Sing Me to Sleep

by Angela Morrison

  “No.” Unyielding. Harsh. Commanding. All in one solid negative.

  That gets me up on my feet. “And you’re not using me?”

  I’m glad I can’t see his face. “What does that mean?”

  “Terri asked about you—about us. She said I shouldn’t agree to anything that makes me uncomfortable.”

  “That’s rich.”

  Mom’s head pops around the corner. “You okay?” Guess I’m getting screechy.

  I wave her off and run up the stairs hissing into the phone. “Maybe I’m not comfortable with quitting my choir. Maybe I’m not comfortable singing with all those nice AYS girls. Maybe I’m not comfortable with you planning my life.”

  Silence. He starts saying something and stops. Clears his throat. Twice. “Comfort is highly overrated. Joining the AYS won’t be comfortable. It’ll be loads of hard work. I didn’t think you’d be afraid of work. I thought you’d eat it up.”

  “It’s not the work.” I make it to my room, shut the door, and lean back against it.

  He’s saying, “Are you afraid of spending more time with me? Does that make you uncomfortable?”

  Does it? I don’t know. I thought that’s what I wanted. All I wanted. “Sometimes I am afraid.” I sink slowly to the floor. “Not of you—for you.”

  “Don’t worry about me.” His tone cuts.

  Crap. He’s angry. But I keep pushing. “Back in Lausanne—Blake said—”

  “Blake’s an idiot.”

  “It’s eating me up. When we’re together, you’re overpowering. I can’t think. But when I’m alone—that’s all I do.” I’m talking too loud again.

  “Then we need to be together more.” I’m on the verge of dissolving into the sexy, coaxing thick in his voice.

  I bang my head back against the door to clear it. “You’re sidestepping me again.”

  “You’ve got a lot of music to learn. That should keep you busy until Tuesday. No more worrying.”

  His bossy tactic gives me backbone. “I’m not coming Tuesday.”

  “You have to.”

  “No. I don’t.”

  He heats up. “You’ll be way behind. It’s tough to miss even one week of practice. They started this week. If you don’t go Tuesday, you’ll be two weeks behind. You’ll miss solo auditions.”

  “If they want me to solo, they know how I sing.” I get on my feet and glance around my cluttered room for that folder of music.

  “But you have to compete for it.”

  I laugh. “Are you saying there are claws under the nice?”

  “Hardly. They give everyone a shot.”

  “So I don’t solo on those ten pieces.” I uncover the folder on my dresser and flip through the pieces. Some of them look really good.

  “I vouched for you. My rep’s on the line here. Get over yourself and call Terri.”

  I slam the folder shut. “I don’t like being told what to do. I didn’t ask you to risk your precious name for me.” My room is too hot. I go over to my window and open it. Muggy out. I pull it closed, stand staring out at the overcast afternoon and the cars going by on the cracked asphalt.

  “Please, Beth. I miss you.” His voice is slinky again. “Let’s not fight over this.”

  Crap. We’re fighting. The defiance drips out of me. I don’t want to fight with him. “Isn’t there a Plan C out there?”

  “Amabile will be so good for you. Please. Come sing with me.”

  “It’s going to break Terri’s heart.”

  “If she cares about you, she’ll be pleased.” He’s right. Again.

  “I can’t tell her over the phone.”

  He exhales. “Go Tuesday, then. I’ll email the AYS directors and tell them you’re winding up your commitment with Bliss.”

  “Thank you.” Relief washes through me. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m scared.”

  “Don’t be.” That’s easy for him to say. He’s never been scared in his life. “I’ll see you Friday then.”

  Friday? That’s way too long. “How about I drive over to your place tomorrow afternoon? You’re not busy on Sunday are you? Can’t I meet your parents?”

  Too fast, he says, “Sorry. No can do.”

  “You met my mom. You blew her away.”

  “Good to know. The way you’re talking tonight I may need an ally in this. What does she think about you joining Amabile?”

  I turn away from my window. “I haven’t told her. I didn’t know it was all so definite until last night. No sense getting her hopes up for nothing.” Is that the truth? I don’t know.

  Derek doesn’t believe me. “The only one undecided here is you. Let me talk to her.”

  “No way.”

  “You are quitting Tuesday?”

  “Of course.”

  “Then commit. Tell your mum or I will.”

  “You’d make a good Central American dictator.”

  “Not big enough for me.”

  “Total global domination?”

  “Now she’s talking.”

  I sit cross-legged in the middle of my bed. He’s got me smiling again. “Are you sure there’s no Plan C churning in the maniacal recesses of your genius?”

  “Talk online. Text. Get an international calling plan. I got my cell bill. The calls to you wiped out my entire college savings account.”

  “But you’re not going.”

  “This year. I didn’t say I was never going.”

  My smile fades. “You mean I sacrifice my choir and join Amabile so I can be with you, and you’re going to take off on me?”

  “You’re more likely to take off on me.”

  An exasperated huff escapes me. “I don’t have the bucks for that.”

  “And I do? School or no school—I have to live at home. Right now, I just want to make it through this fall.”

  “You keep saying that. I don’t get it. What’s so tough? All you’re doing is sitting around composing, singing with your choir, and pulling my puppet strings.”

  “I don’t want to get into it on the phone.”

  “You never do.”

  “I need to go.”

  “Wait a minute.”

  “Really, Beth.”

  “Stop.” It hits me that I finally have bargaining power on my side. “Let’s make a deal. I quit my choir Tuesday, and you tell me everything on Friday.”

  “Please, Beth. Don’t put me in a corner like that. Trust me.”

  My phone goes dead.

  I scream words Derek’s nice ex-girlfriend doesn’t know and pitch my cell across the room. It hits the wall next to my bed and disappears down the crack.

  Dang. I’m toast if it broke. I get down on my belly and start pulling crap out from under my bed so I can get to the phone. When I cleaned it up last week, I avoided under the bed. Actually, I shoved a bunch more dirty clothes, magazines, and random junk under it.

  There’s my binder from the Choral Olympics. I was supposed to turn it in last week. I sit up, cross my legs, open the binder, and turn slowly through the music. I’ll miss them. Terri. Leah. Stupid Sarah. My altos who follow wherever I lead. I’ll even miss Meadow. They’re no longer just girls in the choir who barely speak to me. They are friends.

  I never had girlfriends before. Normal girls at school wouldn’t ever have anything to do with me. And the other outcasts—the fat ones and mutants like me—kept to their own lone selves. Dumb. I know. I should have reached out, formed a powerful alliance of the forbidden, and taken over the whole school. It will be so hard to walk into the church Tuesday night and tell them I’m joining the Amabile Youth Singers.

  I open the sheet music for “Take Me Home” and find two of Derek’s tissues with the imprint of his rose between the pages of my solo. I get up on my knees, find the flattened flower on my nightstand, breathe in its faint sweetness. Why can’t we go back? Spend our lives on that bench on the banks of Lake Geneva, watching the clouds drift past the Alps across the smooth blue sheet of water, discovering each other.

 
; Those moments were magic. When I think back, it feels like I’m watching a play. It’s someone else crying on Derek’s chest, someone else singing that sexy pop duet with him, someone else kissing him good-bye in front of the bus, someone else watching him cough in the cold morning light as we rolled away.

  He should be with that girl at Amabile. She knows her lines, has the stage business down. She won’t trip and take out all the scenery. She’ll bat her eyes and nod her head. “Yes, Derek. Of course, Derek. Whatever you want, Derek.”

  He’s in love with her. Not me. I’m a shadow. Leftovers. Hungry and grasping—wanting more than he’s prepared to give. Afraid to give him what he wants.

  It should be easy. Most guys would want my body and that’s it. Use me up and then split—like bio-Dad did to Mom. All Derek wants is to sing with me. He’s on an entirely different plane of existence. If this was about sex, it would be so much easier.

  But that’s not what he wants.

  He wants my soul.

  chapter 24

  CREEPY

  I spend all day Sunday learning the AYS music. I sit down at the piano and pick out some of the trickier parts. Four of the pieces are on their old CDs that I’ve got uploaded on my iPod. I make myself a practice playlist and walk around school Monday and Tuesday with my headphones on. There’s a killer solo in one of the new pieces that I want.

  I still haven’t told Mom what I’m doing. What if she doesn’t want me to quit Bliss? She’s clueless about the youth choir world. She doesn’t get how big an opportunity this is. I mean, I could be on one of those CDs. If I wasn’t so gutless, I’d be singing with them tonight instead of driving all the way down to Ann Arbor again. If I wasn’t so gutless, I’d get to see Derek again. We connected online last night for a few exchanges, and then he had to go, with a “good luck tomorrow night.” I’m going to need more than luck.

  “Hey.” Scott bumps my arm as he sits down beside me in choir.

  “Not today, please.”

  He puts both hands up. “Excuse me.”

  “Sorry. I’ve got a big decision to make tonight.”

  “Don’t.”

  “Honestly—is that all you ever think about?” I wiggle my butt over to the far side of my chair. “Did you ever think there could be more than one type of big decision in a relationship?”

  “Good to hear.”

  “The Amabile Youth Singers has offered me a place.” Why am I telling Scott? “I have to tell Terri tonight.”

  “And you’re not sure?”

  “No. I am. It’s an amazing opportunity and—”

  “Derek’s making you.”

  “No.”

  “Then why is it a ‘big decision’?”

  “You’re twisting what I said.”

  “No. You’re denying what you said. Gee—” He rifles his hands through his hair. “Don’t let him control you like that. It’s creepy.”

  “Shut up. You don’t know what you’re talking about.” I turn my shoulder to him and focus on the music we have to sing.

  As I drive down to Ann Arbor, Scott’s words hum in the drone of the freeway. Creepy. A weird shiver hits me. I try to shake it off. I remind myself that this drive to Ann Arbor is ninety minutes—on a good day. London is a lot closer. And the drive is pretty. All those trees and fields. When the leaves turn this fall, it’ll be like driving through a postcard. And then I’ll get there and get to see Derek—on Fridays we’ll sing together half the night. Make out the rest of it. That makes me almost turn the car around and head for the bridge to Canada. He would be so happy if I called him and told him to meet after the AYS practice. I could be in his arms again tonight. I’ll go Thursday and tell Terri. No big deal.

  Crap. I’ve gone too far south. I just passed the sign to Windsor. I’m a full two hours away from London. And the AYS start way early. If I try to change course, I’ll end up missing both.

  I need to pull myself together. All I can think about is making out with Derek. It seems to drive my decisions more than anything else. How shallow is that?

  I will do this—swallow my cowardice, misgivings, my craving to get behind Derek’s perfect facade to the trouble he refuses to share with me, and silence Scott’s voice saying—He doesn’t treat you, babe, like I do—

  He doesn’t meet you babe, like me.

  I’ ll be your rescue on the horizon,

  Your prince on bended knee.

  I’ ll climb your walls,

  The dragons fall,

  If you’ ll stay here, babe, with me.

  He’s creepy, so creepy, stay with me.

  You’re the beauty to my beast.

  If we kiss, the spell will release.

  It’s midnight, girl, the ball has passed,

  Wake up, and you’ ll see

  Whose love will last.

  He’s creepy-

  No, he’s not. Shut up, Scott. You can’t even sing.

  I march into practice ready to tell the world I’m joining Amabile.

  Terri is in the front with a smile bubbling from ear to shining ear. “Good, Beth. I didn’t want to make this announcement without you.”

  I squeeze through the altos and take my seat next to Sarah. “What’s up?”

  She shrugs her shoulders.

  “Okay.” Terri takes a big breath and fans her face. She’s pink. Whoa. Maybe she’s met a guy. She’s getting married and leaving us. She’s going to introduce a new director that I will have absolutely no loyalty to. Bliss will fall apart without Terri. Lucky I’m leaving.

  “Is everybody ready?”

  “Get on with it.” Meadow echoes what we’re all thinking.

  “I went to the mailbox this morning and look what I found.” Terri waves an off-white envelope in the air. “Any guesses?”

  “No! ” we all shout back.

  “Now, girls, girls, remember—your voices.” She slowly slides out a letter and shakes it open. “Dear Miss Bolton, Thank you for your grant application. The commission is impressed with Bliss Youth Singers’ achievement on the world stage and is delighted to approve your request.”

  Grant? Whoopee. We’ll get new hair bows. I’m so glad I’m out of here.

  Terri pauses, looks at all of us, and continues reading. “We look forward to hearing the CD you plan to produce.”

  CD? We’re cutting a CD of our own?

  “What do you say, girls?” She’s looking straight at me. “Are you up for it?”

  Derek’s not online when I get home, so I call him. I don’t care what it costs. I use the landline, though. Maybe Mom won’t notice when it shows up on the bill. And she likes him. She still keeps bringing up Scott—but she likes Derek. Enough to spring for a few international long-distance phone calls. We need to get a cheap plan.

  Derek doesn’t pick up. It’s way late. Practice went over. We sang through all our old favorites trying to decide what to put on the CD. “Take Me Home”—for sure. Our other competition pieces. And all the new stuff Terri chose for me to sing this year.

  “You know what would be cool,” Leah piped up. “If Beth could get Derek to come and sing that duet with her. We could do the backup.”

  I turned at least red—probably purple.

  Terri winked at me. “I’ll check into the licensing if you think he would?”

  “I don’t know. He’s really busy. I’ll ask.” I’m such a liar. But what could I do?

  Derek’s voice-mail comes on, and I hang up. Maybe he’s asleep. I thought he’d wait up—want to talk. I check my computer screen again. No Derek. I can’t do this in an email. No way.

  That’s when I decide not to tell him until I see him. I’ll go Friday. Steal one more night in Amabile’s rarified air.

  I get there late. He’s waiting outside the church. He kisses me too quick and hustles me to the door. “How did it go Tuesday?”

  “I’ll tell you after.”

  I can’t relax and get into the singing. I’m an intruder. What am I doing here? The wispy-beard director
gets an alto and soprano to try the solo I sang last week. It works. They so don’t need me.

  Derek leans over and whispers, “You were much better.”

  I shake my head.

  He rolls his eyes. “Not even close.”

  His ex sings the next song with a solo. Her voice is delicate—not breathy like Meadow’s but feminine and pretty—fairies sing like that when they dance at midnight. I keep my eyes focused on the music. No way do I dare look at Derek. What if his eyes read regret?

  He lost her for me? It doesn’t make any sense. He could get her back easy. Maybe, after tonight, he’ll want that.

  After choir, he makes me hop on the back of his bike. “You aboard is the best way to ensure my safety.”

  I can’t argue.

  I press my face into his leather-jacketed back and enjoy hanging on to him. He rides over a bridge and then takes a narrow road down into a park. It’s full of old maple trees. When he shuts off his bike, I can hear moving water—close.

  “I found us a new bench.” He leads me to a green wooden park bench beside the small river that splits London in two. “This is the Thames. Not Lake Geneva—but—”

  “I love it.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Not for donuts.”

  He sits down and pulls me beside him. We fall easily into our Lausanne make-out position. It feels so right. I comb his silky dark hair out of his eyes.

  “So you’re okay? Tuesday wasn’t too traumatic?”

  I get my mouth on his. I need this first. I need the assurance of his lips pressing harder and harder. I need his arms and his shoulders and his chest. I need to cling to him and kiss. I get hungrier and hungrier.

  “Hey—hey. Slow it down.” He presses his cheek against mine. “We’ve got all the time you want tonight.”

  I press my face into his shoulder.

  “You’re not cold, are you?” His fingers slide through my hair.

  I put a ton of conditioner on it, didn’t rinse it all out, and left it wavy. I wanted it soft for him. I can tell he likes it.

  “Thanks, Beth. I told you this would work.” He shifts me so my head falls back on his arms and bends to kiss me again.