by Jeff Ross
“Did you ever?” I noticed Crissy had turned her back toward us. “She’s going through this thing,” I said.
Sean caught on immediately. “What kind of thing?”
“It’s a girl thing, Sean. Why do you have to be so nosy?”
“Speaking of nosy…”
Crissy turned and glared at us. “I can hear you,” she said. Sean and I busted up laughing. “What were you telling him?”
“Oh, we weren’t talking about you,” I said.
“No, not at all.”
“Who were you talking about then?”
“I wouldn’t want to say,” Sean said. “I mean, it wouldn’t be fair to—”
“Oh, shut up,” Crissy said. Her glare finally broke, and she walked over and swatted the both of us.
“She thought we were talking about her,” I said.
“I know,” Sean replied. “Isn’t it ridiculous?”
“Come on, we have choir practice in twenty minutes and I haven’t had a coffee yet.”
She dragged us backstage, where a large coffee machine endlessly produced disgusting, thick, beautiful coffee. I know, I know, all that caffeine and sugar is bad for you. Especially when you’re seventeen. But Crissy and I first discovered coffee when we were twelve. For some reason, we’d forced one another to keep drinking it until we liked it. And now it’s an addiction.
Sean, on the other hand…
“Disgusting,” Sean said. “I mean, why?”
Crissy knocked back the first swig, then leaned against the table and smiled, eyes closed.
“Disgustingly perfect,” Crissy said. I sipped at my coffee. There wasn’t any milk, and with only sugar it tasted weird. I knew Crissy took milk as well and would actually be suffering through the cup. But her smile didn’t waver.
“So,” Sean said, pointing first at me and then at Crissy. “Who’s going to get it?”
“Get what?” Crissy said.
“Um, the part? Barbarina?”
I could have kicked him. Sean likes to bring drama into the world whenever he can. Not for himself. He has to keep his personal life as drama free as possible. It’s one of the reasons he’s never admitted to Crissy that he’s in love with her. Though Crissy knows.
Not that I told her. I just didn’t not tell her when she asked.
“April James is a shoo-in,” Crissy said. She inhaled a laugh. Poor April had never wanted to be a singer. Nor should she have. But her parents, for some tone-deaf reason, thought she had everything it took and more to be a professional. We shouldn’t have made fun of her, but it was too easy. She walked around wearing a Morbid Angel T-shirt. She painted her nails black and then had to sing the “Hallelujah Chorus” at Christmastime.
There was so much comedy in this world.
“Seriously,” Sean said.
“Seriously?” I said. “We’ll have to wait and see.”
“Exactly,” Crissy said. She pushed herself off the wall and tossed the half-full coffee cup into a trashcan.
Sean watched her every move as she walked away. It was pathetic. But then, most guys are kind of pathetic. Crissy spotted someone and took off ahead of us.
“Why’d you say that?” I asked. “Why’d you ask Crissy who she thought would get the part?”
“I wanted to see what she would say.”
“What did you think she would say?” I asked.
Sean held his hands up before him in surrender. “You know she’s going to be serious about getting that role.”
“She’s intense,” I said. I realized I was defending Crissy. I often did this. That’s what you do with your best friend. You defend them even when you know they’re totally wrong.
“She’s boring,” Sean said. “You can’t just focus on one thing all the time. Like, look at me.”
“I’m looking,” I said. “You sing and work at a laser-tag place. Am I missing anything?”
Sean looked fake sad. “How about all of me?”
“Really? What else do you have?”
He sniffed. “I like romantic comedies, pho and long walks on the beach.”
“Sure you do,” I said.
“You don’t know me at all.”
“Crissy is serious about singing,” I said.
“She’s going to be so pissed when you get the lead,” he said.
“Who says I’m going to get the lead?”
We’d reached the grand hall. The choir members were standing in little groups of two and three. Except for Crissy, who was with her mother and, for some reason, Isabel Rossetti.
“See? She’s too good for us already,” Sean said.
I jumped in to defend her again. “She’s a bit star struck is all. She’s gone on and on about Isabel since we heard she was going to be in the opera.” I considered stopping there, but something in my head made me go on. “She has a poster of Isabel on her wall.”
“Seriously? Where did she get that?”
“An opera magazine,” I said. “Don’t tell her I told you.”
“My lips are sealed,” Sean said. “How big is it?”
“The poster?”
“Yeah, is it one page?”
“No, two,” I said.
He left a long pause before saying, “The centerfold.”
“Shut up,” I said. He wiggled his eyebrows at me. “Weirdo.” We watched as Mrs. Derrick laughed one of her giant fake laughs.
“You can almost hear the helicopter blades,” Sean said. “Can’t you?”
“Crissy wants the part,” I admitted. “Of course she wants that part. Who wouldn’t?”
“It’s very dangerous, this wanting,” Sean said. Then he lifted his water bottle and slowly opened it to drink. I hated how he did this. He always wanted to keep me waiting. As if whatever he had to say was so important that a few moments of silence would be absolutely fine.
Appreciated even.
“Why is that?” I said.
He held a finger up as he continued to gulp the water. Finally he set the bottle down and wiped his mouth. He was wearing a light-blue shirt, which now had droplets of water down the front. “Because wanting is the root of all suffering,” he said.
I’d forgotten that he’d once again found himself interested in a philosophy. This time it was Buddhism.
“Okay,” I said. “That sounds reasonable. I guess we should all just float along and hope for the best?”
“No, of course not. Do what you love, and the rewards will come to you.” He bowed slightly.
I was certain this wouldn’t be the end of the lecture. Sean seemed to believe he could drop pearls of wisdom and I’d graciously pick them up.
Someday he was going to make a super annoying high-school teacher.
Four
“Rehearsal time,” Mrs. Sturgeon said. She’d come out of nowhere, and I jumped a little as she touched my shoulder. She kept moving across the hall, saying, “Rehearsal time,” over and over again. Mrs. Sturgeon is a great teacher, but she has always held the false belief that our lives revolve around singing. Sure, it’s a huge part of who we are, but for most of us, it’s only one component of our lives.
Amanda Disenzo came in, stopping when she saw Isabel, Crissy and Mrs. Derrick standing together on the other side of the hall. She straightened her blouse, then walked toward them. I couldn’t hear what was being said, but after Amanda spoke for a minute, Mrs. Derrick gave her a shocked look and nodded a couple of times. She slid her sunglasses back over her eyes and picked her bag up from the floor. Then Isabel reached out and held her arm. Isabel said something to Amanda. A moment later Amanda walked away, nodding her head and waving over her shoulder.
“That was weird,” Sean said.
“I think Isabel convinced Amanda that Mrs. Derrick should stay.”
“I think so too.”
Mrs. Derrick and Isabel had another little laugh. Isabel quickly hugged Mrs. Derrick before crossing the stage and disappearing behind the curtain.
“This is going to end badly,”
Sean said. “I can feel it. Can you feel it?”
Crissy looked over at us. Her hands were behind her back like an innocent, precious little girl.
“I hope not,” I said. “Is hoping okay, or does that bring suffering as well?”
“Everything brings suffering,” Sean said, picking up his bottle of water. He took a sip, making me wait. Then he set the bottle down and wiped at his face. “Everything.”
* * *
We shuffled into our places with Mrs. Sturgeon before us. Crissy normally stood next to me, but she had chosen to remain beside April on the other side of the group. I was about to cut over to her when Amanda clapped her hands. She looked down at us from the stage.
“Ladies and gentleman,” she said.
Sean gave her a little bow.
“We are going to begin today with an audition for the role of Barbarina. We have some very talented singers here, but we need to narrow the field down to one primary and one secondary singer. I’ll ask you to sing through ‘L’ho perduta.’” She gestured behind her. “We have the score here, and Mark will accompany you on piano. Anyone interested in trying out for this part, please line up on my left.”
“Get your skinny butt up there,” Sean said, giving me a gentle push.
I wasn’t entirely certain I wanted to. I wanted the role for sure. And it wasn’t that I got nervous or suffered from stage fright, because I didn’t. What stalled me was the way Crissy jumped up so quickly and shot over to be first in line. And then, when two other girls got onstage with her, she shifted position to be behind them. The other girls, Georgia and Karen, were not soloist material. Crissy knew this. She also knew that if you followed someone of lesser ability, it made you shine all the more.
“Go!” Sean said.
“You’re making me want to stay. Everything you do forces me to suffer,” I said.
Sean gave me a shove and kept pushing until I’d cleared the girls ahead of me and started up the steps to the stage.
The hall looked different seen from onstage. Wider and tighter at the same time. The upper balcony of seats was intimidating. Paterson Center was fairly new but had been made to look grand and old. There were golden spirals of carved wood along the walls.
I glanced down at the girls watching me. So many of them were here just for something to do. Or because their parents wanted them to be. I was here because I wanted to be.
I felt calm as I crossed the stage. I felt like I belonged here. Not as though I was some born star, but because I performed better on a stage than in a practice room. I loved the way my voice exploded through a hall, echoing off the walls and seats. I loved the feeling of pushing the notes to the back of the room and seeing the effect they had on the audience.
Then I saw Crissy and crashed back to earth.
She had that tight-lipped, scrunched-face look that meant she was calculating something. It took a moment before I realized what it was she was trying to figure out.
What to do with me.
She had been first in line so she could move to any position she wanted and give the impression of being helpful—kind, even. But we all knew going last would be the best. People always remember the final performance.
It wasn’t as if she didn’t know I was going to audition as well. Yet there was still surprise on her face when I stepped up next to her.
She shuffled to one side and said, “You go first.”
Which really hurt.
She seemed to be affected by it as well. She didn’t back down, but I saw a resolve in her eyes. She was going to do whatever it took to get that part.
“It doesn’t matter, Crissy,” I said, trying to keep the hurt and, even more so, the anger out of my voice. “Go and do your best.”
“We both know it’s never good to go last.” She held my arm for a moment. Her voice was filled with fake emotion. She was trying to sound kind, generous, good.
But I could see right through it.
I hadn’t thought this process was going to be so difficult. I hadn’t expected Crissy to turn it into a showdown.
“Oh, I don’t mind going last. You were here first,” I said. “By all means, you go ahead of me.”
“Hailey, I insist.”
I lightly touched her arm in one last attempt to stop this craziness. It was so obvious that it didn’t matter who went first. It would never matter. But Crissy was making it matter.
“Crissy, you were here first. I’ll suck it up,” I said. She seemed confused. As if she’d had a plan of how this would all go and this wasn’t even close to what she’d imagined.
So she switched to plan B.
“I have a tickle in my throat,” she said. She coughed for effect. “Need water.” She stepped out of line and jumped from the stage before I could say another word.
By this time, Georgia moved to the front of the stage. The piano didn’t really make enough sound for it to feel like a real performance, but Georgia did her absolute best to perform. She didn’t know all the words, even with the sheet music in front of her. It was in Italian though.
Georgia gave a laugh near the end and shook her head. “Okay, I’m done,” she said, and she went back to her seat. Amanda applauded, and the rest of the choir joined in. Georgia had turned a bright red. If she was ever to become a performing musician, she would have to get over that stage fright. But most of these people would never perform. They would be teachers or choir directors. They didn’t need to get on a stage and perform.
“Here goes nothing,” Karen said as she stepped away from me. She had a better voice than Georgia, but she still messed up the words a few times. As she sang, I looked toward the wings. Crissy was still there, pretending to drink water. Finally, as Karen sang the final phrase, Crissy slowly began moving toward the stage.
Karen stopped and gave an elaborate bow. The rest of the choir laughed.
“Well done,” Amanda said.
“Not really,” Karen replied. “But I’ll take the compliment anyway.”
Crissy was almost at the front of the room. Amanda glanced over at me, and Crissy suddenly stopped and leaned down to talk to someone. It didn’t matter who went first. It really didn’t. But for some reason I felt like forcing Crissy to go first—or calling her out, at least, for not going first.
“Are you ready, Hailey?” Amanda asked.
“I think Crissy was in front of me,” I said, loudly enough for her to hear. Then I yelled, “Crissy, it’s your turn.”
Crissy did her best impression of a person taken by surprise. She held a fist to her mouth and coughed a couple of times.
“Sorry, Hay, can you go first?” She waved a hand in front of her mouth. “I have this tickle in my throat that won’t go away.”
“Absolutely!” I yelled. I inhaled deeply, trying to slow everything down inside me. To temper the rage I was feeling. To remember that Crissy was my best friend and nothing would ever change that.
Five
There were twenty-six people staring at me from the floor. Another dozen in chairs or standing around the outside of the room.
I glanced at the sheet music, then moved the stand aside. I was ready to show the judges that I knew this piece by heart. That I could do it in my sleep.
That I was Barbarina.
The music snuck out of the piano near the stage. It was hard to hear it, never mind sing to it. But I only needed to hear the first notes and then I’d be fine.
In fact, I was more than fine. From the first note, I could tell that I was going to sing well. I hit it dead on and sang through the first phrase with ease. I loved this aria so much. I’d practiced it daily for the sheer joy of sinking into Mozart’s brilliance. It was short and perfectly constructed to show off a singer’s voice. Dramatic as well. During many of the performances I’d seen live or online, a singer would be down on her knees or curled up on the floor to perform it. The audience would often rise out of their seats to see her.
I hit a couple of slightly flat notes, but otherwise it was o
ne of the best renditions of that piece I’d ever managed. And I could see the people watching knew it. I glanced at Isabel as I finished. She nodded, more to herself than to me.
“That was lovely,” Amanda said, a little surprise in her voice. I also sensed some relief. If she’d been worried they weren’t going to find a Barbarina in the choir, that worry had been put to bed. I gave a bow as the applause rose up around me. I’ll admit, it felt good. Not just the applause, but the sense that I’d done well. I’d nailed it.
Crissy was waiting quietly. She smiled at Isabel while tipping back and forth on her heels.
Amanda motioned Crissy forward. “Will you need the sheet music?” Amanda asked.
“No, thank you,” Crissy replied.
I took a seat at the front of the hall beside Sean.
“Holy crapola, Hay,” he said. “That was awesome.”
“I know,” I said.
“It’s your humility I love,” he said. “Such a humble soul.”
“Of course,” I said. “If you’re looking for an interview, you need to speak with my publicist.” It felt good to joke with Sean. I love singing and take it very seriously, but once I am done, I am totally my old goofy self again.
“Here we go,” Amanda said.
The music began. Crissy listened for a moment. Then she dropped to the floor and knelt like an eager child.
She began to sing.
“What is she doing?” Sean asked.
“It’s how the role is performed,” I whispered. “Barbarina is on the floor.”
Sean settled back into his seat. We could see Crissy well enough from the front row that we didn’t need to be on the edge of our seats.
“That seems a bit much,” he said.
I felt the same way but didn’t say anything.
Crissy was doing well, though her high notes fluttered. She cleared her throat when she had the opportunity, as though that fake tickle in her throat was the only issue. Like a violinist with a slightly out-of-tune string.
She finished by crumpling to the floor as the weak strains from the piano came to a sad conclusion.
There was the same outpouring of applause I’d received. Crissy absorbed it for a moment, then stood. She brushed out her dress and left the stage to sit next to Isabel.