A Simple Song (10 page)

Bekka came over and gasped. “Look how small those cars seem from up here.”

“The people look like bugs.”

“It's making me dizzy.” Bekka stepped back, holding on to a chair. “And hungry.” They opened their bags, pulled out the assortment of food they'd both brought from home, and fixed themselves an early supper of peanut butter and jam sandwiches and applesauce, which they ate at the little table. Then they cleaned everything up and put the rest of their food in the little refrigerator.

“A person could live in here.” Bekka flopped happily on the bed.

But who would want to?
Katrina wondered as she sat down on the other bed. She looked across the room, studying a painting of a faded red barn, a golden meadow, and an old oak tree. Why would anyone settle for a room like this when they could have what was in that painting—only for real? Nothing about this strange room, or this fancy hotel, or this big city . . . none of it felt very real to her. She remembered what Sadie had said last night. Katrina wasn't sure, but she thought perhaps she was homesick. And she missed Cooper.

After they'd both had a short nap, they spent the rest of the evening “rehearsing.” At least that's what Bekka had called it as she made Katrina sing song after song for her. By the time they went to bed—at nine o'clock—Katrina still hadn't decided which song she wanted to sing for her audition, but her green dress, apron, and shawl were all neatly pressed (thanks to Bekka and the hotel's nice iron and ironing board) and waiting for her.

To Katrina's surprise, it was nearly seven o'clock when she woke up the next morning. She realized the dark, heavy curtains they'd pulled over the flimsy ones had completely blocked out the light. Even in the daytime, it was as dark as night in the room, but the clock between their beds said 6:56.

“Bekka,” she said as she jerked open the heavy curtains, “it's morning already!”

“Wh—what?” Bekka sat up, sleepily rubbing her eyes. Her red hair was sticking out all over.

“Look at the clock,” Katrina told her. “My audition!”

“Oh . . .
ja
.” Bekka climbed out of bed, yawning. “We need to go see when you'll sing.”

They quickly dressed, and without even eating breakfast,
they went out in search of where and when the audition would be. It took them a while to figure out the elevators again, but thanks to a hotel worker carrying some towels, they made it all the way down to what she called the lobby.

“The
American Star
auditions are down by the Erie Room.” The woman pointed toward a hallway. “Go that way and you'll see the signs.”

The hotel was much quieter than it had been yesterday. Before long they saw signs that said
American Star
in glitzy gold letters. Eventually they found a room where hundreds of chairs were set up and ready.

“Will those chairs be filled?” Katrina asked nervously. “Will I have to sing in front of that many people?”

“No,” Bekka assured her. “Those are for contestants.”

“What?” Katrina stared at the rows and rows of chairs. “All those chairs will be singers?”

“Lots of people want to win this,” Bekka explained. “But most of them can't sing. Remember the auditions I showed you on my computer?”

Katrina just nodded. She hoped Bekka was right.

“Can I help you girls?” a pretty woman with pale blonde hair asked. She had on tight blue jeans, tall sandals, and a pale yellow shirt with the words
American Star
embroidered near the collar.

“We're here for your show,” Bekka said politely. “I'm Bekka Lehman and this is my friend Katrina Yoder.”

“I'm Brandy.” She was flipping through papers on a clipboard as if she was quite busy.

“Katrina is going to audition for your show. We preregistered her on my computer.” Bekka held up the paperwork. “We came to see—”

“The auditions won't begin for a few hours. The judges are supposed to be down at ten, although the contestants will start trickling in anytime now—not that it will get them on any sooner.” She reached for the paper in Bekka's hand. “See this number here?” she pointed her pen to 1377.

“Ja,”
they said in unison.

“That means you're one of the last ones to audition. And that means you won't need to be here until tomorrow afternoon. Probably not until after three or even later.”

“What?” Katrina frowned at the number. Was that how many people were auditioning?

“You must've been one of the last contestants to sign up. Some kids signed up six months ago.”

“Ja.”
Bekka nodded sadly. “We had to talk Katrina into doing this. She was being quite mulish.”

Brandy made a tolerant smile. “Well, you girls should just enjoy yourselves in the meantime. See the lovely sights of Cleveland.” She laughed like that was funny.

“Not until tomorrow?” Katrina said meekly. “After three, you say?”

“Well, you never know. Sometimes we get a bunch of no-shows and everything goes more quickly than planned. Just check in tomorrow—say, noonish—and you should be okay.” She peered curiously at Katrina now. “Can you really sing?”

“She can sing,” Bekka declared. “You want to hear?”

Brandy tipped her head to one side with a curious expression. “Sure, why not? The day is young.”

“Sing for her, Katrina.” Bekka nodded.

“Right here?”

“Come on,” Brandy urged. “If you compete on this show
you'll have to be able to sing at the drop of a hat—nobody waits for anyone around here.”

Katrina took a deep breath, then began singing “Puff, the Magic Dragon.” She'd only sung one verse and was just getting warmed up when the woman held her hand up to stop her. She snatched the paper from Bekka, pulled out a black pen, and crossed out the number and wrote “LAST” instead. Then she put her initials next to it.

“What is this?” Katrina frowned. “Did I do something wrong?”

Brandy smiled coyly. “Not at all. I just changed your number, Katrina.”

“Does this mean I'm last to audition?” Katrina was confused.

“Yes. But make sure you're here
today
.”

“Today?” She felt even more confused. “I thought you said—”

“For some camera time.”

“Camera time?” Katrina winced at the idea of cameras.

“You girls are so cute in your Amish dresses and bonnets. We need to get that on camera.” She peered curiously at Katrina. “You really are Amish, aren't you? This isn't some kind of publicity stunt?”

“What?” Katrina looked at Bekka.

“People do all kinds of things to get on our show,” Brandy said, then frowned. “But if you really are Amish, why are you willing to be filmed? I thought the Amish had strict rules about not being photographed. Don't they believe it steals their souls or something?”

“We are on
rumspringa
,” Bekka said as if that explained everything. “We can be photographed if we want to.”

Brandy laughed.

“The reason Amish do not like being photographed is because we believe it's vainglory to have your picture taken. Not because it steals our souls,” Katrina clarified. “Only the devil can steal a soul. And only if you let him.”

Brandy grinned. “Okay, I'll keep that in mind. Now, don't forget. I need you girls down here today as well as tomorrow. Not the whole day, but for an hour or two. You got that?”

They both nodded.

“Let's go eat breakfast,” Katrina said as they walked away.

“Or go back to bed,” Bekka said sleepily. “I felt like I was awake half the night. Did you hear all the noises?”

“
Ja
. Doors opening and closing. Sirens down below. I did not sleep much either.”

They went back up to their room and had some breakfast and a short nap. Then, since it was only ten o'clock and seemed too soon to go back down, Bekka insisted Katrina should practice singing again.

“Why do you think Brandy changed me to last?” Katrina asked as she pinned her apron back into place. “Is it because I'm not good enough?”

“Maybe it's like the Bible says.” Bekka helped Katrina straighten her
kapp
, pinning it snugly down. “The first will be last and the last will be first.”

“What does that mean?”

“I don't know, but my mamm says it all the time.”

With everything put away, and feeling more confident about using the elevators and finding their way around the massive hotel, they went back downstairs. When they reached the Erie Room, they were both stunned to see it was packed. Not
only was it packed, but it was noisy and crazy, and Katrina felt more out of place than ever.

“Is it only young people who audition?” she asked Bekka as the two of them stood off to the side, feeling safer next to a large column.

“Contestants must be between the ages of seventeen and thirty,” Bekka informed her. “But I do agree. They all seem very young to me.”

“And their clothing . . . is very unusual.” Katrina tried not to stare at a skinny girl with hair that resembled a skunk except that the white stripe was as pink as Mamm's favorite rosebush.

“Maybe this is their
rumspringa
too,” Bekka whispered.

Katrina pointed to three very large and prominently displayed photos. “Are those some of the contestants?” she asked with concern, wondering why some contestants would get such attention. One of them looked older than thirty.

“No, those are the judges.” Bekka's hand flew to her mouth. “I should've told you all about them by now.”

Katrina was reading the names below the photos. “Ricky Rodriguez.”

“Ricky was a pop singer in the eighties,” Bekka explained.

“Pop?”

Bekka shrugged. “I think it's for popular. Anyway, Ricky is always making jokes. He's the easiest judge.” She pointed at the photo of a very pretty blonde woman. “That's Celeste Dior. She's a really good singer, but a really hard judge.” Next she pointed to the photo of an unsmiling man with shaggy gray hair and a fuzzy beard. “That's Jack Smack.”

“Jack Smack?”

“
Ja
. It's a funny name. I think he made it up.”

“I recognize the name. I've heard his songs on the golden oldies station.”

Bekka nodded. “
Ja
. He was a singer a long time ago. I don't think he sings anymore. He's the harshest of the judges. He even makes contestants cry sometimes.”

“Oh . . .”

“I thought that was how he got his name,” Bekka admitted. “Smack.” She giggled. “Because he likes to smack singers down.”

“There they are!” Suddenly Brandy and two men with what appeared to be television cameras were right next to them. “My Amish girls.”

“Which is the contestant?” the cameraman with no hair asked.

“That one.” Brandy pointed at Katrina. “I want you to get some shots of her coming into the hotel.” She looked at them. “Can you run upstairs and get your bags so you look like you just arrived?”

“What?” Katrina frowned. “But we're unpacked.”

“You don't have to pack them,” Brandy explained. “Just get your bags and meet Mike and Lou outside so they can get some footage of you.” She turned to the cameramen. “Get Bruce to go out there with you—ask Katrina some questions. Got it?”

“We're on it,” the one with no hair told her. He turned to Katrina. “I'm Mike and that's Lou. We'll meet you out in front with Bruce.”

She just nodded, looking at Bekka for support. Bekka grabbed Katrina's arm, dragging her back toward the elevators. “I think this is a good sign,” she said as they practically ran down the hall. “On the show, you always see certain
people telling about themselves—early on—and sometimes those are the people who win.”

Feeling somewhat encouraged but very confused, Katrina hurried with Bekka to get their bags, which looked flat without clothes in them. “Here.” Bekka took one of the smaller pillows from the bed. “Let's put these in them. To look better.”

Feeling silly about carrying pillows in their cloth bags, the two girls went outside into the bright sunlight to see that Mike and Lou were already there with another man. This man had dark, curly hair and a big smile. “Hello,” he called out to them. “Just go on over there by the taxis. Maybe get in one and then get out again. I'll ask you some questions and you try to look natural. Like you just arrived here. Okay?”

“Okay!” Bekka yelled back at him, and grabbing Katrina's hand, she dragged her over to a taxi.

“Where you wanna go?” the driver asked.

“We just need to get in and get out,” Bekka explained.

He frowned but opened the door for them to get in.

“That's Bruce Betner,” Bekka said. “He's the host of the show. Isn't he handsome?”

The door opened again. “Okay, kiddies, come on out,” the driver said with a smirk. “I'll bet I don't even get a tip.”

“Hello,” Bruce said again as he held out what looked like a silver stick toward them. “Welcome to Cleveland.”

“Thank you,” Katrina muttered, nearly tripping over the curb.

“Where are you girls from?” Bruce asked pleasantly.

While Bekka answered, Katrina stuffed her pillow back into her bag. “This is Katrina Yoder,” Bekka said as if she did this sort of thing all the time. “She's a really good singer, and I think she's going to win
American Star
this year.”

Bruce chuckled. “You do?”

“Yes. Everyone at home—I mean, the young people, think so too. You should hear her.”

“I hope to hear her.” He frowned slightly. “Are you girls really Amish, or did you just dress up like this to get our camera guys out here?”

“We are truly Amish,” Katrina said, “although we haven't been baptized into the church yet.”

His eyes lit up. “So is this your
rumspringa
?”

Katrina nodded. “This is part of it.”

“Will you be smoking and drinking and—”

“No!”
Katrina scowled. “Why would we do those things?”

“I thought that was what Amish kids do for
rumspringa
. Haven't you seen the reality show?”

“The what?”

He laughed. “So if that's not what
rumspringa
is—smoking and drinking and going wild—what is it really? Explain
rumspringa
to our viewers.”

“
Rumspringa
means running around, and it is a time of freedom. But it's also a time for young people to decide which way they will go,” Katrina somberly told him. “We are born into our family and community, but we must choose whether or not we will stay. It's a very serious decision, you know. Not something to be taken lightly.” She knew she sounded like Daed, but she couldn't help it.