Mary’s face turns green. She puts her hand on her leg, forcing it to stop bouncing.
I turn to Kendra and ask, “Should we be concerned?”
“I have no clue,” she says.
At first I didn’t think much of the voice teachers being here, but with Mary acting so weird and the faculty standing in front of us looking all serious, I get the feeling concerned is what I should be. Are we in trouble? Are they going to make another big announcement? Does the college need to recruit another linebacker? Are we down to five scholarships now?
“And that’s how you set up the laptop projector. It’s a very useful skill, one that all professors should acquire,” Mr. Zagorsky says loudly for the benefit of all of us. He puffs up his chest and returns to his place at the front of the room, arms folded.
“Thank you, Tim. If this whole voice teacher thing doesn’t work out for you, I’m sure you’ll have a great career in audiovisuals.” Mr. Bertrand, who navigates the laptop trackpad with the confidence of a baby bird learning to fly, maximizes a window. Suddenly, on the screen at the front of the room, there’s a video box, black with a giant play button in the middle. “I wish we were here under better circumstances, but this video came to my attention late last night.” His eyes scan the keyboard, trying to figure out what to do next.
I’m pretty sure my own face is as green as Mary’s right now. And Kendra’s. And Norman’s. In fact, every voice student in the room looks about to die right now.
“Spacebar, Greg,” says Mr. Zagorsky, a mocking smile on his lips.
Mr. Bertrand hits the spacebar. “I think many of us will be shocked and appalled by what we’re about to see.” Up on the screen Mr. Bertrand appears on stage, belting out “Send in the Clowns.”
“That’s not it.” Mr. Bertrand jumps up and dashes to the computer. “Damn it, Tim,” he pleads.
Mr. Zagorsky starts to make his way back to the AV cart, but then the video starts playing again. My eyes are on the voice teacher, so all I hear is Kendra saying, “What the hell?”
I slowly turn my head toward the front of the room, bracing myself for whatever it is. Mr. Bertrand is no longer on the screen. He has been replaced by Brie chugging a beer from a Solo cup, Brie doing a shot, Brie dancing close with some random guy at the theatre party. The clips repeat on a loop.
I glance down the row at her. She looks like she does when she’s about to perform, head up, shoulders back, corn silk curls brushed to one side. She’s regal, stoic, and staring straight ahead.
Mr. Zagorsky speeds over to the computer and presses the spacebar, leaving a giant picture of Brie frozen on screen, mid-sip from a red Solo cup. “That’s enough,” he says.
I scan the room. Norman can’t take his eyes off the screen. Andy has his hand on Brie’s wrist. Kendra, Finley, and all the other students are staring at Brie with pity. Seth’s hand has stopped mid-hair flip, and he looks like he’s about to puke. I catch his eye and he frowns.
I know what he’s thinking. This is ridiculous. Brie should not go down for this.
I clear my throat. “Mr. Bertrand.”
His face is red. He looks about to blow. “We offer this camp every single summer. Do other schools do this? No. We do it. Just us. We give up our summers. We put our own singing careers on hold. And for what?” He shakes his head and takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself, but it doesn’t work. The voice that has been trained to fill an entire auditorium now booms against the walls of our little classroom. “The blatant insolence—”
Kendra cuts in. “We were all at that party, Greg. We were all drinking.” I shake my head at her. I don’t want Kendra to take the fall.
“I wasn’t drinking,” Norman says. “Speak for yourself.”
“No,” says Kendra. “I’m sorry. You were drinking, too, Norman, don’t pretend you weren’t.”
“It was my idea,” I say. “Brie didn’t even want to go to the party.”
“Yet here she is.” Mr. Bertrand points to the screen.
Mr. Zagorsky’s hand is at his mouth, completely covering his mustache and triangle beard. He is silent. The other voice teachers are similarly reticent.
Mr. Bertrand makes his way to the front of the room. “So self-destructive.” He points to the still of Brie on the projector screen, perpetually about to sip that beer. I want to shout at the girl on screen, “Put it down! It’s not worth it!”
“A brazen disregard for the rules,” he adds. “I’m of a mind to kick you all out right now. I don’t believe any of you deserve the scholarships. If you’re doing this now, what kind of reckless behavior will you engage in when you’re freshmen?”
Norman clutches his chest like he’s about to have a heart attack. Andy lets out a tiny shriek. Brie still sits stoically in her chair, looking like she’s about to give the performance of a lifetime. Bertrand is going to kick her out and it’s all my fault.
“Brie was only there because of me,” I say. I’m not going to let her take the fall here. I don’t think I could live with myself. “I had a bad day and I wanted to go to a party—”
“Brie, let’s take this outside,” says Mr. Zagorsky calmly, stepping toward the door. She gathers her things.
“She deserves a scholarship more than anyone.” I stand up, slamming my hands on my desk. “She’s the best singer here. You can’t kick her out for one stupid slipup. We were all doing this stuff. It could’ve been any of us in that video.”
“Outside. Now.” Mr. Zagorsky opens the door. Brie follows him.
“Kick me out instead,” I say, my heart pounding. I’m sweating and scared, but I know this is the right thing to do.
Kendra tries to pull me back into my seat. “Shut up,” she hisses.
“Kiki,” says Mr. Zagorsky, “it’s nice of you to stick up for your friend, but—”
“I mean it,” I say, folding my arms. “Kick me out instead. Brie wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for me.”
Now Kendra stands up. “Everyone here is talking crazy. The person who should be kicked out is the one who sent that video to Greg.”
“She’s right,” says Andy.
“Who was it?” Kendra asks, scanning the room. “We all took an oath at that party. Whoever turned us in is a liar and a snitch and we don’t want you here.”
In my peripheral vision, I see Mary’s hands twitch.
Mr. Zagorsky sighs and closes the door. “Sit down, Brie.”
She goes back to her seat.
Mr. Zagorsky leans toward Mr. Bertrand. “Greg, in light of all the…confusion…maybe we should call off the witch hunt? I think they’re sufficiently chastened.”
The other voice teachers nod.
Mr. Bertrand, however, points at Brie and then me. “You are high school students. Minors. Your parents have put you in our care. We simply cannot let alcohol consumption slide. There are legal implications.”
“I know,” I say. “I’m really sorry.” I look at Brie. “Really sorry. It truly was all my idea. I had just gotten some bad news and…I never drank before, honestly.”
“And you decided to start now?”
I shake my head. “It was dumb.” God, it was dumb. Doubly dumb because I never stopped to think about how my friends could get hurt if they got caught. They were only trying to make me feel better and now it’s gotten Brie in a heap of trouble.
“You admit you’re at fault here?” says Mr. Bertrand.
“I do.”
I glance at Brie to see how she’s doing. She gives me a wan smile and mouths, “Thank you.”
Bolstered a bit by her gratitude, I keep going. “None of them would’ve been at that party if it weren’t for me.” I look down at my hands like I’ll actually be able to see Krause and music slipping away from me. “It was a stupid mistake.”
“It was stupid, because now you’ve gone and gotten yourself kicked out of camp.”
Mr. Zagorsky holds up his hand. “Greg.”
“Someone’s head has to roll. We’ve kicke
d out other students for lesser offenses. I’ve talked to Kiki before about what would happen if she stepped out of line. She knew the rules and the risk. She has to go.”
Mr. Zagorsky, holds up his hands. “Let’s not be so hasty here. The kids are showing remorse.”
I’m so tired. I’m so sick of fighting to be here. I want to crawl into bed with my tablet and my Netflix and hide from the world.
“They’re high school students,” says Mr. Zagorsky. “Kids. We’re here to teach them, not to act as their wardens.”
Mr. Bertrand pulls at his hair. “You’re saying that we’re supposed to let these kids come here and break the rules—the law, in this case—over and over again and do nothing about it?”
“That’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying that in this instance—”
“In this instance, I think we can say for certain that Kiki is not the kind of voice student we want here. We’ve seen it before, Tim. You know she won’t be able to hack it.”
My mind keeps flashing back to last night, Jack, our fight, and the alcohol. I’m never drinking again. It’s not worth it. “I think he’s right. Maybe I won’t be able to hack it,” I say.
Mr. Bertrand holds out his palm. “See, now somebody’s talking sense.”
“There’s one week left,” says Mr. Zagorsky. “If she promises to toe the line—”
“Like she hasn’t up to this point,” says Mr. Bertrand.
“Kiki’s a talented musician and, assuming this whole drinking thing is behind us, I think she’d be an asset to our program. Since everyone admits to drinking at the party, let’s call it a wash.” Mr. Zagorsky folds his arms across his chest.
A vein throbs on Mr. Bertrand’s forehead. “She admits that she orchestrated the whole thing. She has corrupted the other students. She needs to be punished.”
“I will make it my personal crusade to keep Kiki in this program, because she deserves to be here.” Kendra wipes her eyes and folds her arms in defiance. She’s actually crying at the thought of having to say goodbye to me sooner than anticipated. That realization nearly makes me start bawling, but I hold it together.
“Kendra,” I say, “it’s okay.”
She stares at me for a moment, then says, “Unacceptable. If Kiki’s in trouble, we should all be in trouble.”
Brie stands up. “Kendra’s right. It may have been Kiki’s idea, but none of us had to go along with it.”
“I was there, too,” says Finley, getting up from his chair.
“And me,” says Andy.
Norman rolls his eyes, but then he stands as well. “Yeah, okay.” He looks down at Mary, waiting for her to get up, but she doesn’t.
“And what about the person who turned in this video?” says Mr. Zagorsky. “Whoever did this deserves to be punished for his or her part in it. There has been altogether too much sabotage happening this summer. I don’t like it. I know these kids are in competition with one another, but they’re also peers, classmates. They shouldn’t be throwing each other under the bus in order to be on top. Kiki may have her issues, but whoever made this video isn’t the kind of student we want here, either.”
“I think that’s exactly the kind of student we want here,” says Mr. Bertrand. “Someone who can see the value of what we’re offering. Someone who truly wants it.”
“If that’s who this school wants, then I don’t want this school,” Kendra yells.
“Me neither,” adds Brie.
“Whoever did this, stand up and take the heat,” says Kendra.
Other students in the room start pointing fingers at one another, yelling, shouting, accusing.
“I know it was you, Norman.”
“It’s obviously Seth.”
“It has to be Andy. He’s too happy all the time. I don’t trust it.”
Their screams, their powerful singers’ voices, bounce off the spare, cinderblock walls of Yunker Hall. The sound-assault hammers my brain. “Stop it!” I shout.
Everyone looks at me.
“Stop it,” I say again, softer this time. “The drinking was all my idea. I deserve to be in trouble.” I look at Mary, briefly, very briefly. “But Brie didn’t deserve this.” I point toward the projector screen. “That was low. She may be super intense, but she’s been nothing but a good friend to everyone here all summer. She didn’t deserve to be dragged through the mud as punishment for being an amazing singer.” I sigh. “Mr. Bertrand is right. I don’t belong here.”
“See, Tim?” says Mr. Bertrand.
I point at him. “I wanted to be in your class so badly this summer. My sister couldn’t say enough good things about you, but…” My shoulders droop. I want to tell him off. I want to yell about how, whether he meant to or not, he made us turn against each other and how I thought he was kind of a shitty teacher and person for embarrassing Brie in front of everyone, but what would be the point? “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”
I turn to my classmates. “I appreciate you defending me. If there’s one thing I got out of this camp, it’s a bunch of really, really awesome friends, people I will never, ever forget, even if I’m not at Krause next year. But I’m not an opera singer. I’ve learned a lot of things this summer, and that’s one of them. I’d feel awful taking a scholarship away from somebody else who deserves it more, who’d appreciate it more.” I smile at Brie.
I hoist my backpack over my shoulders. “I’m really grateful for the opportunity. Even after all of it, this summer has been the best one of my life.” As I say it, I know it’s true. Despite the pain, despite the pressure, I’ve never been more myself, I’ve never felt more at home with other people in real life. I’ve found a clan, even if it was just for a summer. I know now, when I get home, that I’m someone worth knowing. People don’t automatically blanch at my appearance. They don’t think I’m weird for liking the things I like or doing the things I do. That was just Beth. That was her baggage.
“Kiki,” says Kendra, “it’s not over yet.”
“It is, though. Like I said, I’m not an opera singer. I think I’ve been pretending long enough.”
I leave the room and the door shuts behind me, leaving me alone in the empty corridor on the first floor of Yunker Hall.
Shit. Now what?
chapter twenty-two
Kiki Nichols @kikeronis: #HomewardBound
Smart Singer Girl @smartsingergirl: @kikeronis Call me.
Mr. Bertrand drags me to his office immediately to call my parents. After a lot of huffing and puffing from my mom about how she has to make a fruit salad for a party she’s going to tomorrow night and how picking me up is the last thing she wants to do this weekend, she finally agrees to come get me first thing in the morning.
I say goodbye to Mr. Bertrand, whose back was to me during the entire conversation with my mom. He’s still making himself look busy, staring at a book of arias for tenors. “Thank you,” I say, and I do mean it, on some level. I’m grateful that he chose me for his class. I’m grateful for the whole camp experience. I’m even grateful that he pushed me so hard. I think I needed that push to see exactly what I was capable of. I needed to know I could be an opera singer before I was able to reject being one.
Mr. Bertrand still doesn’t look up or say goodbye.
I add one more thing. “I know who snitched on Brie,” I say. “Everyone else will know soon enough, I’m sure. She might end up going here next year, but no one will ever trust her again. She’ll never have any friends. I’m sure she thought you were doing her a kindness, but—”
“Anything else, Ms. Nichols?” He finally looks up.
I shrug. “I’m glad I did it the right way. I mean, it didn’t work out, obviously, but I have my integrity, and I feel good about that.”
“Your integrity and seven dollars will get you an iced venti mocha Frappuchino. If that.”
I head back to my room alone. It’s ten o’clock on a Friday morning and everyone is in class or doing other camp things. Chandler Hall is a ghost town. As I pack m
y things, I keep thinking about my friends, what they’re doing, what I would be doing if I were still a camper. Now they’re in music theory. Now they’re having lunch. Now they’re in choir.
I stare at the door to my room, contemplating the pattern of the wood grain, trying to lose myself in it, to avoid the magnitude of what I’ve just done. I’m going back to Chicago with no scholarship. Beth will never let me live it down, the fact that I couldn’t cut it. I’ll be going to my dad’s school next year. No music, no fine arts program to speak of.
Not ready to deal with the depressing thought of heading back home, I jump into action, scanning the room, looking for something else to do, making sure I haven’t forgotten a sock hidden in a corner or anything.
My eyes stop on the bulletin board, which is still crammed with thumbtacked paraphernalia. Ah, now there’s a task. I start pulling pins out of everything—the pictures, the notes, the inside jokes whose meanings I barely recall now but that seemed so important at the time. I toss everything into a box of stuff, like pencils and staff paper, that I’ll never need again because I’m going to my dad’s school and I’ll become a Latin teacher. My career in music will be a distant memory. I picture the nameplate that will hang outside my future high school classroom: Magistra Tullia Cicero Nichols, Opera Camp Disaster and Cautionary Tale.
As I toss the pictures into the box, I notice one is missing—the picture of me that used to be a picture of me and TroyTrent. I scan the floor around my desk, but it’s nowhere to be found.
Jack. Did he take it? My heart flutters.
I shake my head. Don’t be stupid, Kiki. It probably fell onto the desk and got mixed up with some other papers. It probably went in the recycling bin long ago. Jack doesn’t have your picture. Whatever you thought you were to him, you weren’t that.
Even so, I want to say goodbye. I want closure. I want him to know that I’m not settling for a life I don’t want, and he doesn’t have to, either. Even if I won’t be around, he should still take the leap and go after what he wants.
I’m about to leave, when my door swings open and Brie comes in, followed by Kendra, Norman, Seth, and Andy. Even Mary is with them. I guess she has to keep up the charade. I can’t even look at her. I can’t believe what she did to Brie.
The Sound of Us Page 20
