worried his bottom lip, his sandy brows merging together. “Have any of you seen her since class ended?”
He was answered by a few halfhearted utterances of “no,” and one person claiming they saw me come and leave. That voice I did recognize.
Okay, Foster . . . it’s time. Get up.
“And she didn’t mention to any of you that she would be late?” he continued solicitously.
The dejection evident in his voice was painful to hear. Mr. Balfy was not just any teacher; to him, his students were not simply students—we were his friends. And whereas I thought many teachers considered us interchangeable and temporary annoyances, Mr. Balfy made it a priority to not only how we were doing academically, but more importantly, emotionally. He cared about us beyond what was required of him as teacher.
Now, Foster. Get up.
Instead of rising, I slumped down further when Mr. Balfy sent a hopeful glance toward the back of the auditorium. My body and my mind were at complete odds with one another. Peering over the top of the chair in front of me, I saw that the class was once again unanimous. No one had seen or spoken to me.
I reminded myself again that this was going to happen. Now, if I could only convince my uncooperative limbs. I decided to start with my fingernails, each one pressed like thumbtacks into the armrests.
“All right,” Mr. Balfy sighed, struggling to maintain an upbeat tone. He raised his wrist eyelevel, looked at his watch for a few seconds, then scratched his nose, looking from left to right. For some reason I had the feeling this was all in effort to provide me every last second to show up. “We’ll move on,” he relented, then quickly added, “And come back to her as soon as she gets here.”
This was it. I had run out of time. If I didn’t get out of this chair right this minute, I knew for certain that I likely wouldn’t until auditions were over.
Foster.
Suddenly, I slipped from my seat, landing in the aisle with a painful thump. The voice
that had called my name was not mine; nor had it spoken aloud. For a moment, I thought perhaps he’d snuck in behind me. Trying my hardest to avoid using the ground for assistance, I pulled myself up into my seat, glancing around wildly for some sign of him. Yet, I could see perfectly that it was only me and hundreds of empty seats.
Again, at the sound of my name I jumped, though managed to stay in my seat this time. The identical manifestation of Dominic’s voice spoke again—beseeching and with just a hint of impatience.
I slunk down further. “Yes?”
Questioning my sanity, I could hardly believe I had just answered him at all, never mind that I had responded audibly.
Dominic, or rather his conjuration, said only one last thing before going silent.
Believe, he implored.
I looked over my shoulder; behind me was the exit sign, glowing green in the aphotic theater. Rising, I kept my eyes fastened on it, drawn toward its message radiating freedom and release. I walked to the edge of the row, reading each letter: E, X, I, T. There was only one way out of here.
I never even had a choice.
~
The school’s parking lot was nearly vacant, though not at all quiet; an unremitting breeze blew in from the east, bottlenecking between buildings, making all kinds of sorrowful noises and howls. It careened up the cliffs, spilling over the sides and washing over the swath of verdant land like a waterless tide crashing upon the shore. Stationary objects, such as skinny-trunked trees, had no choice but to comply, leaning heavily like dislocated fingers to one side.
Only slightly mitigating the chill, was a gauzy blanket of white above us, like someone had taken a cotton ball and stretched it lengthwise, from one end of the sky to the other. Bits of sun poked through misshapen pockets of blue, turning splotches of grass a golden-green and glinting off the metallic paint of nearby cars. My eyes were averted, watching discarded flyers do somersaults across the blacktop. A bright pink one plastered itself to a tire, flapping at the edges in an attempt to break free.
Neither of us spoke.
Walking across campus—the wind louder than a referees’ whistles—Dominic and I had both naturally taken to a hush, presumably mulling over similar thoughts. Slowly now, I lifted my eyes, searching his cautiously.
I faced the blustery wind head on, its impact so forceful I could almost see the transparent licks lashing around Dominic’s clothes and hair. He stood in front of me scowling—a wall twice my width and blocking the bulk of the wind from chilling me to the bone. Moments ago I had refused him, unwilling to reduce him to nothing but a threadbare shirt by taking his jacket. My two layers were thin, but certainly warmer than his one layer. I dropped my arms from around my midsection, trying not to look like I was freezing.
Dominic wasn’t fooled and made sure I knew that he knew; not the least bit abashed, he stared pointedly at my chattering teeth. I thought about telling him I was fine, but wondered how many f-f-fs I would succeed in stuttering before eventually forcing out the rest of the word.
He leaned up against Hattie, head tipped down, arms folded and ankles crossed, full lips curved in an idea of a smile—eyes blazing. He was stunning . . . would I ever grow accustomed to the way he watched me, I wondered. The intensity pouring out of his eyes resulted in a palpable response from my body. I knew I was flushed, and was actually thankful for the wind’s nip. Still, watching him watch me, left me flustered and breathless.
With concerted effort, I stood my ground and stared back. With a determination I clung rightly to, I steeled myself for this conversation. It wasn’t going to be easy.
“I couldn’t do it.”
“Did you even try?”
“You know that I did.”
“What about Jake and Emily?”
“Of course I thought about them. And I felt really bad about that . . . but still, I just couldn’t.”
“So . . . you hid in the dark? The whole time?”
“Yes. It wasn’t easy. I got up many times . . . and I’d be lying if I said a huge part of me hadn’t wanted to—”
“It’s done. You can’t change the past.”
“I don’t regret it.”
“I can see that,” I said admonishingly. “It’s somewhat disappointing.”
“I know . . .” Dominic feigned a weary sigh, pretending to feel guilty for sneaking in to watch my audition, and consequently abandoning Jake and Emily, leaving them on the lookout.
I pressed my lips together and angled my head down, allowing my curls to drop and cover my shaky façade; it was the only chance I had in keeping this up. This was turning out to be harder than I thought it would be.
“Dominic,” I began, eyes glued to a crack in the asphalt. “How could you do it? Aren’t you even the least bit ashamed of—”
That was it. That was as far I got before the first breach, a forceful swell of spluttering laughter. I tried to compose myself and start again. “You shouldn’t have snuck—” It was futile; I was no good at subterfuge and improvisation.
Dominic was, however.
I heard him make a repentant noise. “Oh, I am,” he murmured. “I am very ashamed of myself.”
I raised my head, compressing my lips, finding him completely flaccid and controlled.
“Are you?” I managed weakly.
He didn’t waver. “Yes.” His voice was even, but I thought I saw the first signs of waning resolve around his mouth. “It should never have taken me that long to get in there.”
The grin surfaced with all the magnificence of a sunrise, bright and full and warming the depths of my heart. He pushed off the car door and leapt toward me, taking me in his arms. “I can’t believe I almost missed it,” he said, his mouth near my ear.
“But you didn’t,” I reminded him, and for that I was eternally grateful. I had my arms looped around him, my fingers magnetized to that hollow spot at the base of his neck. I’d only just claimed that sloping dent this morning, but somehow it already felt familiar and solely mine; like one of those clay molds and handprint, with your initials engraved into it.
When he pulled back to better see me, his expression made me smile. His loud eyes were hooded and full of contentment, the thick black lashes swept low. I watched as his lips pursed, then one side of his mouth hooked up.
“So . . . at the risk of sounding like a broken record,” he began gruffly, his expression transforming into something earnest and feverish, “your performance gave me the chills. I don’t think I have ever heard anyone sing more beautifully than you just did.” He took my cheeks in his hands, pouring warmth and slight vibrations into my face. He shook his head once, searching my eyes closely. “Do you have any idea at all? Do you even know what you did in there?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “You took a song and broke it . . . in a good way. There isn’t anything you could have done differently . . . to make it your own.” His shoulder rose in a gesture of manic delight. “Foster, do you know?!”
Dominic’s excitement was like watching a piñata explode; though instead of candy, I was rewarded with something much, much better.
“I . . .” His thumbs were distracting; they began to move over my cheeks in slow, caressing circles, making it very difficult to think. “It felt good,” I said, not knowing whether I referred to my performance, or Dominic’s thumbs.
He chuckled. “‘Good’ hardly explains it,” he argued.
Agreed, I thought dazedly.
He raised his eyes, the blue irises sparkling in the passing sunlight, shaking his head in a way that made him look dreamy or lost.
“You—your voice—I . . .” He made a noise of frustration. “Trying to put into words what it’s like watching you sing, is like . . . is like trying to trap sunlight in my hands.” He demonstrated this impossibility, balling up his fists and letting them fall in defeat when he couldn’t find the words to finish. “So I give up.” He smiled, only mildly irritated at not being able to conjure words.
I wiggled my fingers into his clenched fist
s, coaxing them pliable. “You don’t have to explain it. I know what you’re saying.”
“You do?” he asked, a mixture of skepticism, surprise, and hope in his voice. I realized that as I did most things, he expected me to respond diffidently.
“Some feelings can’t be explained,” I said, thinking of one in particular having nothing to do with singing. “The words to describe them simply don’t exist.”
He straightened. “So then you know what just happened in there was magic?”
Something like that, I thought, recalling the moment just before I had revealed my presence in the auditorium. I saw myself standing beneath the glowing exit sign, pretending to arrive late. Mr. Balfy’s broad grin as he turned to find me hurrying down the aisle, apologizing for being tardy.
Believe, Dominic had said to me. And I had. Just what, though, I wasn’t sure.
In the end, I had followed through with what I promised to do; it wasn’t easy, but I found my way on stage, standing before a sensitive microphone that echoed every single nervous heartbeat. I tried not to see anything, but couldn’t resist the pull of attraction, terrified when all those faces stared back at me. Without music to count me in, starting had presented a challenge. I could almost hear the voice in my head shouting, “Any time now!” as I continued to stand there, looking lost and forsaken. And then . . . Believe. I heard Dominic’s voice as if he had whispered directly into my ear.
What happened after that I couldn’t relay even if I wanted to. I left. Physically I remained on stage, but the rest of me went somewhere else; somewhere I wasn’t afraid. The joy I knew returned with unending abandon, stripping away all fear and reservation. And something else, too: love. There wasn’t any room for doubts or insecurity. I sang the song as if it were my love song to him. The words hadn’t mattered and neither did the fact that my audience had been riveted, as Dominic had boastfully claimed. In that moment, I recognized only the love of music and my love for Dominic. This was how I sang my heart out until the very last note.
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