by Sarina Bowen
She may have sat in this very corner of the library once. She would have been almost exactly my age.
At Claiborne, I find I’m able to think of her without too much pain. In Orlando I had to squeeze her out of my mind, because I was so scared all the time that thoughts of her might break me. Here, I miss her in a way that isn’t quite so gut-wrenching. Coming to Claiborne alone had been our plan. I was supposed to miss her here, in this little world of bricks and leaded-glass windows.
Get that assignment done, Rachel, she whispers to me when I get too lost in my daydreams.
* * *
Two weeks after my Belle Choir audition, I finally get an email from them. And it sends me running all the way back to Habernacker to find Jake. In our entryway, I keep climbing past my own door until I get to Jake’s. Pausing there to get my panting under control, I eventually knock.
There’s nobody home.
Defeated, I skip down two flights, only to find him in my own common room, studying with Aurora.
“Help me, Jake,” I say, flinging myself onto the fluffy rug Aurora bought for our room.
“He would love to,” Aurora says from the window seat.
Jake’s color deepens. “Do you come seeking nerd wisdom?” His T-shirt reads Math Ninja and pictures a warrior about to karate chop the symbol for Pi.
“I need to know what a rush meal is. I’ve just been invited to one.”
“For the Belle Choir?” He puts down his book.
“Yes.”
“Nice,” he says. “You’ll still talk to us little people after they tap you, right?”
“Only if you tell her what a rush meal is,” Aurora puts in.
“Okay. A rush meal is just dinner in the dining hall. But three or four of the singers sit with you and try to figure out if you’re cool enough to spend the rest of the year with. It’s really all just a popularity contest.”
My heart drops to my stomach. “Ugh. I thought it was supposed to be about the music?”
“You’d think.” Jake nods. “But you’d be wrong.”
“Your audition must have gone well,” Aurora points out.
“I guess.” But singing is easier than conversation.
* * *
The next evening I’m tackling some problems for calculus on our window seat. But Aurora is hungry. “I just want to finish this chapter, okay? And then we’ll eat,” I promise.
She taps her foot on our ancient oak floor. “Can we go now? The homework will wait for you. Your rush meal is not tonight?”
“Nope. Tomorrow.”
“Then what are we waiting for?”
Since I prefer not to say, I give in, closing my book. “Let’s go, then.”
As we trot down the entryway stairs, I hear my phone chime with a text from Frederick. He’s back in town, and I’ve given him his own ringtone now. Every time it rings, I check it immediately. I’m waiting for a text that says, I found a house.
If he doesn’t, he’ll probably go back to L.A. for good. I’m sort of bracing myself. But earlier today he sent a text that said only: Inane. It took me a moment, but then I realized he’d added another word to our strange collection of negatives without positives.
Not to be outdone, I’d spent a portion of my Russian lit lecture trying to think of a follow-up. Feckless I’d eventually replied. And if the new text in my pocket is another word from Frederick, I’m ready with a follow-up.
At the bottom of the stairs, I throw open the door and almost run right into my father.
“That was quick,” he says.
“What?”
“I just texted you to ask if you were free for dinner. Tomorrow, I have to go back to L.A. Henry’s got his panties in a bunch.”
“Oh.” Since he hasn’t found a house yet… Is this it? He’s throwing in the towel on Claiborne?
I don’t ask, because Aurora is standing beside me.
He clears his throat. “So what do you girls feel like? Sushi? Burgers? I’ve already discovered that burritos are out of the question.”
“That bad, are they?” Aurora smiles.
“Whatever you’re thinking, it’s worse.” Frederick rocks back on his heels. “I’m going to eat nothing but Mexican food for the next three weeks. And maybe I’ll bring some burritos in my carry-on when I come back.”
I replay the words he’s just said in my head, and then follow Frederick and Aurora toward Main Street.
We end up at Wheelock’s, where Darcy, the exuberant waitress, pounces once again. “You’re back!” she shrieks. “Give me two minutes, and I’ll have your special table cleared.”
“Your special table?” I ask when she walks away.
But he only points at me and smiles. “Disheveled,” he says.
“Incognito!” I reply.
“What?” Aurora asks.
“It’s just a word game we play,” I explain.
“Oh, like Friendly Words?”
Frederick winks at me. “Actually, I may have a bit of a Friendly Words addiction.”
Aurora’s eyes light up, and she digs her phone out of her purse. “What’s your handle? Rachel, is he going to crush me?”
Darcy beckons to us.
“We’ll see,” my father says, leading us to a table. “Rachel has never challenged me to a game of Friendly Words.” He pulls out my chair for me. “I think she’s chicken.”
“What?” I shoot back. “Maybe I’m just trying to save your feelings.”
He takes out his phone. “You realize we have to settle this, right? One game, no tears. What’s your chat handle?”
“ChoirGirl1998.”
I see his eyes rise from his phone to me. “Choir girl?”
Whoops. “It’s a movie reference,” I lie. “Chick flick.”
Aurora gives me a strange look. But Frederick taps on his phone, oblivious.
“Well, hello again!” The waitress puts a beer in front of Frederick.
“Hi, Darcy,” Frederick says.
“I assume you wanted your usual. Unless you’d like to mix it up for once in your life.”
“If it aint’ broken…” he says. This must be their new shtick.
“And what can I bring you girls?”
“Diet Coke, please?”
“Sure, honey.”
“Me too,” Aurora adds. And when Darcy retreats, Aurora asks Frederick what he’s going to do in L.A.
“Meetings. A few hours in the recording studio. More meetings. Mexican food.”
“What happens in the recording studio?” she asks. “Wait—do you still need surgery on your hand?”
He shakes out his left wrist. “I’m all set now.”
“Strange,” I say, flipping my menu closed. “Wasn’t it your picking hand?”
“Yep,” he says easily. “It’s solid now.”
“That is lucky,” Aurora says. Then she asks him fifty questions about the recording studio, and I hang on every word.
“Still no house yet, huh?” I ask later, putting the question to him as casually as I can, punctuating it by stealing one of his fries.
“It’s frustrating,” he says. “There aren’t many houses for sale. But the realtor is watching for me while I’m gone. The market is a little tight, but she promises something will come up.”
“What about renting?” Aurora asks.
“Same story. And I can’t live in an apartment because when I practice, it’s loud.”
Darcy comes by again. “How is everything? Can I bring anyone a refill? Another beer?” While I stare, the woman actually gives my father’s shoulders a very brief massage.
“Thanks, Darcy, but I think we’re fine,” he says.
“Wow,” I whisper after she leaves. “That was embarrassing.”
“I come here a lot,” he says with a tiny shrug.
“She is not so bad,” Aurora argues. “It’s just that she’s not afraid to show affection. You should try it sometime.” She steals one of Frederick’s fries too, and then points it at me. “Ra
chel has a thing for our neighbor.”
“Aurora!” I yelp. “I do not.”
“You are such a liar. You think I didn’t notice you were stalling tonight, because he gets to the dining hall late on Tuesdays and Thursdays?”
Crap. “I needed to ask him for help with my calculus homework.”
Both Aurora and Frederick laugh. “Subtle,” he says.
Darcy rounds the corner to check on us for the ten-thousandth time. “Check, please,” I say a little more forcefully than is strictly necessary.
“You got it, baby.” She pats my arm, as if we’re besties.
* * *
The following night is my rush meal. And I know it will go poorly the moment Jessica opens with, “So, tell us about yourself.”
Three faces look across the table at me. In addition to the pitch, who is clearly in charge, there is another Jessica as well. My third interrogator is Daria. Of the three, she has the warmest smile.
“Well, I’m from Orlando.” That’s going to be my standard opener for the foreseeable future. “I went to a giant school with a big choral program, so there was lots of opportunity for performing.”
Their nods are polite.
“We did a bunch of choral competitions.” God, could I be any less cool? I’m a big nerd who spends a lot of time on homework. But I can’t make that sound cool.
“And what draws you to the Belle Choir?”
“I just really like your sound.” Clunk. Another dull statement. But it’s not easy to put into words how badly I need to stand in that half-circle of girls and feel the warmth of other voices vibrating around me. Singing is my favorite thing in the world, and I need that in my life. Badly. I haven’t sung a note in months, and that’s not something I can explain, either.
“Are you also auditioning for the Glee Club?” Daria asks.
“Oh! No,” I say quickly. But I can see my tactical error on their faces. Rushing only the Belle Choir is too presumptuous. “I like your repertoire best,” I add lamely. I’m flailing.
“Why don’t you tell us about the kinds of music that interest you?” Jessica suggests. “What do you listen to?”
“Right.” I’m on firmer footing when I don’t have to talk about myself. Then again, I listen to a whole lot of male singer-songwriters my father’s age and older. And isn’t that just plain weird?
Think, Rachel! “Well, for female vocals, I like the Civil Wars.” That’s a good start. “Um, Adele has great timbre, but some of her songwriting is a little poppy for my taste.”
They’re nodding along, so I kept going. “I’m a bit of a nerd about songwriters. Ingrid Michaelson is interesting to me. And Lourdes, because she did everything so young.”
“She is cool,” Daria agrees.
“For group vocals, I like some older stuff by the Indigo Girls—they always amaze me. Talk about blending voices…”
“Right?” Jessica puts in.
My brain freezes up again. But that’s when Aurora sets a cup of coffee on the table and sits down next to me. I’ve never been so happy to see anyone in my life.
“This is my roommate, Aurora,” I introduce her. “This is Jessica and Jessica and Daria.”
Aurora beams at them. What I wouldn’t do for a tiny bit of my roommate’s boundless confidence. “She dragged me to your concert,” Aurora says with a smile. “You are getting the very best one with Rachel. Music is in her blood.”
I give Aurora a warning look, but she returns it with a wink.
“How’s that?” Jessica asks.
“My father is a singer-songwriter,” I say slowly. I really hadn’t planned on going there.
“Anyone we’ve heard?” she presses.
“Well…he’s Freddy Ricks.”
Both Jessicas shriek at once, stunning me. And then they begin to laugh.
“I told you that was him at the Boat House,” the pitch says, pushing Other Jessica’s shoulder. “You owe me a smoothie.”
“I didn’t take the bet!”
“You should have.”
They keep laughing, and Aurora gives me a secretive little smile.
“Wow,” Daria says slowly, covering her mouth with her hand. “Your dad is so amazing.”
The tenor of the conversation changes immediately. Both Jessicas lean forward in their chairs. “You must get to meet some pretty cool people,” the pitch guesses.
“You could go backstage anywhere,” Daria adds.
I shrug, feeling sweaty. This line of questioning has its own perils. “His band members are fun. I try not to act like a crazy fan girl, but it’s hard.” That is certainly true enough.
“Maybe he would arrange a song for us,” Daria says.
Oh, crap. “I didn’t tell him yet that I was auditioning,” I say quickly. I don’t add that he’s never heard me sing. Not even in the shower.
Jessica looks at her watch. “We have a few more of these meetings tonight. Do you have any questions, Rachel?”
“Just one,” I admit. “How many open spots are there? I don’t know whether or not to get my hopes up.”
“Oh, there’s four,” Jessica says with a wink. “And two are for altos this year.”
“You are definitely getting in,” Aurora says after they go away.
With my fork, I toy with my salad. “I dropped Frederick’s name. I am a name-dropper.”
“I dropped it,” Aurora corrects, sipping her coffee. “But do you think there are better altos than you?”
“Heck no.”
She grins. “And do you think he’d mind?”
“Probably not.”
But I mind. And somewhere out in the ether, Mom sighs with disapproval.
“Why do you call him Frederick?” Aurora asks suddenly. And here I’d thought I was done being interviewed.
“It’s his name.” It’s also what my mother called him on those few occasions she’d mentioned him.
“You two weren’t close before your mother died?” Aurora asks softly.
“You could say that.” I load dishes back onto my tray. “Shall we go?”
“Sure.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Belle Choir doesn’t contact me again, but apparently that’s normal. Instead of emailing, the competitive musical groups hold something called Tap Night, where they actually run around campus and visit the people they’re tapping.
Nobody knows when Tap Night will actually happen, though.
The whole thing makes me nervous. So I dive into my homework with the fervor of a new girl. And I don’t worry about making more friends, because I’ve already found the two best ones.
Jake and Aurora prove to be the sort who are always up for anything. Fake climbing-wall setup on the lawn? They’re the first to strap on the crotch-grabbing harnesses and race to the top, Jake ringing the bell before Aurora can catch him. Bong passed around the entryway when the resident advisor is away for the weekend? Aurora and Jake are good for a hit.
I defer, mumbling, “I know, I have a good-girl complex.”
Aurora shakes her head, blowing smoke out of her nose. “Never apologize for being a good girl,” she says. “It looks good on you.”
I hope the Belle Choir thinks so.
Instead of waiting around in my room, hoping they’ll show up, I decide to keep working at the library. Some guy in a soccer jacket has the audacity to sit in my favorite third-floor study carrel, so I have to walk up and down the rows of books until I find an empty one.
When I sit down, my gaze snags on a shelf of books that I wouldn’t expect the library to have. It’s several years’ worth of Claiborne, New Hampshire phone books.
I get right up again and examine them. There’s a copy from 1995, and that’s the one I pull off the shelf. I flip quickly to the “K” section and scan for my last name.
And there it is. Alana Kress, 154 Armory Street, in the town of Wilder. Alana was my grandmother. She died when I was three, after Mom and I had already moved to Florida.
I jot down
the address and look it up on an online map. The house is three miles away. It might take me an hour to walk there.
Someday I will. If my mom lived there, I want to see it.
* * *
When Frederick returns from L.A., I meet him for coffee on Main Street. Word has gotten out that he’s been lurking in Claiborne, apparently. We get some curious looks, which Frederick is very good at ignoring.
Maybe he doesn’t even notice people staring anymore.
“What are you doing this week?” I ask him.
“Looking at houses. Avoiding Henry’s calls.”
“How’s that going?”
“Mute is a very useful feature.”
“I meant the other thing.” I stir the coffee in my cup and try to look disinterested.
“It’s a small town, and there’s not much available. But the realtor says something will shake loose eventually.”
I wonder what will happen if nothing does.
“What’s new with you?” he asks.
“Homework, and plenty of it.” I never told him about my Belle Choir audition, and since I haven’t heard from them, it seems like I never will.
That Saturday night, Aurora suggests a horror movie that’s playing in the student center.
“Let’s watch something here,” Jake suggests, sitting on the S.L.O.— the squishy Sofa-Like Object that Aurora and I bought. It’s a cross between a futon and a giant beanbag, and it fits the three of us, more or less.
“Horror makes you squeamish?” I tease.
“Did you just call me chicken?” He smiles back at me, and I find myself wanting to reach out and measure his dimple with my fingertip.
“Or we could play Hearts,” Aurora proposes. “The three-person version.”
“Sure,” Jake says. “Get the cards.”
* * *
I lose miserably, several times in a row. “Ugh. Can we go out for a snack now?” There’s a gelato place that’s open until nine on the weekends.
