High Note

by Jeff Ross

  We watched as the musicians took their seats. Crissy mounted the stage and stood on the spot where I’d sung earlier. She looked out at the room. Isabel joined her on the stage. Isabel said something to Crissy, and Crissy nodded. A moment later, Isabel sang a few bars of “L’ho perduta.” Crissy leaned into her and sang back. The orchestra was tuning and there were people talking, but the two of them kept going as though it was opening night.

  “This is bizarre,” Sean said.

  “You don’t say.”

  “What are they doing?”

  “Performing?” I said. Crissy looked happier than I had seen her in weeks. She sounded great as well.

  I knew she was trying to show me up—I could tell by the look on her face. She was trying to prove that she was the better singer. That the chemistry between her and Isabel was something astounding. But I wanted to let them finish. I thought that maybe if Crissy could sing to an empty room, she would feel better.

  “Why are you standing here?” Sean said. “You need to get up there.”

  “I want her to finish.”

  “Why?” he said.

  “Because she needs it. And what can it hurt?”

  It appeared, as the orchestra was finishing its preparations, that no one was paying Crissy and Isabel any attention at all. When they were done, Isabel took a step back and clapped. She probably thought other people would join in. Crissy bowed. Someone in the orchestra clapped too, but it died out quickly, leaving Crissy bowing to a complete lack of applause.

  Evelyn thanked Isabel and Crissy for the warm-up and ushered them both off the stage. Now I felt sorry for Crissy. The whole thing had been a little humiliating. But she’d seemed so smug about her little performance that my sympathy quickly evaporated.

  “That was really desperate,” Sean said. “I kind of feel weird about being here for it.”

  “I know.”

  “Remember when I had a crush on her?”

  “I have to look back in time for that?” I said. “Don’t you still have a crush on her?”

  “Not any longer. I had a crush on three-months-ago Crissy Derrick. This Crissy Derrick is someone else altogether.”

  The rehearsal that afternoon was a mess. We were supposed to run through two of my scenes, leading to the next section of the opera. But everything seemed to go wrong at once.

  First of all, the costume felt strange. It bit into me when I tried to sing. I actually squeaked a couple of times. Eventually, Amanda came over and sat beside me.

  “What’s going on, Hailey?”

  “Sorry,” I said. I didn’t want to make excuses. That wasn’t part of the job.

  “Is it the dress? Are you feeling okay today?”

  “Can we skip over my scene for now?” I asked.

  “We need to see the flow from one section to the next, Hailey. We need to make sure everything is coherent.”

  I glanced out into the hall and spotted Crissy standing in front of the first row, her hands behind her back. She widened her eyes at me as I spotted her.

  “I’m fine,” I said. “Let’s try again.”

  Amanda gave my shoulder a squeeze and stood. “Let’s try it again,” she called to Evelyn.

  The orchestra resumed. I looked directly at Crissy as I began. Her posture remained the same until about the halfway point of the scene.

  I was singing well. I hadn’t made any squeaks or really faltered in any way. And as she watched me, Crissy’s shoulders dropped. Her knees bent slightly. When I finished and the cast for the next scene came onto the stage, Crissy just stayed there. Not moving. Not even shifting.

  I slipped between the curtains to the wings and found myself in the darkness. The orchestra moved on to the next piece. I looked out at the audience. Crissy was still standing there, her hands behind her back, her chin held high, and for some reason, she was smiling.

  Twelve

  We were given a break over the weekend. I slept in hard on Saturday morning and didn’t bother to check my phone until the middle of the afternoon. When I finally turned it on, I was seriously surprised to find a text from Crissy. Dinner at the Diner?

  It was so unexpected that I wondered if it was a joke. I let it sit for a moment. I thought back to how Crissy had looked at me the day before. She hadn’t said more than a dozen words to me all week and now, out of nowhere, she wanted to go for dinner?

  I texted back: Seriously?

  It’s been too long, she texted back.

  I stared at this response for a good half minute. The Diner used to be our favorite restaurant…

  My phone vibrated again. Cleary wants to come as well.

  Cleary Hewson?

  Cleary Hewson? I texted.

  Yeah. She says she really misses us.

  I hadn’t spoken to Cleary in the better part of a year. There was no rift. No real reason. We just ran in different circles now and rarely saw one another. Back in grade school, Crissy, Cleary and I were always together. We’d even made shirts with CCH on the front. But that was ages ago.

  I dropped my phone on my bed and picked up the stack of photos on my dresser. I flicked through them until I found the one I was looking for. It was from almost two years ago. It was the last day of school, and Crissy, Cleary and I had run into one another on the way out. I’d been part of the yearbook committee, so I’d had my camera with me. We still used film cameras then. The school had since removed the darkroom, meaning that the photo I had in my hand could have been one of the last ones ever developed there.

  We looked happy. And not just last-day-of-school happy. We looked like we were the best of friends, lined up beside one another being completely goofy.

  We looked like three little kids.

  I finally texted Crissy back. Did she contact you?

  Yeah, she called me.

  And you want to go to the Diner? The three of us? There was a long pause after I sent this.

  Then the reply: I really miss the way we used to be.

  I thought about that for a moment. I stared out the window at the well-trimmed lawns. The Subarus and Volvos parked in driveways. The teams of landscape artists working their way through people’s gardens. This whole opera situation was only a couple of months out of our entire lives. It would come, then go. It was possible that Crissy and I would be best friends again. I knew Crissy. I knew she could fall so deeply into her pursuits that she could lose her identity, at least for a while. But she had always climbed back out again. She was entirely capable of being the person I’d always known. If this was her reaching out to me, I would be wrong to not reach back.

  Ok, I texted back.

  OK!?

  ok.

  This is going to be awesome. CCH rides again. Meet at 6:00?

  ok.

  I put my phone down and held on to the photo.

  * * *

  I walked to The Diner under a bright, early-evening sky. The day had been warm, but a late-afternoon thundershower had cooled the air. It was the first time in a while that I didn’t feel sticky and gross. There was even a breeze moving down the street. And after all the time I’d been spending inside Paterson Center, it felt good to be outside.

  As I turned the final corner, I noticed Mrs. Derrick pulling away from the curb. It felt like old times. Mrs. Derrick had always had to drop Crissy off after a rehearsal or lesson. Cleary and I had often had a half hour to ourselves, drinking water and watching out the window for Crissy to arrive so we could order. This time I was the late one.

  Crissy and Cleary were in one of the large long booths against the back wall. Crissy was on one side, right on the edge of the bench. Cleary was on the other, leaning against the wall. They had water in front of them but nothing else.

  “Hailey!” Crissy said as I approached. She stood and threw her arms around me. Her hold was fleeting, yet hard. Like she was grabbing on to me so I wouldn’t turn and run away.

  “Crissy,” I said when she released me. I waited, wondering if she would say something about how
she had been behaving. She flashed me a smile and then quickly returned to her seat. She didn’t leave any room for me to slide in beside her. I sat down on the other bench. “Hey, Cleary. How are things?”

  Cleary opened her eyes wide and smiled. “All right.” She put her hand to her mouth and coughed. “Sorry. Yeah, it was good to hear from Crissy. I’ve been thinking of calling you two lately.”

  I looked over at Crissy. “Hear from Crissy?” I said. “I thought…” A waitress was at our table, pen and pad in hand.

  “Can I please have a ginger ale?” Crissy said.

  “Sure. What about you two?”

  “Tea,” Cleary said.

  “I’m going to stick with water for now,” I said.

  “Are we eating here?” the waitress asked.

  “Three grilled cheese and a plate of fries to share,” Crissy said. It was what we’d always had when we were eleven or twelve. I wasn’t certain I wanted a grilled cheese, but remembering those days felt good. I hadn’t been feeling like myself since the opera began. I had never really been under pressure in my life before. Not like this. I was handling it, but I really needed some friends. Sean had been there for me as much as possible, but he was often busy. He was looking at expensive colleges and working extra shifts at the laser-tag place.

  Cleary sneezed as the waitress walked away. She grabbed a napkin from the dispenser and apologized again. “I hear you’re in some theater thing,” she said.

  “An opera, actually,” I said.

  “Wow, that’s awesome,” Cleary said, wiping her nose. “So you do lots of singing?”

  “Yes, it’s a Mozart opera. The Marriage of Figaro.”

  “That’s the one that Bugs Bunny does, right?”

  “No,” Crissy said, jumping into the conversation. “That’s The Barber of Seville.”

  Cleary sneezed again. Her eyes and nose were red.

  “I don’t remember you having allergies,” I said.

  “It’s all about this count,” Crissy said before Cleary could answer. “And he has eyes for someone other than his wife.”

  “I don’t know that one,” Cleary said.

  I waited for her to take a drink of her water and then repeated, “I don’t remember you having allergies.”

  Cleary turned to me, blowing her nose into a napkin. “Oh, I don’t. I was in New Zealand with my dad. It’s winter down there. I caught a stupid cold. It’s almost done though, I think.” She cleared her throat, and when the waitress brought her a tea, she drank deeply and slowly. Enjoying the feeling of warmth moving down her sore throat, I guessed.

  “New Zealand,” I said. “What was that like?” I looked at Crissy again, who was working on her ginger ale.

  “It’s awesome down there. Totally,” Cleary said before falling into another coughing fit. “With all the mountains and the water and everything. We went heli-skiing. I picked up something from one of the other skiers. It sucks, but it was totally worth it. It’s weird to have a terrible cold when it’s so hot and humid out.”

  “I bet,” I said. I took a drink from my water and then excused myself to go to the washroom. It was around a corner beside the kitchen. I went as far as turning the corner, then stopped and looked back. From where I stood, I could see our table, but it would be difficult for Crissy to spot me. I waited a moment, hoping I was wrong. Hoping that what I thought was happening wasn’t. But then Cleary looked out the window, and I watched as Crissy swapped my water glass with Cleary’s.

  I fell against the wall. I felt like crying. You can’t write your friends off, I thought. You can’t do that. I knew I should go back and talk to Crissy about what had happened. Maybe if we got it all out in the open, we could move past it. I wanted to tell her it wasn’t worth it. That Barbarina wasn’t even that big a role. That missing out on one part wasn’t the end of her career.

  But I didn’t have any charity available. She’d stepped over a line, and I wasn’t certain she would ever be able to step back.

  It felt as though our friendship was truly over.

  So I didn’t go back to the table. I slipped out the door and walked back to my house, earbuds plugged into my ears, The Marriage of Figaro playing loudly, making the world and all the people in it feel like bit actors in the production of my life.

  Thirteen

  And then it was opening night. There was a kind of electricity in the air. Everything we’d been working toward was going to come together at last.

  The dress rehearsal had gone off almost without a hitch. Amanda had sat us down that afternoon and spoken very briefly about what we could improve. We were all there, understudies included, when she came to me. “Hailey, you’ve proven to us all that we absolutely made the right choice for Barbarina,” she said. “If you perform as you did last night, you will find glowing reviews in the morning.”

  “Thank you,” was all I could manage. Denise had squeezed my arm a little. Then I’d spotted Crissy across the room, watching. She had her arms crossed, and I could tell she wanted to leave. But she couldn’t. She had to stand there and listen.

  Until that moment, Crissy wouldn’t have known how well the dress rehearsal had gone because she’d skipped the entire week. Apparently, she’d come down with a cold. I didn’t know whether to believe this or not. On the one hand, it would have been poetic justice if Crissy had actually caught Cleary’s cold. But I had a feeling it was just another lie.

  I really hoped that Crissy had missed the rehearsals because she felt bad about what she’d attempted to do.

  * * *

  Everyone was wishing us good luck as the members of the orchestra took their spots. I peeked around the curtain and found the entire hall full, right up to the top of the second balcony.

  Sean gave me a bump on the arm.

  “Nervous?”

  “That’s the wrong thing to ask someone,” I said.

  “Well, are you?”

  I let the curtain fall back. “I wasn’t until you came up here and started asking me if I was.”

  “Don’t be nervous,” he said.

  Which was incredibly useful.

  “That’s easy for you to say.”

  “Nerves are the very root of suffering. They arrive as one is worrying about the future or concerned about the past. They happen when you’re not thinking of the moment at all. If you get nervous, you will just get through this performance. You won’t really be a part of it.” He grabbed me by my giant poofy shoulders. “Be in the moment.”

  “You are tiring,” I said. “I mean, honestly and truly exhausting.”

  It looked like he was going to kiss me.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  “Looking deeply into your eyes.”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see if you’re in the moment.”

  Luckily, Mrs. Sturgeon called for the chorus, and Sean had to take off before things got any weirder.

  It was strange to hear the chorus warming up without me. Normally, I’d have been right there in the middle of it. Instead, I stood watching, as though it was some group I’d had something to do with long ago.

  As though I’d moved on.

  They sounded great once they were out on the stage. Crissy looked miserable though. Her face, when she wasn’t singing, fell in the same way as that grumpy-cat meme on the Internet.

  It broke my heart to see her like that, but it was sort of funny too. She looked like an entitled little kid who hadn’t gotten what she wanted. She was pouting, angry, and trying to make everyone around her feel the same way.

  Before I knew it was happening, the lights went down and the orchestra began to play the overture.

  People moved behind me in the dimness. There was an energy in the backstage area I’d never felt before. As though everyone was on the verge of exploding. The orchestra sounded amazing. And then it was time for the first singing part, and the performers slipped onstage.

  I watched from behind the curtain until it was my time to go on. Of
course, I stepped slightly off to one side and was blinded by a spotlight. I stumbled a little, corrected myself and refocused.

  It’s incredible being on a stage, singing with an orchestra. I don’t know how to explain it. I mean, there’s the music playing, the other actors moving through their parts, the audience there in the darkness before you. And your voice rising up above it all.

  Maybe if Sean hadn’t said anything, I wouldn’t have been nervous, but I was feeling it now. My hands were clammy. My voice jittered slightly. Still, I managed to contain the nerves. I let them flow through me and out. I didn’t hold them in my hands or stomach. I didn’t let them get near my vocal cords. I focused on the music and what I had to do.

  When it was over and we’d taken our bows, Denise dragged me to the front of the stage to take one extra bow. I held her hand as we bent, then straightened again. Denise stepped away, and the audience continued to clap. I bowed again, alone at the front of the stage, the spotlights completely blinding me.

  Everyone was standing. The entire audience was on its feet.

  “That was perfect, Hailey,” Denise said as we left the stage. “You did so well.”

  “Thank you,” I said.

  “Tomorrow you get to do it again.”

  “I can’t wait,” I said. I wanted to be back on the stage already. There were a couple of phrases I felt I could have put more emotion into. One section where I wanted to play with my volume to see if it would have a different effect on the audience. But I’d felt comfortable in my role, and though it was fairly brief, I’d tried to make the most of it.

  There were reporters backstage. I was asked a hundred questions. What it felt like. How it was up there. Nerves, ambitions, the entire process. “What will come next?” asked a young reporter with crisply cut hair and deep brown eyes.

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I guess the rest of the week.”

  “Perfect,” he said. “A girl who focuses on the goal at hand. Let them come to you.”