Raw Talent

by Jocelyn Shipley

  “Each phrase you sing is better than the last. You build to the final note, which you hold forever. Because you can. You’re that good. When you finally let go, there’s silence, then mad applause. You bow graciously. The audience gives you the standing ovation you deserve.”

  I open my eyes, almost expecting to see the audience on their feet. “Oh my god! That was awesome! Do you really think I can do that?”

  Maxine nods.

  “So I’m guessing my homework this week is to practice visualization?”

  “It’s a powerful tool. Go over and over the details. That will ensure you’re ready for the next step.”

  “Next step?”

  “There’s no dress rehearsal, just a soundcheck the night before. But in order to be certain you have your performance anxiety under control, you need to rehearse in front of a live audience.”

  “Didn’t I just do that?”

  “I mean an audience of more than one.”

  “Oh.” Maybe I should have expected that, but I didn’t. “So, like, who, exactly?”

  “Jasmeer and her parents. Here. Next Saturday. I’ve already set it up. You’ll sing for friends in a comfortable, familiar setting.”

  I say goodbye and rush to find Jasmeer. She’s at the computer in the study. “Hey, I hear you’re going to sing for us next week,” she says. “That’s great!”

  “Yeah, I guess. Maxine thinks it’s a good idea.”

  “And you don’t?”

  “Well, I hope it is. We had a great session today, so I think I’m ready.” I glance at the computer screen. “What are you working on?”

  “The Farmshine program. Want to see?”

  “Of course!”

  Jasmeer shows me her rough layout. “Great design,” I say. But all I’m seeing is the performance order. I’m not on until the second half, which means a lot of super-anxious waiting. But at least I’m on first. I guess you could say I’m opening the second half.

  Jasmeer grabs her camera. “Can you go stand over there by the wall and point toward the window?”

  “Okay, but why?”

  “Promo photos for the Facebook page. We’re going to post about the various performers to create buzz and help sell tickets. So I need to take your picture. Oh, and Vanessa’s asked me to be the official event photographer.”

  “Yay you!”

  I strike poses while Jasmeer snaps away. It feels weird to point to a window for no reason, but I assume Jasmeer knows what she’s doing. “You’re going to take photos of everybody in the show?” I ask.

  “No, some have their own publicity shots, so we’ll use those.” Jasmeer sets her camera down. “Okay, that’s good. You can relax now, rock star.”

  We scroll through the photos together. Jasmeer deletes most of them. Then she uploads the best one to the computer for editing.

  I peer over her shoulder at the screen. She layers her shot of me onto another picture. Instead of me standing by a wall pointing to the window, it looks like I’m outside, pointing to the town sign:

  Welcome to Stonehill. Proud home of hockey legend Hank Rundall, pop star Denzi, and the Sweetland Singers.

  “Wow! Way better than Cadence’s nasty photoshop efforts!”

  We both start to laugh, then stop. What Cadence did wasn’t funny.

  “Don’t worry about her,” Jasmeer says. “She’s just jealous because you’ll have your name up on that sign for real someday.”

  “Thanks,” I say. “But you’ve never even heard me sing.”

  “I will next week,” she says. “So excited!”

  Nine

  “Ticket sales are terrific!” Vanessa announces at the next meeting. “We’ve sold 250 of 400! That’s over 60 percent! I have free tickets for all the volunteers, so pick them up before you leave. And tell your family and friends to call the Stonehill Theater box office. Let’s make this thing a sold-out event!”

  Everybody but me cheers.

  Hearing those numbers made me feel faint. That’s a big audience. No, a huge audience. A huge, scary audience.

  I wish this thing was over already! The waiting is torture.

  And there’s still my practice performance on Saturday. I’ve been working on picturing it going well. But visualizing is way harder without Maxine’s confident words and calming voice.

  Maxine warned me about negative thinking, though, so I try to let go of the worrying. I try to pay attention to the meeting. “Jasmeer has posted pictures of all our performers on our Facebook page,” Vanessa says. “She’s going to be our official event photographer, and I’m going to shoot video. I’m hoping all the performers and their families, plus everyone who can’t make the show, will want to buy a copy.”

  Not my mom. She’ll make a donation, but I doubt she’ll want to see me singing a Denzi song. I’m pretty sure she could rearrange her schedule. It’s not like she'd miss her end-of-year gala.

  But it doesn’t matter, because I don’t want her to come.

  As the committees give their reports, I check out the promo photos.

  The first one I see is the Sweetland Singers, with Cadence in the center of the front row. I freeze. What’s up with that? I thought they weren’t available. I thought they weren’t performing. But maybe they’re on the Facebook page because they’re making a big donation?

  When I came into the meeting room, I deliberately chose a seat as far from Cadence as possible. Now I turn to glare at her. She’s staring at me like she was waiting for me to look over at her. She gives a little wave and flashes me a big, innocent smile.

  I go back to the promo photos. I’m surprised at how many kids have their own publicity shots already. And personal websites.

  I never even thought about stuff like that. I only thought about singing. And stage fright. Still, Jasmeer’s photo of me pointing to the Stonehill sign looks great. I look like a star already. And I can see the picture has got tons of likes. Even some nice comments.

  Including this one from Cadence: Congrats to Stonehill’s next celebrity! Paisley McFarland is going to be awesome! Especially now that she’s being coached by the great Maxine Gaston, aka Silver Spinner!

  Oh no! I didn’t want anybody to know about Maxine. But it’s my own stupid fault. Why did I open my big mouth?

  “People! Please!” Vanessa has to shout to be heard. “I’ve got one more amazing announcement!”

  Vanessa waits until it’s quiet. Until all eyes are off screens and on her. “I am absolutely thrilled to announce that the Sweetland Singers have managed to rearrange their schedule.” She pauses and smiles over at Cadence. “They’re going to be able to perform at Farmshine after all!”

  Once again, everybody but me cheers.

  Oh my god! I’m doomed!

  When things settle down again, Vanessa adds, “I’ve slotted them in to open the second half of the show, right after intermission.”

  I suck in my breath. That was my spot! Mine!

  “Then Paisley,” Vanessa says, looking at me. “You’ll be on right after them.”

  Oh no! That means I’ll be waiting in the wings, sweating and shaking. I won’t be able to stop myself from reliving that horrible audition. Then I’ll have to watch and listen to all those kids like Cadence who were good enough for the Sweetland Singers.

  And then I’ll have to follow their stellar performance.

  I try to breathe and remember what Maxine said about Ms. Winton’s reasons for turning me down. It’s not working.

  “You okay?” Jasmeer asks.

  A few minutes ago I was set to overcome my stage fright. I was ready to amaze everyone at Farmshine. Thanks to Maxine, I believed I had what it takes.

  Now all I have is a churning stomach and a pounding heart. I pause a beat too long before saying, “Yeah, why?”

  “You don’t like the Sweetland Singers?”

  “Sure I do.” This comes out too fast. But I can’t admit how I really feel about them. Not going there. “Everybody likes them.”

  I
make the mistake of looking over at Cadence again. She’s beaming like she’s the one who made it happen. Like being in the Sweetland Singers is the best thing ever. Which it maybe is. I wouldn’t know.

  I give her the stink eye.

  Heath, sitting beside her, gives me a dirty look back. He must have thought it was meant for him. Great. Now he’s going to think I’m an idiot.

  I shake my head and point to Cadence.

  She pretends to blow me a kiss.

  Heath looks back and forth between us. Like, what’s going on here?

  I wish I could go over and tell him I’d never look at him like that. That it’s his evil girlfriend making me crazy. But I’ve got a bigger problem than Cadence.

  The Sweetland Singers.

  I can’t perform after them. I just can’t.

  There’s no use asking Vanessa to change the order. No matter where I am on the program, I’ll never get up the nerve to sing if they’re there. Just the thought of hearing them makes my throat close up tight.

  “You sure you’re okay?” Jasmeer says. “You look kind of sick or something.”

  “I was just thinking about this comment Cadence posted.” I point to the page, open on my tablet. “Can you delete it?”

  Jasmeer looks puzzled. “I could, but why?”

  “It’s like she’s trying to set me up to fail. The more she says how great a singer I am, the more I feel like I’m not.”

  “Hmm. I see what you mean, but nobody else knows that. Her comment is great for publicity.”

  “Please? I don’t really want everybody knowing about my coaching with Maxine, either.”

  “But what would I tell Vanessa? She’s already seen and liked it. She would want to know why.”

  “Oh, right.” No way am I making this worse by trying to explain things to Vanessa. “Forget it then.” I close my tablet and put it in my backpack. Cadence would only repost her comment anyway. Or something worse.

  Ten

  I trudge home through the season’s first snowstorm. I don’t have boots or mitts or a hat, but it doesn’t matter. I’m already numb. The Sweetland Singers are performing right before me. What on earth am I going to do?

  I make myself a grilled cheese and some hot chocolate. But I’m too upset to eat. And I can’t concentrate on homework.

  I need to talk to Maxine.

  I don’t have a meeting booked with her until Saturday, right before I sing for Jasmeer and her parents. But I can’t wait that long. I know how busy she is, and I hate to bother her, but she’s the only one who really understands.

  I don’t have her number, so I call Jasmeer. But Maxine is out. Jasmeer says she’ll get her to call me later. But I need help now, before I totally lose it.

  I know what would she tell me to do. Calm myself with deep breathing. I try to clear my mind and focus on controlling my air flow. Exhale. Drop diaphragm. Inhale. Hold. Repeat. And it does work. A bit.

  Singing will help even more. I put Denzi’s Greatest Hits on my iPod and rock out. Then I run through my song several times, working on phrasing, dynamics and vocal production. I sing my heart out to my favorite poster of Denzi.

  I’m feeling so much better, I decide to do my visualization exercise. I sit cross-legged on my bed, close my eyes and imagine it’s the night of the show.

  I’m waiting in the wings, listening to the Sweetland Singers. They’re really good, but I don’t let that bother me. I’m ready to sing, and I’m going to nail it. But then Ms. Winton looks over and sees me. She stops the choir and turns to address the audience. “I’m sorry, but there’s a girl backstage who shouldn’t be here. She auditioned for me, and certainly wasn’t good enough to join my fabulous choir. She’s a terrible singer!”

  Yikes! That wasn’t supposed to happen. I really need to talk to Maxine. I hope she calls back soon.

  I wipe the image of Ms. Winton from my mind and try again. This time I skip ahead to my grand entrance.

  I’m wearing a terrific outfit, and my hair looks amazing. The audience is screaming, “Paisley! Paisley! Paisley!” as I stride onstage. My smile is radiant, my arms outstretched to acknowledge the applause. I’m ready for the bright lights that almost blind me. Maxine plays my intro, and I hear my starting note. But then I glance down at the front row, and there’s my mom. I start to sing anyway, but she rushes onstage in her long black symphony dress and announces, “My daughter is such a disappointment!”

  What’s going on? Why can’t I get through this in a positive way? Is it going to keep getting harder to visualize success the closer I get to performance night?

  I can’t leave that image of Mom in my head. I walk it back and try again.

  I’ve made my powerful entrance and I’m singing beautifully, really connecting with the audience. But then someone throws a rotten tomato. It splats on the floor at my feet. I ignore it. Maxine nods encouragement from the piano. Keep going, don’t let anything distract you. But then another tomato comes flying through the air and hits my shoulder. Bright red juice runs down my sleeve. Another hits me smack on the forehead. As I wipe tomato juice from my face, I hear Cadence’s voice. “You suck big-time, Pissley McFatland!”

  Right. Okay then. Visualization is definitely not working. I go and dump my uneaten sandwich in the green bin and pour my hot chocolate down the sink. I’m loading the dishwasher when Mom gets home.

  “Whew, it’s really snowing,” she says. “The roads are terrible.” She steps out of her boots and hangs up her coat. “How was your day, sweetheart?”

  She’s been extra nice since I told her about performing at Farmshine. Maybe because she’s making an effort to hide her disapproval of my song choice.

  “Okay.” Which is not true at all. But I don’t want to get into it. “How was yours?”

  “Same as always,” she says. “Busy, busy, busy.” She fills the kettle with water and switches it on. “I need nice hot tea. Want some?”

  “No, thanks, I had hot chocolate already.” I wish I could have tea with Mom and tell her everything. From that horrible audition to the ugly images Cadence sent me. But the conversation will probably turn into her trying to convince me not to do a Denzi song. Or reminding me that pop music is inferior. “I think I’ll just go to bed early. I walked home, and I’m exhausted.”

  “Paisley, are you okay?” Mom’s voice sounds full of concern. “You’re not coming down with something, are you? Why on earth did you walk home on such a miserable day?”

  “There was a Farmshine meeting, and I missed the bus. And anyway, I like walking.” And I needed to clear my head.

  “Okay, well, you need to take care of yourself. Maybe getting to bed early is a good idea.” Mom turns off the boiling kettle and makes her tea. “Oh, by the way, I saw Elaine Winton in the grocery store, and she told me the Sweetland Singers are going to perform at Farmshine.”

  Wait. What? I busy myself rearranging the dishwasher so Mom won’t see the shock on my face. “You know Ms. Winton?”

  “Not personally,” Mom says. “But I do know her professionally. She’s on the Symphony Board this year, and we both belong to Women of Note.”

  “Oh.” Have they ever talked about my audition? Would Ms. Winton even remember me? “Yeah, Vanessa said at the meeting today that the Sweetland Singers would be there.”

  Mom adds some honey to her tea. “You know,” she says, “I still think it’s a shame you never joined that choir.”

  Here we go. “Mom! That was years ago! I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Okay, but Elaine told me she’s planning to start a youth choir next year, just for older kids. Maybe you could audition for that?”

  Seriously? When will she get it? “I don’t think so, Mom. It’s really not for me.” I finish cleaning up. “I think I’m off to bed now. Good night.”

  “Sleep well. Oh! I almost forgot to tell you! I moved things around so I can come see the show.”

  There’s a beat before I can even speak. “You did?”

 
“Yes. But that’s certainly not the reaction I was expecting. I thought you’d be happy.”

  “Oh, yeah, I am. Just surprised is all.” And wondering how this magically happened right after she talked to Ms. Winton.

  “I’ll get Dad to buy two tickets,” she says as we share an awkward goodnight hug.

  Perfect. Just perfect. And after she’s blown away by the Sweetland Singers, she can watch me try to sing Denzi’s best song. Which I’ll probably screw up, because my disapproving mom is in the audience. “Great,” I say. “It’s going to be a fabulous show.”

  Eleven

  At lunch the next day, Jasmeer passes me a container of cookies. “My dad is still trying to perfect his sunflower design,” she says. “What do you think?”

  I study them for a minute. “Hmm. I like the green leaf he added, but it looks like it would be a lot more work to mass-produce them.”

  “Exactly what he figured out,” Jasmeer says. “You can have them.”

  “All of them? Thanks!” I grab one and take a big bite.

  “Yup. I can’t eat any more.” She chooses an apple instead. “Oh, hey, I meant to ask. Can you help with cookie sales at intermission?”

  I almost choke. “No!” I take a drink. “I mean, sorry, but I can’t.”

  “Why not? It would take your mind off going onstage in the second half.”

  “But Maxine said that during intermission I should find a quiet place, block out everything, do some deep breathing and focus on my performance.”

  “Oh,” Jasmeer says. “Okay, that makes sense.”

  “And speaking of Maxine, did you give her my message?” I waited and waited last night, but she didn’t call.

  Jasmeer pats my arm. “She was still out when I went to bed, so I put a note under her door,” she says. “Don’t worry—she’ll call. And you’re going to be fine. You know that, right?”

  No. I’ll probably be throwing up in the washroom at intermission. That’s if I’m still going to sing. “I don’t know, actually. Maybe I should go find Vanessa right now and take my name off the list.”

  “Whoa! Don’t say that. Don’t even think it!”