High Note (3 page)

“Ladies and gentleman,” she said.

Sean gave her a little bow.

“We are going to begin today with an audition for the role of Barbarina. We have some very talented singers here, but we need to narrow the field down to one primary and one secondary singer. I’ll ask you to sing through ‘L’ho perduta.’” She gestured behind her. “We have the score here, and Mark will accompany you on piano. Anyone interested in trying out for this part, please line up on my left.”

“Get your skinny butt up there,” Sean said, giving me a gentle push.

I wasn’t entirely certain I wanted to. I wanted the role for sure. And it wasn’t that I got nervous or suffered from stage fright, because I didn’t. What stalled me was the way Crissy jumped up
so quickly and shot over to be first in line. And then, when two other girls got onstage with her, she shifted position to be behind them. The other girls, Georgia and Karen, were not soloist material. Crissy knew this. She also knew that if you followed someone of lesser ability, it made you shine all the more.

“Go!” Sean said.

“You’re making me want to stay. Everything you do forces me to suffer,” I said.

Sean gave me a shove and kept pushing until I’d cleared the girls ahead of me and started up the steps to the stage.

The hall looked different seen from onstage. Wider and tighter at the same time. The upper balcony of seats was intimidating. Paterson Center was fairly new but had been made to look grand and old. There were golden spirals of carved wood along the walls.

I glanced down at the girls watching me. So many of them were here just for something to do. Or because their parents wanted them to be. I was here because I wanted to be.

I felt calm as I crossed the stage. I felt like I belonged here. Not as though I was some born star,
but because I performed better on a stage than in a practice room. I loved the way my voice exploded through a hall, echoing off the walls and seats. I loved the feeling of pushing the notes to the back of the room and seeing the effect they had on the audience.

Then I saw Crissy and crashed back to earth.

She had that tight-lipped, scrunched-face look that meant she was calculating something. It took a moment before I realized what it was she was trying to figure out.

What to do with me.

She had been first in line so she could move to any position she wanted and give the impression of being helpful—kind, even. But we all knew going last would be the best. People always remember the final performance.

It wasn’t as if she didn’t know I was going to audition as well. Yet there was still surprise on her face when I stepped up next to her.

She shuffled to one side and said, “You go first.”

Which really hurt.

She seemed to be affected by it as well. She didn’t back down, but I saw a resolve in her eyes.
She was going to do whatever it took to get that part.

“It doesn’t matter, Crissy,” I said, trying to keep the hurt and, even more so, the anger out of my voice. “Go and do your best.”

“We both know it’s never good to go last.” She held my arm for a moment. Her voice was filled with fake emotion. She was trying to sound kind, generous, good.

But I could see right through it.

I hadn’t thought this process was going to be so difficult. I hadn’t expected Crissy to turn it into a showdown.

“Oh, I don’t mind going last. You were here first,” I said. “By all means, you go ahead of me.”

“Hailey, I insist.”

I lightly touched her arm in one last attempt to stop this craziness. It was so obvious that it didn’t matter who went first. It would never matter. But Crissy was making it matter.

“Crissy, you were here first. I’ll suck it up,” I said. She seemed confused. As if she’d had a plan of how this would all go and this wasn’t even close to what she’d imagined.

So she switched to plan B.

“I have a tickle in my throat,” she said. She coughed for effect. “Need water.” She stepped out of line and jumped from the stage before I could say another word.

By this time, Georgia moved to the front of the stage. The piano didn’t really make enough sound for it to feel like a real performance, but Georgia did her absolute best to perform. She didn’t know all the words, even with the sheet music in front of her. It was in Italian though.

Georgia gave a laugh near the end and shook her head. “Okay, I’m done,” she said, and she went back to her seat. Amanda applauded, and the rest of the choir joined in. Georgia had turned a bright red. If she was ever to become a performing musician, she would have to get over that stage fright. But most of these people would never perform. They would be teachers or choir directors. They didn’t need to get on a stage and
perform.

“Here goes nothing,” Karen said as she stepped away from me. She had a better voice than Georgia, but she still messed up the words a few times. As she sang, I looked toward the wings.
Crissy was still there, pretending to drink water. Finally, as Karen sang the final phrase, Crissy slowly began moving toward the stage.

Karen stopped and gave an elaborate bow. The rest of the choir laughed.

“Well done,” Amanda said.

“Not really,” Karen replied. “But I’ll take the compliment anyway.”

Crissy was almost at the front of the room. Amanda glanced over at me, and Crissy suddenly stopped and leaned down to talk to someone. It didn’t matter who went first. It really didn’t. But for some reason I felt like forcing Crissy to go first—or calling her out, at least, for not going first.

“Are you ready, Hailey?” Amanda asked.

“I think Crissy was in front of me,” I said, loudly enough for her to hear. Then I yelled, “Crissy, it’s your turn.”

Crissy did her best impression of a person taken by surprise. She held a fist to her mouth and coughed a couple of times.

“Sorry, Hay, can you go first?” She waved a hand in front of her mouth. “I have this tickle in my throat that won’t go away.”

“Absolutely!” I yelled. I inhaled deeply, trying to slow everything down inside me. To temper the rage I was feeling. To remember that Crissy was my best friend and nothing would ever change that.

Five

T
here were twenty-six people staring at me from the floor. Another dozen in chairs or standing around the outside of the room.

I glanced at the sheet music, then moved the stand aside. I was ready to show the judges that I knew this piece by heart. That I could do it in my sleep.

That
I
was Barbarina.

The music snuck out of the piano near the stage. It was hard to hear it, never mind sing to it. But I only needed to hear the first notes and then I’d be fine.

In fact, I was more than fine. From the first note, I could tell that I was going to sing well. I hit it dead on and sang through the first phrase with ease. I loved this aria so much. I’d practiced
it daily for the sheer joy of sinking into Mozart’s brilliance. It was short and perfectly constructed to show off a singer’s voice. Dramatic as well. During many of the performances I’d seen live or online, a singer would be down on her knees or curled up on the floor to perform it. The audience would often rise out of their seats to see her.

I hit a couple of slightly flat notes, but otherwise it was one of the best renditions of that piece I’d ever managed. And I could see the people watching knew it. I glanced at Isabel as I finished. She nodded, more to herself than to me.

“That was lovely,” Amanda said, a little surprise in her voice. I also sensed some relief. If she’d been worried they weren’t going to find a Barbarina in the choir, that worry had been put to bed. I gave a bow as the applause rose up around me. I’ll admit, it felt good. Not just the applause, but the sense that I’d done well. I’d nailed it.

Crissy was waiting quietly. She smiled at Isabel while tipping back and forth on her heels.

Amanda motioned Crissy forward. “Will you need the sheet music?” Amanda asked.

“No, thank you,” Crissy replied.

I took a seat at the front of the hall beside Sean.

“Holy crapola, Hay,” he said. “That was awesome.”

“I know,” I said.

“It’s your humility I love,” he said. “Such a humble soul.”

“Of course,” I said. “If you’re looking for an interview, you need to speak with my publicist.” It felt good to joke with Sean. I love singing and take it very seriously, but once I am done, I am totally my old goofy self again.

“Here we go,” Amanda said.

The music began. Crissy listened for a moment. Then she dropped to the floor and knelt like an eager child.

She began to sing.

“What is she doing?” Sean asked.

“It’s how the role is performed,” I whispered. “Barbarina is on the floor.”

Sean settled back into his seat. We could see Crissy well enough from the front row that we didn’t need to be on the edge of our seats.

“That seems a bit much,” he said.

I felt the same way but didn’t say anything.

Crissy was doing well, though her high notes fluttered. She cleared her throat when she had
the opportunity, as though that fake tickle in her throat was the only issue. Like a violinist with a slightly out-of-tune string.

She finished by crumpling to the floor as the weak strains from the piano came to a sad conclusion.

There was the same outpouring of applause I’d received. Crissy absorbed it for a moment, then stood. She brushed out her dress and left the stage to sit next to Isabel.

“That was very nice, Crissy,” Amanda said.

“Thank you,” Crissy replied, planting her hands on her lap.

Amanda began to talk about what the rest of the day would hold for us. As she spoke, Isabel and Crissy whispered to one another like school girls. It was only when Amanda finished explaining the schedule that Isabel rose and disappeared backstage.

Our choir rehearsal returned to normal after that. I took my regular spot beside Crissy. She bumped into me like she always did. Just a little nudge now and then. As though nothing had happened. As though she hadn’t just used some
very pathetic gamesmanship to try and show me up.

I kept seeing her dropping to her knees before she was about to perform. The vision ran through my head like a cut-rate movie. It was absurd.

We broke for lunch, and Crissy joined Sean and me at the food table.

“You and Isabel seem pretty close,” I said.

“She’s amazing,” Crissy replied.

“What were you two talking about after you sang?”

“Nothing,” she said. “Technique and things.”

“Was she giving you hints?”

“Hints? No. She was helping me with the little things. You know, the bits and pieces I could improve upon.”

“So she was giving you hints,” I said. “That’s cool.”

“She’s really nice,” Crissy said.

“You do remember the lemon-water incident, right?” I said.

“She’s at a level where she should be able to get the right water in her dressing room. Maybe the lemon does something to her voice.”

“Oh, okay,” I said. I was about to make a joke of it when I caught the tone Crissy had been using. It was the same tone I used whenever someone attacked Crissy for being, well, Crissy. She was defending Isabel. Defending her ridiculous actions.

I tried to let it drop.

Tried—but couldn’t.

“I’d be careful,” I said.

“Careful of what?”

We’d filled our plates and slid down to the floor to eat. Me in the middle, Sean on one side, Crissy on the other. Like it always was. “Just… I don’t know,” I said.

Crissy stared at the ceiling. Then she turned to me. “You understand who she is, right? You understand that we’re getting to watch and learn from one of the greatest sopranos of our age. You understand what she could do to help a young singer. Right?”

Crissy didn’t sound like herself. She sounded like her mother.

“You understand that she’s a grown woman who throws hissy fits when she doesn’t get her way, right?” I said, using the same biting tone.
“You understand that she stood on that stage and looked down at us. You understand that she has a reputation for looking out for only herself and no one else. Right?”

Crissy snapped a piece of celery with her teeth. “She is an incredible singer,” she said. “That’s what I understand.”

I noticed Mrs. Derrick waving to her from the backstage door.

“I have to go,” Crissy said. She gave her head a little shake and squared her shoulders. Then she glanced down at Sean and me. “Bye.”

I clenched my fingers into fists and felt my jaw tightening.

“And there it is,” Sean said.

“What?” I barked.

He shook his head and sighed. “The suffering has begun.”

Six

T
he next morning I was waiting on my porch when I received a text from Crissy.

Can’t pick you up this morning. Something
came up. Sorry :(

I stared at it for a while. In the past I have sometimes replied to texts too quickly. Shooting something off that I regret later. So instead of replying with my gut feeling (
How could you do this to me? What is wrong with you?
), I took a deep breath and called my mother. She was already at the hospital.

“You’ll have to take a cab,” she said. “Use your emergency credit card.”

“I don’t know where it is,” I said.

“Well, find it.”

“I haven’t used it in forever. Where’s Dad?”

“In surgery. He’s back-to-back today. He can’t drive you.”

“Aargh.”

“What happened to Crissy?”

I didn’t answer.

“Hailey?”

“She texted that something had come up.”

There was a pause on my mother’s end. “I think I saw your credit card on the hall table. The left-hand side.”

“Thanks, Mom.”

“Remember to only tip three dollars. It’s not that far.”

“Okay.”

“And have a good day.”

“I’ll try.”

I hung up and called a cab. Then I went back to my seat on the porch. The day was already warm, which meant the inside of Paterson Center was going to be unbearable. I found it difficult to sing when it was hot. I went back inside to fill a water bottle.