The Sound of Us

by Julie Hammerle

  When we get to the practice rooms, I dump my stuff on the piano and duck out immediately to chat with Kendra. She’s in one of the corner rooms with windows on two sides.

  “Do you know what Norman’s deal is?” I ask her as soon as I shut the door. It’s gorgeous outside today. I try not to think about how much time I’ve spent indoors this summer, locked in tiny, cell-like rooms, facing inward, toward the door, instead of watching the window.

  She ruffles her papers over the piano keys and makes a note on one page with a music-themed pencil she keeps tucked over one ear when she rehearses. “Norman? Nothing that I know of.”

  “He’s acting weird.”

  “When is he not acting weird?” she says. “He’s Norman.”

  “Exactly.” I lean against the doorjamb. “He’s usually completely dorky and happy-go-lucky, but today he’s all dark clouds and sorrow. He’s Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh.”

  Kendra peers at me. “Why do you care so much?”

  “I don’t. I mean, I do care if something’s wrong with him, but…I don’t know.” I’m not sure if I’m ready to bring up the Jack stuff. I mean, most of Jack’s and my relationship, such as it is, has been built on the two of us performing illegal music in the dormitory basement. That’s not information I should give up willingly, especially when there’s a mole around.

  Kendra jumps to another conclusion. “Wait a minute.” She stands up and slaps her hands on the top of the piano. “Do you like Norman?”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “No. I promise you. I don’t like Norman.” My voice gets quiet and I admit out of the side of my mouth, “I like his roommate, Jack.”

  “Khaki boy?” Kendra puts a hand on her hip.

  “Khaki boy.” I plop down in the armchair just inside the door and give Kendra the deal. “Norman caught the two of us hanging out last night—”

  She raises her eyebrows. “Hanging out?”

  “Yes,” I say. “Hanging out. That’s it.” Sure, we were hanging out while performing a song that could get me kicked out of camp, but whatever. Semantics.

  “And?” She sits back down at the piano.

  “Norman walked in and was, like, super pissed that Jack was even talking to me. He was irrationally angry. It was weird.” I think about it for a second. “I mean, Norman knew that Jack and I had been hanging out and watching Project Earth, so I’m not sure what’s different now.” I shake my head. “Something’s up.”

  Kendra shrugs. “You’re right. It sounds weird, but I have no idea about anything. I’ll let you know if I find out.”

  Later that night, we head en masse to the cafeteria for dinner. I grab my usual tray of turkey sandwich, banana, carrot sticks, and cookies and sit with my friends. About five minutes in, I spot Jack with a bunch of golf camp guys. I raise my hand to wave him over, but Norman stops me. He physically pulls my arm down to my side.

  “What the hell?” I say, wresting my arm back from him.

  “We don’t eat with him anymore,” Norman says. “We’re done with him.”

  “You don’t get to decide who I’m friends with.”

  “No, I don’t.” Norman crunches on a carrot. “But something tells me Jack will be keeping his distance from now on.”

  Jack’s eyes meet mine for a moment. He gives me a sad smile and mouths the word, “Sorry,” before following the golf douchebags to a table in the back of the room.

  For the rest of the night and into breakfast, Mary, Kendra, Brie, and I try to figure it out.

  “Maybe Norman’s in love with you,” says Mary.

  “Ooh,” says Kendra, clapping her hands. “Maybe. I bet he called dibs on you and is pissed at Jack for disrespecting the brotherhood.”

  “I doubt that’s the reason.” Norman has never acted like he was into me at all. He’s always been friendly and maybe a little flirty, but that’s it. And he’s like that with everyone, except for the girls he actually thinks are hot, like Daffodil. However, as much as I’m sure Norman doesn’t like like me, this doesn’t seem like an altogether off-base theory. He is acting mean and jealous. He’s acting like Beth when our friend started crushing on the guy Beth liked.

  “Maybe Norman’s in love with Jack,” says Brie from her bed, her eyes on some song she’s trying to learn.

  “Yeah, right.” I roll my eyes at her. “Think about Norman’s bed. All the naked ladies.”

  “A smoke screen,” she says.

  I decide that I need to find out what’s going on, and the best way to do that is to get in touch with Jack. We haven’t exchanged any information. I don’t know his phone number, email address, social media accounts, nothing. I don’t even know his last name. He’s just…Jack.

  So I do the only thing I can do. I write a note. “What’s going on?” it says. I fold it, tape it, write his name on it, and shove it under his door, hoping he gets it before Norman can intercept our communication. I feel like Dana that time on Project Earth when she and Ethan were prisoners in this alien war camp and they could only communicate by tapping Morse code on the wall between their cells.

  The next morning, I wake up to find a note under my own door. It says, “Your room? Tonight? Watch TV?”

  On my way to breakfast, I leave him a response: “Come up after my teacher’s recital.”

  As the clock strikes nine that morning, Mr. Bertrand charges into the room for our voice class. He stands in front of the room, chest puffed out. He’s wearing a placard around his neck, a whiteboard. There’s a marker hanging from it with a piece of red yarn. He points to Brie and then points to a spot next to him.

  She rolls her eyes dramatically, but does what he says. He hands her a piece of paper. Then he points to it and points to Brie’s mouth.

  “Read it, Brie,” says Kendra.

  “I know,” she says. “I’m not an idiot.” Brie looks over the paper for a second, then composes herself, lifting her chest as if she’s about to launch into some aria from a fancy opera or something. “I…Mr. Bertrand,” she adds, “will not be speaking today. I am on vocal rest for my recital tonight. Brie will act as my mouthpiece today.”

  Brie curtsies.

  She continues, “Brie’s first order of business will be to deliver a bit of good news and bad news. The good news is that you will be fighting one fewer person for the scholarships at the end of camp. One of Ms. Jones’s students has been asked to leave because he has shown repeatedly that he is unable to learn his music and then, just this weekend, he was caught breaking curfew. He was sent home first thing this morning.”

  “Who was it?” asks Kendra. “You might as well tell us. We’re going to find out anyway.” I see a hint of panic on her face. Finley’s in Ms. Jones’s voice class. But he and Kendra have been keeping their noses clean ever since they were caught the night before the retreat. And besides, Finley’s a rock-star voice student, to hear Kendra tell it anyway.

  “It was that mean kid,” says Andy.

  “Angry Tenor?” I ask.

  Mr. Bertrand shakes his head. He motions to Brie to keep it moving.

  “There is bad news, however.”

  As Brie reads these words, I see a dark cloud cover Mr. Bertrand’s face.

  Brie’s eyes move rapidly as she skips ahead. She looks up at Mr. Bertrand. “What?” she asks. “Is this true?”

  He points to the paper.

  Brie, a sneer on her lips, reads, “Because the athletic department needs to shell out big money for a football recruit from Vincennes, we do not have money for seven scholarships this year. Only six students will receive awards at the end of the summer.”

  “What?” screeches Mary.

  “That’s not fair!” shouts Norman.

  Mr. Bertrand flips the board around his neck and writes a few words. “Life isn’t fair. Channel it into your voice.” He points to a spot next to the piano and Norman skulks up, sheet music in hand. He still looks like hell and he turns in probably the worst performance I’ve ever heard him g
ive. He even misses a few entrances. Norman might not be the best singer in our bunch, but he’s always prepared. Always.

  Dejected, Norman takes his seat next to Mary after Mr. Bertrand via Brie finishes giving him his critiques.

  Turning around to face Kendra, I mouth, “Believe me now?”

  Kendra nods. “Weird. Very weird.”

  The rest of us take turns performing for our class, getting notes from our peers.

  When it’s my turn, I sing “Laurie’s Song,” the Copland, not Cop Land piece. I’m ready to perform. I know I’m prepared. Since my first lesson, there have been no more “Vergebliches Ständchen” disasters. That said, I’m nervous. We’re down to six scholarships. There are seven of us in Bertrand’s class. At least one of his students, one of us in this very room, is going home empty handed.

  As I stand in the crook of the piano, I wonder which of us will be the odd man out. Seth, Brie, and Kendra seem like locks, but Seth, at least, is not great at music theory. Andy’s a secret singing weapon. He doesn’t come across as a try-hard, but he’s probably the most seasoned musician in the group. Mary and Norman aren’t as gifted, vocally, as some of the others but they work like fiends. They rarely mess up. Norman’s performance today was way out of the ordinary for him. And then there’s me, the girl who was singing “Deathly” with Jack in the basement of Chandler Hall two nights ago.

  I nod toward the accompanist and start in on my song. It’s like I’m on autopilot, but in a good way. Being distracted by Norman and Jack is having a positive effect on my voice. I’m so focused on the boys, I don’t have the brain space to worry about my performance. I hit all my notes with ease. I find all my entrances and sing every phrase like it’s part of my DNA. Plus, I’m simply feeling this music today. It’s about a girl who’s thinking about branching out from her little life at home. She’s preparing to go out into the great, wide world, even though, who the heck is she to think she’ll be able to hack it? That’s me.

  After I finish, I draw my hands up into my sweater sleeves and wait as Mr. Bertrand frantically writes notes on the legal pad in front of him. He tugs at his hair. He looks like an insane composer stuck on a difficult motif. I know this won’t be good. Then he hands the pad to Brie, who clears her throat and reads in monotone, “Kiki, today you are Laurie. Brava, brava. You are an inspiration to us all.”

  Mr. Bertrand grabs the paper and writes one more thing before handing it back to Brie. “The rest of you should feel very threatened today. Ms. Nichols has just raised the game.” Brie peeks up at me and rolls her eyes.

  I stick my tongue out.

  She laughs. Then she reads the rest of what Mr. Bertrand wrote. “Six scholarships,” she says. “Six.”

  I let out a breath. I made it through class after singing with Jack. I played with fire and I avoided the burn. I won’t push my luck again.

  *

  Norman will not leave me alone for a second.

  Our whole voice class goes to Mr. Bertrand’s recital together, which is expected, but when we get back to the dorms and I try to sneak up to my room to wait for Jack, Norman intercepts me.

  “Where are you going?” he asks.

  “My room,” I tell him, turning toward the stairwell.

  “Alone?” he asks.

  “None of your business.”

  Our classmates head deeper into Unit Six, but Norman hangs back. “It is my business. You had a good performance today. Don’t make me go to Bertrand about what I saw.”

  I fold my arms. “Are you threatening me?”

  “If I have to.”

  I pull him into the stairwell. “Why?” I hiss. “Why are you trying to keep me away from Jack? I know the singing thing was stupid. I’m not going to do it again.” My bottom lip trembles. I can’t fathom why he’s pulling this shit with me. I’ve finally—finally—found someone who likes me and actually might want to be with me. Why is this dude I barely know trying to squash that?

  “I like you,” says Norman.

  “Oh.” My tone is flat. “You do?”

  He shakes his head vigorously. “Not like that. I like you, Kiki. As a friend.”

  “We hardly know each other.”

  “Maybe.” He shrugs. “Maybe you should know this about me: I don’t like to see my friends get hurt.”

  “I won’t get hurt.”

  “Kiki, we have only a few more weeks here,” he says. “Remember what’s important: singing and getting that scholarship. Don’t get distracted by someone who’s not worth it.” He pats my arm like he’s my uncle or something.

  As he turns to leave, I ask, “Are you really going to tell Bertrand on me if I do hang out with Jack?”

  He sighs. “I wouldn’t do that to you, Kiki.”

  After he’s gone, I stand there for a minute, considering what to do. Jack is supposed to come up to my room to hang out. Do I go up there and wait for him? Do I stop by his room and tell him not to come?

  I trudge up to the third floor and open my door. The room isn’t empty. Brie is there and she’s already getting prepped for bed. Maybe it’s for the best.

  “I’m hitting the practice rooms at five tomorrow morning. Six scholarships,” she says like it’s her new mantra.

  “Maybe I’ll join you.” I glance at the clock. It’s later than I thought. Nine already. Jack better hurry up.

  I start to get ready for bed, putting on my pajamas, popping out for a second to brush my teeth and wash my face. By five minutes until ten, Jack still hasn’t shown.

  After the RAs come around for bed check, I set my alarm for five and turn off the lights. I toss and turn for an hour, trying to make sense of everything, trying to talk myself out of feeling disappointed that things aren’t going to work out with Jack.

  A soft tapping pulls me out of my head.

  “Is some idiot at our door?” Brie asks, flipping over and pulling a pillow over her head.

  I tiptoe out of bed and crack open the door. Jack is standing there, head tilted, smiling at me.

  “You’re going to get in trouble,” I say. “You’re going to get me in trouble.”

  “I’ll just be a minute.” He scratches his wrist, drawing my attention to his tanned forearm. My pulse speeds up, damn it. “I’m sorry about tonight, first of all. I got to talking with Norman and stuff. Then I had to wait until after the RAs did their rounds.” He nods down the hall.

  “RAs who could show up here at any minute,” I say.

  “I want to make it up to you, you know, tonight and me not coming to your room as well as Norman’s weirdness.” He opens his hands and holds them out as if to show me he has nothing up his sleeves. “I want to take you out. Friday night. Somewhere. Dinner.”

  My heart starts beating even faster, either from excitement or as a warning. “Oh,” I say.

  “Oh? So, no?” His face falls.

  I hate to admit it, but Norman’s gotten to me with all of his nonsense about staying away from Jack. Maybe I should be cautious. Maybe that’s the smart play. But at the same time, it makes Jack even more intriguing to me. I want to spend time with him, even if it has the potential to end badly. It’s like that song “Deathly.” I want to take on the pain. “Yes,” I say. “Of course, yes.”

  He rests his forehead in the crack between the doorjamb and the door itself. Our noses are almost touching. “Friday, then,” he says.

  chapter fifteen

  Kiki Nichols @kikeronis: #DateNight

  Smart Singer Girl @smartsingergirl: @kikeronis Who’s the guy?

  On Friday morning, Jack leaves a note under my door. “Tonight!” it says, with a giant smiley face.

  I’m not sure how I’m going to make it through the rest of the day.

  Luckily I have classes all day to keep me occupied. In music theory, my teacher compliments the latest piece I wrote for class. She even hands it out to the rest of my classmates as an example of the kind of work they all should be turning in. In choir, the director picks me to sing the soprano solo in
one of our ensemble pieces. In voice class, I caught Brie shooting me dirty looks when Mr. Bertrand called my rendition of “Se tu m’ami” resplendent.

  All that and I have a date with Jack tonight.

  Everything’s coming up Kiki.

  As I’m leaving choir at the end of the day, I find Mr. Bertrand waiting for me in the hallway. “Ms. Nichols, I’d like to speak to you in my office.” His brow furrows.

  In silence, I follow him upstairs. I’m not sure what this is about. I’ve been a model voice student. I’ve been killing it in every class.

  On the second floor, I see Kendra off in the distance, waving from the practice room corridor. I try to wave back at her, but it comes off as a limp gesture of surrender. The smile on her face turns to a frown.

  In Mr. Bertrand’s studio, he sits behind his desk and I take a seat in front of him.

  “I hear you had a very successful theory class today.” He’s not smiling when he says it.

  I nod. “Yes?” What? Does he think I cheated? Does he think I stole that song off the internet or something?

  He says nothing.

  Does he want me to keep going? “I really like composing,” I say.

  After about ten more seconds of staring me down, he says, “Ms. Nichols, where were you Saturday night?”

  I gulp. Saturday night. The basement piano. I tell a half-truth. “I was in the dorm, watching TV with everyone else.”

  “All night long?”

  I nod.

  He shakes his head. “Think back. Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” I’m not going to incriminate myself.

  “A little bird told me that you were down in the basement of Chandler Hall playing piano and singing a pop song with some young gentleman.”

  Rock, I want to correct him, but I’m no idiot. I shake my head. “I did some laundry that night. I was in the basement for that.” The best lies are in the details, right?

  Mr. Bertrand massages his temples with his index fingers. He groans. “I think losing one of the scholarships has put people into panic mode. Things have gotten out of hand. I didn’t want that,” he says.