Silence

by Deborah Lytton

Mr. Preston nods. “I want to run your solo of ‘Somewhere.’ Then you can work on it at home. Try to layer it with emotion. Remember, you close the show. I want to feel your pain, your loss.”

  “I understand,” I tell him. My throat is so dry. I swallow, gulp air. I hope I can deliver. I’ve practiced at home, but I’ve never performed this song in front of anyone.

  Just then, Mr. Preston notices him and steps to the other side of me, closer to the edge of the stage. “Ah, Mr. Rivers. Thank you for coming. Please, join us.”

  Everyone turns and watches as the stranger moves toward the steps on the left of the stage. Whispers swirl around me like the gnats that come out before sunset and hover in masses over the grass, waiting to bite.

  “Who is he?”

  “Why is he here?”

  “He’s new.”

  “Is his name on the cast list?”

  “I don’t know.”

  I watch him as he comes closer. His eyes should be on Mr. Preston, but they are locked with mine. They are the color of the sky on a summer day. I can’t breathe. How in the world will I sing?

  Mr. Preston stops him by throwing an arm around his shoulders as though they are old friends. “People, this is Hayden Rivers.”

  Hayden Rivers.

  Hayden. I have a name for him now.

  Mr. Preston is still speaking. “Hayden is a new student here, and thankfully, he plays the piano. Much better than I do!” Everyone erupts in laughter at that. When Mr. Preston plays, he bangs on the keys as if he is fighting with the piano. He butchers Rodgers and Hammerstein and Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Schwartz, turning their classic songs into commercial jingles.

  Mr. Preston raises one hand for silence, but he is laughing with us. “So I’ve begged and pleaded, and Hayden agreed to help us out.” He holds up his hand to his mouth in a conspiratorial manner and says to Hayden in a stage whisper, so it is loud enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t tell them how much I have to pay you!”

  Hayden smiles shyly, seemingly at the group. But he only looks at me.

  I hold my breath and wait for him to speak. I anticipate the smooth, deep voice I have imagined.

  “Th-thank . . . you. Gl-glad . . . to . . . help.” Hayden’s voice is halting. Staggered. Slow. As though it is difficult for him to form the words. His voice is nothing like I expected.

  I’m disappointed, somehow. I look down at my hands and weave my fingers together. Hold on tight.

  Some students whisper to one another. Judge him. Words like “weird” and “strange” reach my ears. One comment is louder than the rest. It booms in my ears like a loudspeaker.

  “Is he an alien?” This provokes laughter. For some inexplicable reason, I feel protective. So much so that it overcomes my shyness, my disappointment. Everything. I want to cover Hayden’s ears so he can’t hear their words. I look at him, hoping to help somehow. And I find myself caught in his stare. I don’t look away.

  “Okay then. Introduction’s over.” If Mr. Preston heard the comments, he doesn’t show it. He points at me instead. “Stella over there is our Maria. She’s next.”

  I watch as Hayden glides toward me with a smooth gait, seemingly oblivious to the stares and whispers. Our eyes lock as though neither of us wants to be the first to look away.

  When he steps behind me to sit at the piano, my skin tingles. A shiver runs through my stomach. The air shifts around me as though it has been rearranged.

  I wait to hear the notes of the introduction. I expect to hear the song I have rehearsed. But when Hayden begins to play, the room spins. I am captivated by the emotion in the music. The notes dance in the air, as Hayden breathes life into the song.

  His head is bent over the piano keys. Hair hides his face. I watch in wonder as Hayden’s fingers create a story without words. Somehow, at the right moment, I open my mouth and sing. I find the rhythm, the hills and valleys of the melody. The pain and anguish of loss in the song. I pour everything I have into my performance.

  I am no longer myself. I am Maria. Every inch of my being is filled with her sorrow. I don’t think about the lyrics or the sound of my own voice. I am lost in the music. The moment.

  The last note is soft. Filled with heartache. I hear the sound disappear. The silence slaps me. I startle awake, as though I slipped out of my own skin and have now returned. My first instinct is to look at Hayden.

  Our eyes meet. It is as if we have just danced together. I smile, thanking him. He grins back like we share a secret. In that split second, we are the only two people on the stage. The only two people in the world. No one has ever looked at me like this before. I am hot and cold at the same time, but I have never felt so present. There is nothing but this moment. It is only then that I notice the applause.

  “That’s what I’m talking about, people,” Mr. Preston tells us. “Nice work, Stella. Sing it that way opening night, and we’ll get a standing ovation.”

  It’s the biggest compliment I can imagine. I duck my head and thank Mr. Preston softly.

  Kace is called up next with the Jets. As he passes me, he bows slightly. Bestows a leading man smile. I have earned his respect. I may be a sophomore, but Kace now believes I am worthy of standing beside him on stage.

  I am released while the Jets rehearse. I can go home. But I wish to stay just a bit longer. I linger over my backpack. Try to sneak one more look at the piano, except students block my view. I can’t see him.

  But I can hear the music as I leave the stage.

  Touching my heart with the language of sound. Magical.

  NEW

  — Stella —

  I walk through the halls, suddenly popular. Everyone knows my name now. I am instantly elevated. Just like that. I am the star of the school musical.

  “You are über famous,” Lily says.

  The third cheerleader in a row calls, “Hi, Stella.”

  “Who knew being your BFF was going to land me a spot on the varsity squad?”

  I shrug, downplaying my own happiness at finally being noticed. “I’m just the flavor of the month. No big deal.”

  Lily nods and forces a grin. For a split second, I think I spot jealousy lurking in the shadows of her smile. Then it is gone. And I can’t be sure if I imagined it.

  “Nada importante,” Lily agrees. I hear sarcasm hiding in the syllables. Little drops of envy mixed with bitterness. I hope I am wrong. That I am overly sensitive to being the center of attention.

  I spot Hayden leaning against his locker. His eyes are almost hidden under a canopy of tangled hair. But they find mine like a guiding star. I am drawn to him. So much that it takes me by surprise. I catch my breath. Wonder what I am doing. Mesmerized by a boy.

  I must stay on course. I have a goal. A focus. Someday Broadway.

  My mother lost her focus when she met my dad. She abandoned her goal of becoming an actress. She never went to New York, London, or Hollywood. She never lived her dream. Instead, she became an accountant in suburbia. And then he left her. For his twenty-something trainer with flat abs and a spray tan. Love breaks your heart and leaves you sobbing on the kitchen floor.

  So I keep walking. I don’t stop.

  Every day, I stand on stage, reciting my lines. Singing my songs. I think I am acting. Pretending I am Maria. That I love Tony. Kace looks into my eyes. Holds my hand. But I don’t see him. I am thinking of Hayden. I am not acting. I know this. I am singing my songs to Hayden. I am afraid he knows this. So I stop looking at him.

  Lily has US History with Hayden. She’s nicknamed him SC for the Scarecrow in The Wizard of Oz. She rattles off a list of all the things that are wrong with him.

  “He’s awkward, has perpetual bedhead, and a speech problem. His fashion sense is très horrible. Y.C.D.B.”

  Lily likes to say things in code. Y.C.D.B. means “You Can Do Better.”

  “Kace is perfect for you,” she announces at lunch. “You could be like a Hollywood It couple. The stars of the musical, falling in love.” Her voice gets all
romantic and dreamy.

  I roll my eyes, take a bite out of my apple. I want to tell her that I’m not interested in Kace. I sing my songs to Hayden, I want to say. But I don’t. Because Hayden’s never even spoken to me. He looks at me like he knows me, like I mean something to him. When I sing, he plays the piano. That’s all, but it’s better that way.

  After my parents split up, I vowed that I will never fall in love. I will never feel the pain of betrayal my mother has felt. I will never trust a boy with my heart. Yet somehow, I find myself wanting the something I vowed never to want. And wanting it with Hayden.

  Dress rehearsal. I love my costume. It’s flowing and white, feminine and graceful. It makes me feel immortal. I think of the words my mother says all the time to Emerson, my younger sister, and me.

  “These are some of the best moments of your life. Embrace them.”

  I embrace this moment. Spinning around in the mirror, entranced by my reflection, I am a whirling ring of white light. My life has endless possibilities. I breathe deep. Hold tight to this moment. Smile at myself.

  I know all my lines. Hit every note. I feel like I am outside myself and inside myself all at the same time. Emerson sneaks into the auditorium to watch. She sits in the middle of the theater with her freshman friends. Waves at me. It makes me happy to know she is there.

  Today, Kace and I will kiss on stage for the first time. Before now, we have just marked it. This is Maria and Tony’s first kiss. The one that declares their love for each other. The kiss that changes everything.

  This won’t be my first stage kiss. I’ve been in Beauty and the Beast and Hairspray. I’ve had to pretend kiss before. It’s like pretend holding hands, like walking and talking in character. It doesn’t mean anything. This I know. But I’ve never real kissed. Not where it means something—everything.

  So when Kace leans in to kiss me, I force my mind blank. I am Maria. Not Stella. This means nothing to me. It is like walking and talking. I am playing a role. I am Maria, he is Tony. I expect to feel nothing. Only his kiss surprises me. It isn’t nothing. His kiss is soft and gentle. Sweet.

  He watches me as we break apart at the exact same moment, as we have been directed. But I notice that his forest-colored eyes have ribbons of gold running through them, and that his hand lingers on mine for a second longer than necessary. I don’t have time to think about it, though, because I have to finish the scene. I click into performance mode and am Maria once again.

  Before I know it, I am singing my last song. The first piece Hayden ever played for me. Kace lies on the floor. Still. Silent. I kneel beside him, and I fill the song with Maria’s despair. Her love for Tony. Her grief. Tears fall from my eyes as I hold my last note. And then the curtain drops.

  A wide grin breaks out over Kace’s face. He opens his eyes. Looks right at me. Nods his approval. I meet his smile with one of my own. I have earned my place here, I know that now. A wave of confidence rushes through me, grounding me and giving me strength. Adrenaline sends tingles through my body—the after-shocks of performance. I can’t think straight. I am half Maria and half Stella. Not quite myself.

  The cast begins rushing to the wings, taking their places for the curtain call. My head is still muddled as I move offstage. Kace and I will enter from opposite sides for the curtain call. And we will be the last ones to take our bows.

  Moments later, I cross the stage to take my place beside Kace. I can almost hear the thundering applause, see the standing ovation. I imagine my mother sitting beside my sister in the audience. Someone bringing me a bouquet of red roses tied with a gold ribbon. I take my bow. And the curtain drops.

  The cast turns to one another and cheers. We have worked hard to get here. Every single one of us deserves the imagined applause. I turn to Kace.

  “You’re going to be amazing.”

  “And you will take their breath away,” he says softly, his hazel eyes resting on mine.

  There is a brief second of something unsaid. It trickles through his words, but I can’t quite grasp it. He turns and quickly walks away. I watch him go. Wonder if his complimenting me is disloyal to Quinn. Or if there is something else. I realize my hands are clasped together. As if they hold the compliment tight.

  Later, we all gather in a circle on the floor of the green room, sharing a celebratory pizza. Hayden sits on the other side of the circle between two senior girls. They are talking to him. They make it look so easy. Like Lily. I wonder why it is so hard for me.

  Quinn starts a game. “Name your dream vacation.” We go around calling out our answers.

  “Hawaii.”

  “Paris,” Kace says and sends one of his leading-man grins my way.

  I feel my cheeks burn hot. Quinn glares at me. I don’t dare look at Hayden. I reach for my water.

  “Australia.”

  “London.”

  “New York.”

  “Bahamas.”

  Now it is my turn. I haven’t yet decided what I will say. As I look around the circle, I catch Hayden watching me. I don’t look away. Instead, I lock eyes with him. And I say the first thought that comes to my mind.

  “The beach.”

  Hayden grins. His teeth are blinding against the copper of his skin. Does he think my answer is silly? Is he laughing at me? The beach is fifteen minutes away. It’s not exotic. But it is the truth; I would rather be at the beach than anywhere else on earth. I love the roar of the waves pounding in my ears. The screeching of the seagulls. The endless expanse of the sea. It makes me feel peaceful and happy. My parents used to take us to the beach as a family. My happiest memories aren’t of Christmas mornings or birthday presents. My happiest memories are of long summer days at the beach.

  I look down at my pizza as the rest of the cast calls out exotic destinations. I wish I had come up with something unique. Exciting.

  “Hayden, you’re up,” someone calls.

  Only then do I look up from studying every pocket of grease on my slice of cheese pizza. I look up to see him.

  Hayden looks right at me. And says two words. “The . . . beach.”

  Later, Mr. Preston stands in the middle of the circle and gives us notes. I write them on a notepad. When I finish, I notice Quinn staring at me. Her eyes are narrowed. I imagine she is hoping I get sick tomorrow so she can have her chance. I glance away, pretending I don’t see.

  At the end of the notes, Mr. Preston claps his hands together. “I am so proud of you all. I can’t wait for your friends and families to see this magnificent performance. In all my years here . . .” He pretend-coughs to hide the number 25. “I have never worked with such a talented group. This show is worthy of Broadway. I want you all to know that. You are tremendous. Each and every one of you.” Mr. Preston’s voice shakes a little at this last part. Then he covers it by clearing his throat. “Now go home and rest up. I’ll see you here tomorrow at five for costumes and makeup.”

  We scatter. I head to the wings to retrieve my backpack and sweatshirt. As I lean over to get them, I realize I am right next to Hayden. He is turned away from me. Looking for his own backpack, probably.

  The wings are the darkest part of the theater tonight, meant for hiding entrances and exits. We have to learn to see in the shadows. He doesn’t know I am here. I study him, memorize everything about him: the pattern of his plaid shirt, the rip in the knee of his jeans, a woven leather bracelet he wears on his right wrist, the keychain dangling from his pocket in the shape of a silver knot.

  He turns suddenly, as though he can sense me. I shift my eyes quickly, not wanting him to catch me staring. I wonder, not for the first time, what in the world is wrong with me.

  “St-st-el-la,” Hayden says in his jarred speech.

  Yet my name sounds beautiful the way he says it, each letter drawn out. Melodic.

  I glance back at him and catch my breath. His gaze holds me. Standing here alone, in the shadows, time seems to stop. Sound fades away. All I know is Hayden.

  “Stella!” My sister’s v
oice startles me. I take a small step backward, away from Hayden, from this moment. Emerson is still talking. “I’ve been looking for you. Mom’s waiting.”

  “Okay, I’m ready to go.”

  She looks from me to Hayden and back again. I can tell she is trying to figure out what she missed.

  Nothing, I want to tell her. And everything.

  “Bye,” I say softly as I walk away. I try to see his eyes, his expression, but he has turned away. The shadows close in around him. He doesn’t answer.

  “What happened?” Emerson asks me before we are out of earshot.

  “Hayden,” is my only answer.

  I turn to look at him once more. But he has already disappeared.

  IT

  — Stella —

  Tomorrow is opening night. I should be at home drinking tea in my pajamas. Resting my voice. Reading over my lines. Instead, I’m at a party with Lily. I never say no to Lily. No one says no to Lily.

  Music throbs in my ears. I want to go home. I need to sleep. Meditate on my performance. This is the last place I want to be.

  Lily drags me around. We’re looking for someone. Connor Williams, her latest obsession. “He is très fabulous,” she tells me. “We are M.F.E.O.” Made For Each Other.

  I roll my eyes. Last week, she thought she and a guy who plays drums in the school band were M.F.E.O. He never even learned her name.

  I want to tell her about Hayden, about what happened today. Hearing him speak my name. Suddenly, my world has changed. Shifted. Only I can’t explain it. Or that it scares me, enough that I’ve spent the past few hours reminding myself of my pledge.

  No boys. No distractions. Someday Broadway.

  The party is a sea of bodies. All of them blend into one wave of popularity, the wave Lily wants to ride. She carries me along with her into the current whether I like it or not. I can’t breathe here. I can’t seem to keep my head above water. I just want to go home.

  And then I see him. Hayden leans against the back gate. His blond curls brush his shoulder. I want to touch them. He stares at me. I don’t look away.