High Note (4 page)

The Crissy I knew would not do this to me. I’d spent a lifetime looking out for her and backing her up.

I thought about the year we were really into Katy Perry. I’d loved her song “Firework.” It was pure pop. Happy, empowering, a big blast of sound. Crissy, on the other hand, got into “Wide Awake.” Of the three hundred million views of that YouTube video, I bet over one hundred thousand were Crissy’s. She played that song endlessly, driving her parents insane. Her mother wanted Crissy to get serious about singing, and in Mrs. Derrick’s opinion, Katy Perry was not singing. It was noise.

So Crissy wore headphones.

She listened to that song at night to help her fall asleep. She watched the video while doing her hair, making toast, even while sitting outside on clear, sunny days. It was all-consuming. My devotion to Katy Perry drifted after about a year. I still liked her music, but there were other artists I was interested in as well. Crissy told me she didn’t feel complete unless she was listening to that song and watching the video.

She had changed her look. On the way to school, she’d duck behind the community center. She’d change her clothes, put on dark makeup and come out the other side looking like a miniature Katy Perry.

I’d stood up for her when people mocked her. I’d lied to her parents about what she was wearing. I’d told her she looked good.

Mrs. Derrick blamed me for Crissy’s obsession. It was true that the first time Crissy heard Katy Perry was when I’d played a song for her. But I hadn’t told her to go totally crazy over the singer and alter her entire life.

Still, I took the heat from Mrs. Derrick because I could. I didn’t live in that house. I didn’t have to be grounded or have my mother shake her head at me all the time.

A horn sounded in the street. I looked out to find a yellow cab idling at the curb. I locked the door, pocketed my cell phone and jumped in.

* * *

When I arrived at Paterson Center, Denise Cambridge was getting out of a cab directly in front of me. I’d seen pictures of her before, so I recognized her immediately. She was tall and heavyset. Her eyes were a deep chestnut brown that matched her hair. I’d heard her perform a few times already, even though she was fairly
new in the opera world. She was the lead soprano on two of the CDs Mrs. Sturgeon had played for us recently. We had likely both run into the same traffic on the beltway and were beyond late. Denise didn’t seem flustered in the slightest. I was stuffing my wallet back in my little purse when she stepped up beside me.

“Was that an accident?” I said. “I mean, did you see an accident on the beltway?”

“Yes, it was right in front of us.” She was dressed down. Beige slacks and a blue blouse. Stud earrings and a thin silver necklace. She always looked elegant. I’d seen photos of her in costume and knew she could be stunning.

“Was anyone hurt?” I said. We began walking toward the center. There was no breeze to speak of. The air hung there, heavy with humidity.

“Not that I could see. I heard that someone mistook the gas for the brake.” I liked her voice and the way she moved her hands while she spoke. She looked directly at me, but it wasn’t creepy the way intense eye contact sometimes is.

We stopped in front of the doors.

“Hailey McEwan, right?” she said.

“Yes.” I had no idea how she knew who I was.

“I was in the balcony yesterday when you sang. It was wonderful.”

“Oh, thank you,” I said. “I didn’t see you there.”

“I’ve been there every day,” she said. “I enjoy waiting in the background. Wow, is it ever hot out here.”

“It’s going to be brutal inside,” I said.

“I’m from California, and it gets warm there. But not like this. This is…” She looked at the sky. “Yes. Brutal.”

“If it’s any comfort, this is about as bad as it gets.”

“What we do for our art!” she said, chuckling and raising a fist to the sky. The grounds were empty.

“I think we’re pretty late,” I said.

Denise nodded and said, “In the music world, those arriving this late can only be seen one of two ways.” Her bracelets jingled as she moved her hands. The sound was soft and comforting. “First, as complete divas who believe the world revolves around them. Or, second, as disorganized, bumbling artists who simply don’t have it together and never will.”

“Those aren’t great options.”

She raised a finger. “But in the end, sometimes things happen and people are late. It’s not the end of the world.”

“My ride ditched me,” I admitted.

“That happens!” Denise said, laughing. “I’ve had that happen. Also, cars break down. Elevators get stuck. Costumes are torn or stained. Life happens!”

“But then, those are all your fault too, right? If you were organized, then you’d be early and always have a backup.”

“True. Some people, those who never run into difficulties in life, might see it that way. But you can teach them that things can be different.”

“How?”

She leaned against the door as a breeze finally rushed across us. “You have to decide how you’re going to walk in there. Will you go in with your head raised high? As if having people waiting for you is completely natural? Or will you enter with your head bowed, mumbling apologies?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “Which is better?”

“After how you sang yesterday?” Denise said, opening the door. “You’re allowed one diva day. Keep your head raised and find your place.”

I did as she suggested.

It felt strange. When we entered, the room quieted and everyone turned. I don’t think I would have been able to walk with my head raised had Denise not been beside me. But as it happened, it seemed as though I’d come
with
her and not simply met her outside. The look on Crissy’s face was priceless. She ditched me for no apparent reason, and I walked in with one of the principal singers. Isabel’s career was on the wane, but Denise was a true up-and-comer. Isabel was seen as one of the grand dames of opera. A national treasure. But most of the newspaper articles about this opera featured photos of Denise. The old-school lovers of opera would be out in force to see Isabel Rossetti sing. But the future of opera in America rested on Denise’s shoulders.

Mrs. Sturgeon waited for Denise and me to take our places and then brought her hands up in the air. “We’re taking it from bar three, Hailey.”

“Perfect,” I said. I resisted the urge to apologize for my lateness and raised my chin a little higher.

And then we filled the air with Mozart.

I glanced over at Denise now and then. She was singing along. Isabel had disappeared almost immediately after Denise and I arrived, leaving Crissy looking stranded out on the edge of the group.

Sean nudged me during a break.

“Carpooling with the stars now?” he said.

“Crissy ditched me,” I said. “I had to take a cab in.”

“By
ditched
, you mean…?”

“I mean, she texted, like, five seconds before she was supposed to be at my house to say she wasn’t coming.”

“That’s cold.” I waited for him to go on about suffering. Instead he said, “Have you talked to her yet?”

“No,” I said. “I’m not sure I’m going to.”

He looked at me sadly.

I wondered if Sean had a secret motive for wanting Crissy and me to patch things up. He and I had always been closer friends than he and Crissy were. I imagined this was mostly because of the massive crush he had on her and the resulting awkwardness whenever she was around. It did
him no good if Crissy and I were fighting. Not if he still had romantic leanings.

On the other hand, he was a good person. Maybe he just didn’t want to see two close friends at odds.

“I think you should,” he said. “You guys have been friends too long for something stupid to come between you.”

He was absolutely right. Sean was very often, and very annoyingly, right. I decided right there and then to talk to Crissy.

We could get past this. I knew we could.

Seven

C
rissy was always around Isabel, so it was hard to get her alone. In the end, I followed her into the washroom.

Crissy was at one of the sinks, washing her hands. As far as I could tell, we were the only people there.

“Listen,” I said as she turned to face me. Then I stopped. I sounded like some authority figure who was completely fed up with a trouble-making student. Also, when you begin with
Listen
, it feels more like a practiced statement than a conversation starter.

And the truth was, I’d practiced nothing. In fact, I had no idea what I was going to say. I felt awkward and like the words wouldn’t come easily. That was enough to make me uneasy.

“You know Denise?” Crissy said before I could figure out a follow up to
Listen
.

“We ran into each other outside,” I said. “We were both stuck on the beltway.”

“Oh,” Crissy said. “Was she giving you hints?”

“What kind of hints?” I said before remembering my accusation the day before about her and Isabel.

“Oh, you know. Suggestions on how you could do things better.”

“No,” I said.

Crissy shut the water off and went to the paper-towel dispenser.

“Listen, Crissy, about this audition or competition or whatever it is.” I’d started with
Listen
again. Like she didn’t have an option. Like I was
telling her
how things were going to be.

“Yes?”

The tone killed me. I’d heard it before from her. It was the one she used with people she no longer had any use for.

“We can’t let it get between us.”

“Okay,” she said, dropping the used paper towel into the garbage. “If you say so.”

“It’s one role,” I said.

“It’s a pretty big role.”

“It’s one role,” I said again. “There are going to be more.” Which sounded as if I was telling Crissy the part was mine and there would be others for her. I didn’t mean for it to sound that way. I truly didn’t.

“There are many roles,” Crissy said. She took a couple of steps toward me. “I’m still glad I got you into this.”

She smiled at me, and it felt real. Like the old Crissy was right there in front of me. She nodded to herself as though she’d decided on something. Then suddenly she pulled me into a hug.

It felt like everything was going to be okay for a moment there. It felt like old times. Then the door opened and someone came in. Crissy released me. “I have to go somewhere,” she said. She held the door for a moment and then said, “Bye.”

* * *

After Crissy left the washroom, I went to find Sean. He loaded up a plate at the food table while I told him what had happened.

“Maybe she had an appointment,” Sean said.

“Lunch is forty-five minutes,” I said.

“Okay, fine,” Sean said, grabbing a celery stick from the veggie plate. “She is plotting against you. Her only intent in this world is to destroy you and all you love.”

“I’m not saying that,” I said.

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying the way she said goodbye felt seriously final.”

We took our plates of food to our corner and slid down the wall.

Sean munched on his sandwich for a moment and then put it down forcefully on his plate. “Okay. Here’s the thing. She wants that part. We both know she does. She doesn’t want to be second to you or anyone else. She sees singing as her future. This part could be a career starter, no doubt about it. That is all she’s focused on right now. And your feelings are hurt because of it.”

He flicked at his hair and smushed his nose. This is a weird habit he has—he puts his palm on the end of his nose and smushes it from side to side. I have no idea why.

“She decided not to pick me up today. Out of nowhere,” I said. My voice was quivering.
“And in the washroom she pretty much accused me of trying to bring Denise to my side. Like there are sides.”

“Explain again what you were doing yesterday,” Sean said. “When you accused her of being coached by Isabel?”

“I was mad.”

Sean laughed. “Everyone’s mad at one another then. Hopefully, the final audition is soon. Then one of you can get the part and the other can feel wronged for a while. Maybe that’s all this needs—some kind of finality. A winner.”

“I understand she wants the part,” I said, pretty much ignoring Sean. “But at what cost?”

Sean continued to smush his nose. Then he nodded his head as if an idea had surfaced. “At any cost, Hailey. She’s a very determined person. You know that.”

Sean was right. It was like a punch in the stomach how right he was. I’d been trying to convince myself that everything would change. That something would happen to push us together rather than tear us apart.

I didn’t want to be in a competition with Crissy. But I knew that competition was at the
heart of everything. Directors and conductors wanted the best. I understood that. And I hated it.

Sean snapped his fingers. “This story is about Crissy finding out what friendship is worth. That it’s more important than whatever it is she thinks she’s going to find once she becomes Barbarina in
The Marriage of Figaro
.”

“What story?” I asked, glancing around to make certain we hadn’t been teleported to a stage. Sean had a deep love of the theater and often wandered into detours about story and suffering.

“The story of Hailey and Crissy and the fight for the role of Barbarina.”

“What are you talking about, Sean?”

“The moral of this story is going to be that Crissy comes to understand that friendship is more important than anything else. It’s actually pretty Disney, if you think about it.”

“We’re not in a movie, Sean.”

“I know, I know. But if we were, I’d bet any money that was the moral. Like
Toy Story
.”

I decided it was time to try to drive Sean away from his weird musings. Luckily, he had a ham sandwich to deal with.

“Maybe I should offer to be the backup and forget about it,” I said. Then I sighed dramatically without meaning to.

“Absolutely not, Hailey,” Sean said, his mouth stuffed with lettuce and a dangle of ham.

“Why not? It would solve everything.”