Authors: Emily Snow
To Kendra and me, he offers an apologetic look that’s not fooling either one of us. “Sorry, Evie. She had a long flight, and—” But I hold my hand and shake my head.
“No need to explain. Seriously, I really don’t want to know what’s going to happen in your bedroom tonight.” If I spent months at a time away from my boyfriend, the last thing I’d want to do is spend one of my only two nights with him hanging around other people. “Goodnight,” I sing. Smiling genuinely at Michaela, I add, “It’s good to finally meet you.”
“You too, Evie,” she murmurs sweetly, “I’ll see you both tomorrow.”
Once they disappear in the crowd, I turn to Kendra. “There’s a party that another one of my friends asked us to come to.” I fold my arms over my chest, trying to warm my bare arms with my hands. “I think you’ll like Mac, but if you’re tired we can just go back and watch movies.”
She rolls her eyes. “Are you kidding? I slept all week to prepare for going out with you. You tell me where to go and I’ll follow.” Even though Kendra was never much of a drinker, that didn’t stop her from coming out with me many nights last year. I feel a lump form in my throat as I think of all the times she helped me back to our room, and I link my arm through hers and lay my head on her shoulder.
“You scare me when you’re this sweet,” she says suspiciously. “What’s up?”
“Thank you,” I whisper. “Thank you for always looking out for me and—”
Coming to a halt on the sidewalk, she plants her hands on her slim hips and shoots me a warning glare. “Stop it before you make me get all emotional. If you do that you know I have a hard time stopping.”
I remember all too well, so for the rest of the trek to Baseball House, I bore her with the details about the two pieces I’ll be performing for my midterm next week. When we finally reach the party, Kendra stands on the sidewalk, giving it the same disbelieving look I did the first night I came here.
“We’re in the right place, trust me.” I head toward the porch, motioning for her to follow. “It’s terrifyingly quiet, huh?” But as I get closer to the front door, not only can I hear the sound of music from inside but also someone’s harsh, racking sobs coming from the dark corner of the wraparound porch. Biting down hard on my lip, I try to remember the last time I cried like that and why. When I do, my stomach pitches because my thoughts immediately hone in on the vicious slut-shaming from several months ago.
“I’m looking for someone to take you home, okay?” I hear a girl whispering softly. I edge closer to see she’s leaned over a much smaller girl sitting on the porch floor. “Let me just call—” When she steps out the shadows, I get a glimpse of her face, and I feel something sharp squeeze my heart. It’s Corinne’s friend Ella and panic automatically sets in as she and I lock eyes.
“Are you here to pick her up?” she asks me, sounding almost hysterical herself.
“What happened?” I ask calmly. At the sound of my voice, I hear shuffling. My breath catches when my roommate comes out of the shadows, her face wet and mascara running down her cheeks. She throws herself into my arms and buries her face against my chest.
I stand motionless for a few seconds, staring back and forth helplessly from Ella to Kendra before I touch Corinne’s shoulders and push her back just enough for me to get a good look at her tear-streaked face. “What happened?” I repeat, each syllable ground out.
“Oh my god,” is the only thing she manages to say before the frantic sobbing starts once again. By now, the door to the house has opened and a few people are looking at the situation unfolding out here, murmuring amongst themselves. This time, I hold her to my chest, hoping to shield her from their stares.
I glare at Ella over the top of her head. “Can you tell me
something
?” I snap at her as Corinne’s tears soak my shirt. “Did someone hurt her?”
Corinne leans away from me. She swipes the back of her hand over her face, clenching her fingers as she takes a deep breath. Her words are garbled, but I still manage to make out, “My dad, Evie. My dad is gone,” before she leans over and vomits all over my shoes.
––––––––
“H
e had a heart attack right after he got home from work. In the garage, of all the places. It took my mom awhile to get ahold of me because my stupid phone went dead and I couldn’t turn it on until I borrowed Ella’s charger,” Corinne tells me much later after Kendra has fallen asleep in my bed.
I’m sitting on the floor with my back against the edge of the footboard, facing my roommate. She turns her head from me for a moment, releasing a choked sob. I wrap my arms a little more tightly around my knees and close my eyes.
“I can’t believe he’s gone. I didn’t even get to say goodbye.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, a sharp pain piercing my chest. I hate this. I hate it so much that I hurt for her. “I’m so damn sorry, Corinne.”
“Thank you. And sorry for puking on your shoes.”
“They’re just shoes.”
She doesn’t say another word to me after that, but I can hear her crying into her pillow until finally there’s nothing but silence in the room. My body feels stiff when I push myself to my feet, and I have to practically drag myself out of the room so I can take a shower. Before I retreat into the bathroom, I hear my suitemate’s door open and Lara pokes her head out.
“I know Corinne’s leaving in the morning, but can you let her know that both me
and
Hannah are keeping her family in our prayers? I know the two of them aren’t on the best of terms, but Hannah’d never wish this on anyone.”
I nod. “I’ll let her know.”
I relay the message to Corinne early the next morning as we sit on the benches just outside our dorm. Her older sister is due to show up at any minute now to take her home until after fall break.
“Tell them I said thanks.” Leaning forward on her forearms, she shakes her head, making her curls fly around her face before she whispers, “I appreciate you staying with me last night. Your best friend is here, and you ended up spending most of your night with me.”
“Trust me, Kendra completely understands.”
“Are you sure?”
I debate with myself for a split second before I tell her, “Kendra was my sister’s best friend growing up.” When Corinne’s green eyes narrow in confusion, I hear her gasp a few seconds after I continue, “My sister died a couple years ago. She was hit by a drunk driver while she was jogging home from cross country practice. So please believe me when I say that Kendra understands. For a long time, it felt like she was the only one who did.”
“Oh God, Evie ... I didn’t know.” Reaching across the bench, she gives my hand a hard squeeze, and when I look over at her, I see there are fresh tears in her eyes.
A minute later, a black Honda SUV pulls up on the curb in front of the building. Corinne releases a sigh and stands up. She grabs her rolling suitcase and gives me the same defeated look I’ve seen while looking at my own reflection way too many times.
“That’s my ride.” Before she can take off to leave, I wrap my arms around her. Over her shoulder, I watch as her sister gets out of the Pilot and walks slowly toward us.
“Be strong,” I say before letting Corinne go. “And if you need anything, call me. You told me before that you’re a good listener, but I can be one too.”
She’s scrubbing her palm over her eyes as she meets her sister halfway on the sidewalk, but the moment she gets into the car I can tell that she breaks down again.
“Is she going to be alright?” Kendra asks me as soon as I’m back in my room.
“God, I hope so,” I whisper, finally realizing that I’m crying myself.
***
T
he rest of the weekend flies by too fast, and I’m sad to see Kendra go on Sunday, even though we’ll see each other again soon—very briefly on Thanksgiving. I’ve decided against going home for fall break, but then during winter break we’ll each be home for a month.
I don’t have to worry about keeping myself occupied for the next few days because midterms consume all my time. I’m either taking an exam, holed up in my room studying for one, or staring at my sheet music until my eyes cross. By the time my performance midterm rolls around on Thursday, though, I’m done with the rest of my testing.
On my way to the music department’s smaller auditorium to take my exam, I hear footsteps behind mine and when a body brushes up against me, I look up to see Rhys. “Relax,” he tells me.
“I
am
relaxed.”
Clearly unconvinced, he blocks me from entering the auditorium. “Don’t lie to me. You’re going to nail this. Just remember, eye contact.” He dips his head close to mine so that our noses skim and our gazes lock. “And good posture.” His hand splays over the small of my back, pushing just enough that I stand up straight and my breasts press flatten against his chest. “You look beautiful.”
Wanting to make a good impression, I had dressed with care, in a pair of black flare pants I ordered from Victoria’s Secret using my mom’s credit card, a fitted black and white striped shirt, and pointy toe pumps that give me just enough boost without being high enough to affect my breathing while singing.
“You just wanted to touch me,” I whisper, mostly because I want that to be true, but he shakes his head and smiles.
“I’m not going to play these games with you today, Evelyn.”
The auditorium swings opens and Rhys and I break apart abruptly as Professor Cameron glances out. Heat flames across my skin as her gaze sweeps over us in surprise.
“We’re ready for you, Evelyn,” she says, holding the door open for me. “I hope you don’t mind that Mr. Delane will be observing?” She nods to Rhys, giving him a smile that’s tight at the corners, and I shake my head as I go inside.
Last year, I didn’t even put forth the effort to go to my voice midterm—I slept through it—so I have no idea what to expect when I walk slowly onto the stage. A copy of all my music is already waiting for me in a folder on the music stand, and I nervously finger the edges of the paper.
Not just Professor Cameron, but all five of the vocal department’s professors sit on the second row in front of me, and I can feel their stares burning into me along with the stage lights directly above my head.
Holy hell, no wonder I skipped last year.
Taking in deep breaths, I run my fingertip along the edges of the stand until Professor Cameron’s voice pulls my attention on her. “Please state your name for the grading panel.”
I clear my throat. “Evelyn Phoebe Miller.”
After Cameron asks me a few questions that I’m sure are supposed to make me relax instead of clam up even more, she asks me, and the department pianist, to pull out the first piece of music in the folder—“Vissi d’arte”. We go through the same process for the second song I’ve been rehearsing with Rhys, and as soon as I’m finished, Professor Cameron leans forward in her seat.
“Very nice, thank you, Ms. Miller.”
“That’s it?” I blurt out. No sight singing? No scary ass surprises?
Professor Ackerman, who teaches my Diction course, chuckles and shakes his head. “Would you
like
for us to make you sing more? I’m sure we can find something for you to perform.”
My surprised gaze meets Rhys’, whose lips flit into a satisfied grin, before I shake my head. “No, thank you,” I murmur before gathering my music and leaving the auditorium. Beads of perspiration dot my forehead, which I wipe off with the back of my hand. I lean against a bulletin board right outside the door, and when it opens, I can smell Rhys’ delicious, exotic scent even before I look over to him.
“You did well,” he says. “And now, to celebrate, you’re coming to dinner with me.”
“Are you asking or telling me?” I laugh past the nervous lump in my throat. I’m on such a high right now from performing that I’ll probably accept either, but he lifts his muscular shoulders.
“Take it however you want, but you’re mine for the next couple hours.”
“Don’t you have papers to grade? Performances to sit in on?”
“You’re my last.” Something about the way he says this in his sexy Southern lilt causes the back of my mouth to go dry.
Straightening my shoulders, I stride over to him, feeling my heart pound harder and faster with every step because of the way he’s grinning at me.
“Alright,” I say softly, “where are we going?”
***
O
nce we’re outside and he tells me that his car is parked on the other side of campus, I offer to take mine. By the time we reach the Hyundai, the sky has opened up and tiny droplets of rain kiss my face, intermingling with the cool October day and cooling my flushed skin.
“Here,” I tell Rhys and toss him my keys, which he catches effortlessly, even as he cocks a dark eyebrow.
“You must still be rattled from the exam,” he teases as we climb inside and he cranks the car. “You’re not one to give up control like that.”
“Hmm,” I murmur, closing my eyes and taking in a deep breath of relief at being done with exams—at least for the time being. “It wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be. Mac had me all nervous thinking Cameron would slam me with a big surprise, and then ... nothing.” Opening one eye, I add, “And when it comes to driving in Richmond, I’ll gladly give up control. I get too distracted to deal with traffic.”
Surprisingly, though, he leaves Richmond altogether. I touch my forehead to the cold window and silently listen to the ethereal, haunting sound of Agnes Obel’s voice playing from the radio and the windshield wipers flinging the rain away from outside. I watch the fall colors swirl together as he takes a scenic route to Williamsburg. When we arrive at a little bistro on Main Street around five and we’re seated near a window that gives us a clear view of the storm, I finally speak.
“You know, there are plenty of places we could’ve gone in Richmond,” I tell him as I open my menu. Still, I can’t deny that aroma drifting from the table next to ours makes my mouth water. I’d skipped eating this morning and afternoon so I wouldn’t have a complete
Pitch Perfect
moment the second I stepped on stage. I’ve regretted my decision to not eat all day.
“You’ll like this place,” he assures me. After we order, we make small talk, focusing on everything from our plans for the long weekend to the aggressive approach he’s planning to take to get me ready for finals in early December, and even to his assessment of my improvement in Sight Singing and Dictation. We talk about everything but the elephant in the room—our attraction to each other—that he doesn’t bring up until our waiter brings the check.