Authors: Jeff Ross
I always rode with Crissy, whether it was to a practice or a concert. My parents both work at a hospital. My mom is a surgeon. My dad is an anesthesiologist (the guy who gives you the gas to make you go to sleep). They are always late for everything I do. Crissy’s mother, on the other hand, has dedicated herself to her daughter’s singing career. She quit her job years ago so she can always be there for her.
On the ride home after the announcement, we sat quietly as Mrs. Derrick asked a million questions we either ignored or gave brief answers to. Finally, Crissy told her mother about the competition. I happened to be looking at Crissy as she spoke, and it was obvious that she was doing her best to
not
look at me. When she was done, her mother said, “Well, you’ll absolutely be Barbarina.”
To which Crissy replied, “Or Hailey might.”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Hailey. I haven’t heard you sing lately. Have you improved a lot?”
Mrs. Derrick is like that. It kind of bothered me at first, but I’ve become used to it.
She believes in her kid, which is pretty cool if you think about it the right way. If you think about it another way, though, she’s not the nicest lady in the world.
“I’ve been doing fine,” I said.
We were almost to my house by this time. I could see Mrs. Derrick wanted to say something else, but I guessed she decided to hold it in.
“You want to hang out for a bit?” I asked Crissy. “It’s been forever.”
“Do you mind, Mom?”
Mrs. Derrick looked at us in the backseat. She seemed to be deep in thought.
“She can stay for dinner,” I said. “It’s taco night.”
“Taco night, Mom,” Crissy said.
“Fine,” Mrs. Derrick replied.
When we got inside, the house was filled with the smell of ground beef cooking.
“How was your day?” Mom asked.
I’m always being told I get my looks from my mom. She’s tall and thin and elegant. My father, on the other hand, is slightly shorter, slightly thicker and the opposite of elegant. I sometimes wonder how they ever got together. I know, I know—looks aren’t everything. But they are something.
I told my mom about the Barbarina role. Crissy added details along the way. Just the two of us, talking about our day. It felt totally normal. Like something we’d done a million times before.
Because we had.
We had a great night. We talked about boys. Watched a bunch of bad television. We even listened to some Katy Perry, which we
seriously
hadn’t done in years. And when I fell asleep that night, I felt that everything was falling into place. That we both were going to find success one way or another.
Whoever got the role would be the winner, sure, but we were best friends, so whoever was the understudy would be happy as well. I was certain of it.
Absolutely positive.
T
he ride to Paterson Center the following morning was mostly silent. Mrs. Derrick granted me her quick smile, the one she normally saves for cashiers and wait staff. She’d bought a recording of
The Marriage of Figaro
and was looping “L’ho perduta,” Barbarina’s only aria. (An aria is a solo piece for one singer. A lot of opera is about two characters singing to one another, but an aria is different altogether. It’s the time that stars show their true abilities.) Each time the piece ended, there was a brief pause before it began again. In that moment Mrs. Derrick held her hand up and then dropped it like a conductor. As she drove, we listened to that aria five times in a row.
It was a brilliantly sunny day. The sky was a perfect blue. It was the kind of day that makes you want to run around outside for hours. Then we stopped in the parking lot, opened the doors and essentially melted. Sweat started to roll across my skin.
“I’ve cleared my schedule to come in with you girls today,” Mrs. Derrick said enthusiastically.
“You don’t have to do that, Mom,” Crissy said.
It did seem a bit strange. Parents weren’t banned from practices, but it was seldom that one actually stuck around.
“I want to see what you girls have been up to. This is all so very exciting.” She flashed that smile again. It made me shiver.
“Whatever,” Crissy said. Her mother bristled at that word but managed to keep her fake smile stapled on.
As we walked into the building, I thought back to my field-hockey days. I wondered if I’d been too quick to give up on that sport. Sure, I hadn’t been the best at it, but at least it was played outside. Plus, you got to bump into people with force. The joy of clipping someone in the
shins or stealing the ball away from them should not be underestimated. Generally speaking, physical contact of any description is frowned upon in opera. And opera takes place indoors. I’m a sunshine girl. Even on a hot day, I want to be outside moving around.
Sean Christiansen was waiting inside the front doors. I gave him my customary hip jam when he didn’t move out of the way.
“Ladies,” Sean said, looking at Crissy and her mom. “And Hailey.”
I jammed him again. He deserved it. Mrs. Derrick ignored Sean—or didn’t even notice him. This had been happening more and more lately. Some people were simply beneath Mrs. Derrick.
The inside of the grand hall was hot and gross. Mrs. Derrick spotted Mrs. Sturgeon and waved to her. “I’m going to go talk to your teacher,” she said.
Crissy came to a stop a few feet away from us.
“What’s up her butt?” Sean whispered. He flicked at his hair. He has a brownish-blond mop that he refuses to style at all. He spends an absurd amount of time flicking his bangs to one side. He also has really bright blue eyes. He’s cute, something I am loathe to admit but he loves to hear.
“Mrs. Derrick?”
“No. Whatever is up her butt has been permanently lodged there,” Sean said. “I meant Crissy. I don’t warrant a hello any longer?”
“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.
“R
ehearsal 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.