Sing Like Nobody's Listening

by Allison Gutknecht

  She suddenly lifts her head and catches my eye. For a moment, I expect her to smirk, to gloat about her win, to permanently seal the door closed on our friendship. But instead, Jada’s face remains gloomy as she rises to her feet and crosses the stage in my direction.

  “Can we talk?” she asks when she reaches me, and Libby and Mason appear at my side, as if my bodyguards. “Alone?” she clarifies. “Please?”

  I kind of want to say no, to shut Jada down, to reject her like she abandoned me. But no matter how hard I try to ignore them, Mom’s words keep floating through my mind, reminding me not to throw away a friendship over one fight. Not when there’s a chance that it can be saved. And so, even though it may be a mistake, I nod.

  “Don’t leave without me,” I tell Libby and Mason. “I’ll be right back.”

  Jada and I walk to the farthest corner of the wings, camouflaged behind the backstage curtains. “This isn’t fair,” she says as soon as we’re by ourselves.

  “Huh?” I can’t tell if her tone is belligerent or not.

  “This. This whole thing. You’re the one who started the a cappella group, and found out about the contest—”

  “Libby found out about the contest,” I correct her.

  “But still,” Jada says. “This is your thing. You’re the one who deserves the call with Colby, and now you don’t even get to send in a submission. That’s not fair.”

  I stare at Jada blankly. Is she being serious? She’s talking as if she isn’t involved in this problem, as if she didn’t go behind my back, as if her group isn’t the reason why The Intermissions can’t win the contest.

  “I know—I know.” Jada holds up her hand as if to stop me, even though I haven’t spoken yet. “I did this. I get that.”

  “And . . . ?” I prompt her.

  “And I’m sorry. I’m really sorry,” Jada says. “And I want to fix it.”

  “It’s too late to fix it,” I tell her coolly. “What’s done is done.”

  “Not if you join The Overtures,” Jada says.

  I widen my eyes. “I would never leave my group.” And though I don’t say it out loud, what I want to add is, like you left me.

  “They can all join,” Jada says. “We can merge groups.”

  “There’s no way they’ll go for that. I won’t even go for that.”

  “Wylie, please,” Jada begs. “Please let me make it better. Let me talk to them.”

  I run my hand through my hair, thinking. “And what would The Overtures say about this?”

  “They’ll agree,” Jada says. “They didn’t understand why we were having this sing-off in the first place. They asked why we couldn’t just submit one audition tape together. I’m the one who insisted.” She looks suddenly sheepish, and I feel my guard lowering ever so slowly.

  “I don’t know,” I tell her. “I feel like if you had truly wanted to make amends, you would have done so before. Now that you won, it’s like a pity apology.”

  “It’s not,” Jada insists. “I wanted to say something before—a bunch of times. I just . . . I didn’t know what to say. This whole argument blew up so much, and so quickly, and I wasn’t sure how to repair things. But I’m trying to do so now. Please let me.”

  I face her silently, thinking about this. “You would need to apologize,” I begin, “to the rest of The Intermissions. For the way you acted.”

  “They weren’t nice to me either,” Jada says defensively, and I give her a look. “But okay, yes, I’ll apologize.” Jada and I collect our things and then exit into the hall, where The Intermissions are standing on one side and The Overtures on the other, looking the polar opposite of a united front.

  When I see the wary way The Intermissions are looking at Jada and me, I fear I’ve made a mistake. Is letting her propose this merger a bad decision? Would combining the two groups ever work? Is it worth doing for the sake of the contest? But then again, we only have three days left—how could we get on the same page in so little time? It feels like what Jada is about to ask is impossible.

  “What is this about?” Mason whispers to me. “Did she call us over to rub it in?”

  “She has an idea,” I tell him.

  “Whatever it is, the answer—” Mason begins, but Jada cuts him off.

  “I’m sorry,” she says, facing The Intermissions, and they stare back at her, expressionless.

  “For what?” Abigail challenges her, she and Audrey both leaning against the wall with their arms crossed, shielding themselves.

  “I’ve made some mistakes this week,” Jada says.

  “Understatement of the century,” Audrey mumbles.

  “You two should understand,” Jada says, turning in their direction. “You’re best friends, aren’t you?” Abigail and Audrey nod tentatively. “I can tell just by looking at you. So you know how it is, how important you are to each other, and how much you can hurt one another.” Jada glances in my direction and pauses, as if waiting for a reaction, but no one says anything.

  After a beat, Mason asks, “Are you getting to your point?”

  Jada takes a deep breath. “But best friends, even when they fight, are still stronger together than they are apart. And the same could be true for our groups. We could join forces. And we could become even better. We could win this contest together.”

  Abigail and Audrey drop their arms to the side, looking mildly less hostile. “So you expect us to join your group?” Audrey asks.

  “It wouldn’t be my group,” Jada insists. “It wouldn’t be anyone’s group. It would be all of ours. The Intermission Overtures.” I look around, and no one looks entirely convinced. “What do you think?”

  Mason leans down. “Is this what you want?” he whispers in my ear.

  I think for a moment and then nod. “Okay, then,” Mason says, turning back to Jada.

  “We should vote,” he announces. “Everyone close your eyes, and on the count of three, if you’re in favor of joining forces, raise your hand. One . . . two . . . three.” I close my eyes and thrust my hand in the air. “Now on three, open your eyes so we can see the results. One . . . two . . .”

  And as the hallway comes back into view, I see all twelve of us waving a hand in the air. The Intermission Overtures. Definitely different from how we started, but maybe, hopefully, even stronger than before.

  * * *

  Over dinner that night, I tell Mom about the sing-off and the results and Jada’s proposal. “So you and Jada had a talk?” she asks.

  “Once the groups merged, we just got down to business,” I explain. “We didn’t have a huge discussion about it. We had already said what we needed to.”

  Mom nods. “I’m glad you two worked things out. So the taping is on Thursday?”

  “Yes. Which doesn’t leave us much time, but we’ll do the best we can.” I tell her the rest of the details, and once we finish dinner, I find my phone to text Dad. I write to him about the events of the day, and he answers immediately, Thanks for keeping me updated! Please pass along the video when you have it. I’m sure Asher and Amelia would love to see the finished product too.

  Will do! I reply as a new text from Jada flashes across my screen.

  So I think we should pick a new song, I read. I know this will be more complicated, but it might be the best way to make the group feel like one, rather than “your song” versus “my song.” You know what I mean?

  I do. But we only have three days left, including Thursday. That’s not much time to start from scratch.

  But if we go with one of our previous songs, half of us will be starting from scratch anyway, Jada says.

  Good point. Okay, let’s pick a new one tomorrow at lunch. Can everyone meet at The Intermissions’ table?

  Maybe we need a new table, too, Jada begins. Not The Intermissions’ table, not The Overtures’ table. Nothing where anyone feels like it’s their “turf.” Does that make sense?

  Yes. How about our old table? If the twelve of us squeeze together, there should be room. />
  Perfect, Jada responds. Did you get everyone’s number today? Can you send a group text?

  Yeah, I’ll do that now. I open a new chain and begin adding numbers, but then I think better of it. Instead, I walk to the door, call, “Be right back!” to Mom on my way out, and scamper across our yard to Libby’s.

  “Don’t tell me—another crisis?” she asks as soon as she answers my knock. “That didn’t last long.”

  “No,” I say. “Can I come in for a second?”

  “Sure.” Libby swings the door wider, and I follow her to the kitchen table and take a seat. “So what’s up?”

  “I wanted to make sure you were okay with everything that happened today.”

  “Putting the groups together?” Libby asks, and then she shrugs. “I figure anything that gives us a better chance of winning is good, right?”

  “But I didn’t want you to feel like you had to say yes,” I continue. “Just because Jada and I are friends again, that doesn’t mean that I want us to—”

  “Wylie.” She stops me. “We’re good. Promise.”

  I sit back, relieved. “Would you also be good with the new group eating lunch together tomorrow?” I ask. “I wanted to check with you before texting everyone.”

  “The more the merrier,” Libby says. “But do we have room at our table?”

  “There’s one in the blue cafeteria where we should fit.”

  “Cool,” Libby says. “We’ll probably take up almost the entire thing.”

  “I know. I’ve always wondered what it was like to sit at one of those tables, to be a part of a larger group.”

  “What do you think the other people in the cafeteria will call us?” Libby asks. “Like the theatre people, the brainiacs, the band geeks . . . What will we be?”

  “The Intermission Overtures?” I guess.

  “Maybe after Colby discovers us, we’ll get so famous that we’ll have to start auditioning,” Libby says. “Wait, never mind, that’s a terrible idea.”

  “Why? Not that I think we should start aud—”

  “Because if we make everyone try out, then what are the chances I’d get in again?” Libby asks. “Slim to none!”

  I burst out laughing. “I wouldn’t worry about that. I’m pretty sure you’re here to stay. Do you want to come watch tonight’s Non-Instrumental in a few?”

  “Yes!” Libby exclaims. “I also wouldn’t say no to a bag of tortilla chips. Just sayin’.”

  “You got it,” I tell her. “Would you mind if I asked Jada, too? She hasn’t seen any of this season yet.”

  “Sure,” Libby answers. “See you soon.” I dart outside and back across our lawns, pulsing with anticipation. But for the first time in ages, Colby isn’t the one I’m most looking forward to seeing tonight, not with the promise of my two closest friends assembled on either side of me, turning our shared experience into a memory.

  The following afternoon, The Intermission Overtures assemble at Jada’s and my old lunch table, squeezing together until one can’t tell where The Intermissions end and The Overtures begin. (Though I do notice that Jada makes a point to sit as far away from Mason as possible.)

  “So if we’re going to make the most of our next two rehearsals, I think we need to decide on a song, and fast,” I tell them.

  “We’re not doing ‘Somebody to Love’?” Audrey asks.

  “Or ‘One’?” a former member of The Overtures pipes up.

  “We thought it would be best to start with a fresh slate,” Jada says, “so that no one knows the song any better or worse than someone else.”

  “Why don’t we let Mrs. Nieska pick?” Abigail asks. “She chose the song for us last time, and she knows what works best for a cappella groups.”

  “We could do that,” I begin, “but I think we’ll make the most of our practice time later if we already know what we want to sing. Or at least if we have ideas to run by her.”

  “Haven’t you seen every episode of Non-Instrumental?” Oliver asks Libby. “Any songs stand out?”

  Libby drums her fingers against her cheek, thinking. “Metronome Mayhem performed a song on swings, which is my all-time favorite. Remember I showed it to you?” she asks me.

  “Yes, that was fantastic,” I agree.

  “I’ll look for it,” Jada volunteers, picking up her phone.

  “I’ve never actually seen the show,” Audrey reveals. “I meant to watch it last night, and then I forgot.”

  “Me too,” a few others add, and I look around the table, dumbfounded.

  “So we’re trying to win a contest for a show most of us have never seen?” I ask.

  “That should be our group homework tonight,” Abigail suggests. “Watch at least one episode—I’m sure most of them are available online.”

  “They are,” Libby confirms. “But if we ever want to do a group viewing party, I have a lot of them saved on my laptop.”

  “We could do it at my place,” Mason pipes up. “We have a huge TV in our den that can be connected to a computer—we should be able to screen the show that way.”

  I look around to gauge people’s reactions, and everyone but Jada seems to like Mason’s offer. “That could be fun,” I say. “But before we plan anything, I think we need to pick a song . . . and then practice it.”

  “Boy, such a taskmaster,” Mason teases me.

  “Found it!” Jada calls out. “The song is ‘Lean on Me.’ ” She flips her phone around so the rest of us can watch.

  “So we would need swings . . . ?” Abigail asks.

  “No, we don’t have to copy them,” I say. “I don’t think we should focus on choreography—it would probably be best if we keep it simple.”

  “The song is pretty,” Audrey says, tilting forward to hear. “I think it could work.”

  “It has a good message, too,” Libby says. “About friendship and stuff.”

  “So what do we think?” I ask. “Are we decided?” Slowly, everyone nods their agreement.

  “I think we should sing it as a group, though,” Mason states. “No solos or anything.”

  “No, there should be solos,” Jada disagrees, and I brace myself for an argument. But then she continues, “Wylie and Libby should do the solos. You two started this whole thing. You deserve them.”

  Everyone sits silently for a moment, taking this in, before Libby responds, “That’s nice, but no thank you. If we’re going to have a chance to win, we need to utilize our strongest voices, which mine is not. Wylie, you and Jada should do the solos. You’ve been friends forever. It fits the theme of the song.”

  Jada looks across the table to me, her eyebrows piqued. “What do you think?” she asks.

  “I don’t think solos will work,” I tell her. “But I think a duet could.”

  * * *

  The night before the Non-Instrumental deadline, The Intermission Overtures gather in Mason’s den, fortifying ourselves for the next day’s recording with a group viewing party. I sweep my eyes over the scene, and it makes me grin. After years of wondering what it would be like to have a larger friend group—one with a common purpose and a single goal—I’m now a part of one. And it makes me even happier than I had imagined.

  “Daydreaming much?” Mason appears next to me, snapping me back to the present.

  “Observing,” I tell him. “By the way, is that the infamous seesaw?” I point out the window to the backyard, where a rickety contraption sits on the edge, looking like it hasn’t been touched in a decade.

  “That’s the one,” Mason says. “I keep telling my parents we should chop it up for firewood, but they’re sentimental about it.”

  “Brings back fond memories of your first epic battle?”

  “Oh, that was far from my first battle,” Mason says, a smile unhinging his mouth. “And it was definitely not my last.”

  “Ha. Yes, as I’m well aware. What’s the deal with you and Jada anyway? Why do you insist on torturing each other? Don’t you think we’re getting a little old for i
t?”

  “Possibly,” Mason responds with a shrug. “But I guess it’s become a habit. And plus . . . never mind.”

  “No, no. You can’t do that,” I tell him. “ ‘Never mind’ is the most annoying phrase in the English language.”

  Mason turns slightly away, crossing his arms and jutting his hip against the wall, uncomfortable.

  “What is it?” I ask him, trying to sound lighthearted. “Do you like her or something?”

  “No!” Mason answers immediately, as if I’ve struck him. And then, more quietly, he clarifies, “I don’t like Jada. Not like that. I just . . . Jada is always around you. And you’re always around Jada. So bothering Jada meant that I had an excuse to be around Jada, which meant . . .” Mason raises his eyes from the floor, meeting mine, begging me to understand.

  I feel a faint blush filling my cheeks. Mason Swenson likes me? In all the years I had spent refereeing his fights with Jada, I never would have guessed it. It hadn’t even crossed my mind—if anything, I thought he must secretly have a crush on Jada. But me?

  “Wow” is all I manage to respond, fully flustered.

  “Sorry,” Mason begins, “if I made things weird. I just always thought you were interesting. Jada is so dramatic. She has so much to say, and everyone has to hear what she’s thinking. You hang back more. But, I don’t know, it sounds odd to say it out loud . . . . I was intrigued by you. Is that strange?”

  “Yes,” I answer him honestly. “I’m really not that interesting.”

  “Look at this, though,” Mason says, gesturing toward the couches. “You pulled this off. Not many people could do that.”

  “I had help. Lots of it,” I say. “You helped me.”

  “It was fun,” Mason says. “It is fun.”

  “So does this mean you and Jada can finally call a truce?”

  “Not sure that’s a good idea,” Mason says. “As much as she acts like she’s aggravated, I get the impression that she enjoys the attention.”