by Brenda Benny
“What do you mean?”
He swallows, and then chews his lip. Just then, the cymbals fall over from the drum set onstage.
“Sorry!” Boris calls out to the room in his deep baritone voice, making more clatter trying to set them upright again.
I turn my attention back to Max. “What did you say?”
“Nothing,” he says, shaking his head. “Listen, forget about it. This has been a stressful afternoon. I have the Range Rover here today. Let me give you a ride home, okay?”
He’s stepped closer, his hand reaching down to my fingers, playing with my ring again.
I bite the inside of my cheek, trying not to tear up, suddenly overcome by his sweetness. I should be able to say yes to this. I should be able to have his arm around my shoulders, leading me out to the parking lot.
But I can’t. I am crazy, aren’t I? Otherwise, I’d be able to accept a simple ride home from my boyfriend.
I try not to choke on the words as they spill from my clenched throat.
“No. It’s okay. I want to walk to clear my head.”
He’s holding my hand with both of his, and stares into my eyes like he’s looking for another answer there. Then he pulls me into his arms.
“Okay,” he says, holding me tight. In his arms, I can almost feel the miserable regret squeezing out of me. “But call me when you get home.”
“I will.”
He pulls back and cups my face with his hands.
“Serena, you know that I… that I…”
I nod, on the brink of tears. He presses his lips gently to mine.
When he pulls away, I turn my back and go.
Chapter 11
Max
There must have been a social media challenge this morning to ingest fifteen espressos before going to school. At least, it seems that way. Each conversation I pass in the hall sounds like it’s playing at double speed, with the volume level tripled. And, coming from numerous groups of girls, there are impromptu shrieks of excitement in a frequency the human ear should not be able to register.
It’s the last day of school before our two-week break. And tonight, it’s the holiday concert. If that isn’t enough to set the halls on fire, there’s also the matter of Festival Disney.
The entire senior class has been fundraising for months now. We know where we’re going: Orlando. We know when the competition is: February. What we don’t know is this: who will be getting the lead parts?
Today, they’ll be handing out the musical scores we’ll need to start learning over the break. Rehearsals will begin right after the holiday, so the lists are going up this morning.
That is all anyone is talking about. Who will be lead flute? Who will get the best vocal solo? It’s a big deal to a lot of kids here. For some, it will add an important addition to their performing arts school applications. And there’s also the matter of who might be watching this when it inevitably gets posted online afterwards.
I happen to be walking through the cafeteria when Mr. Yankov posts the list – but not because I’m dying to see it. I’m here because I’m regretting the measly bowl of cereal I hurried through this morning, and I’m now on a mission for a cinnamon bun and chocolate milk. Like the senior percussionist, Boris, I’m a sure thing. It’s unfair, honestly: there’s just not a lot of competition here for double bass. I’m standing in line to pay as Vanessa turns the corner into the cafeteria. Her friends – who are meant to be like the other two forgettable singers from that group with Beyoncé – trail behind her. I see Vanessa elbow her way to the front, ignoring the reactions of the peons surrounding her.
While I grab a bench seat to open my milk carton and start chugging, I notice that there’s no cheer coming from the girl with the telltale red hair – no rapid monkey-cymbal-like hand clapping. She stands immobile.
“What!” I can hear her hiss loudly. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
I see the two other girls exchange glances behind her, and suddenly there is a parting in the crowd like the red carpet is rolling out – only it’s the red dragon. She looks furious.
“Oh my God! I can’t believe I didn’t get it.” Her hand is at her chest like it’s hard for her to breathe. Her eyes dart from side to side, like she’s searching for an escape route.
“Well, at least it was Serena,” the brown-haired girl says, sweetly.
My ears perk up, and I stand. I walk over to the board, easily able to see it above the heads of the students in front of me. And there it is. First Lead Vocal – Female: Serena Santos.
Vanessa tries on an awkward smile, and a shudder runs through her like she’s shaking it off. She huffs, and then I hear her say to one of the girls, Emily, “You’re right. We should be happy for her.”
I’m grinning as I pull out my phone to text her.
Me: Where r u? Come meet me in the cafeteria.
Her reply comes quickly.
Serena: At my locker. B there soon.
When Serena comes into the cafeteria, I don’t even have a chance to tell her. Vanessa is there first. I tense up, imagining a hateful scene like yesterday, but Vanessa has a wide smile on her face.
“Serena! Oh my God! Congratulations! I knew it would be you! That is so awesome!” Vanessa gives her a huge hug, which, to her credit, at least appears sincere. Serena looks surprised by Vanessa’s reaction, and maybe somewhat relieved.
“Wow. Vanessa, I can’t believe it. I can’t believe they picked me. You’ve got another of the larger parts, though, right?”
I watch Vanessa’s expression closely for signs of the scaly creature I know slithered below the surface only minutes before. There’s no trace, but then again, she’s a fairly good actress.
“Yeah, I did. But if it wasn’t me, I’m glad it was you.”
Serena’s smile sits uncomfortably on her lips. “Thanks.”
Vanessa turns back to the group where Emily is talking to Malik. He is grinning so wide, I think I can see all of his back teeth.
I pull Serena’s hand to bring her closer to me. She glides to where I’m sitting on the bench, and comes to stand between my knees. I take her other hand and begin to toy with her ring.
“Are you happy about it?” I ask her.
She looks off to the side. “Yeah, I guess so.” Only half her mouth reaches up in a brief display of interest. “I just wasn’t expecting it, that’s all.”
I stand up, forcing her to look up towards my face as I speak.
“You deserve this, you know. It may not be Carnegie Hall – yet – but you are the best singer here. Besides, you’re my favourite singer, and I clearly have impeccable taste.”
The other side of her mouth finally lifts. Her smile makes my chest swell like it’s filled with helium. I’ve wrapped my arms around her waist, and wrestle against the force pulling us together, trying not to make a public display. We’re so close now. I can’t decide whether to stay focused on her eyes or her soft pink lips. I look from one to the other while her spellbinding gaze stays locked on mine. The pull is so strong, yet the pause on the way there is so delicious. I can feel the hum of it reverberate through my limbs all the way to my fingertips, which grasp at her waist, pulling her closer to me. Finally, her tiny quiet breath exhales across my lips, and we kiss. My hands touch her jaw, and I feel her fingers dig into my sides through my t-shirt.
That’s when I hear the static click, and look up to see Vanessa with her phone outstretched in front of her. I drop my hands from Serena’s face and we both take a small step back.
“Aww, so cute,” Vanessa says, with a grin. She looks down at her phone, and grimaces. “Damn! Hayden’s scowl photo-bombed it.”
I turn my head just fast enough to catch a glimpse of Hayden disappearing through the side entrance. Hayden didn’t return any of the texts I sent to him last night. That whole exchange between him and Vanessa, yesterday, was alarmingly cruel and caustic. But, even before that, it seemed like there was a subtext that I was missing entirely. Something must have
happened between him and Bryan, but he won’t tell me anything. All he said was, “Don’t worry about it. Just something I misunderstood.” He practically spit the words at me, though, making it sound like a bigger deal than he was letting on. I haven’t pushed it. He’s been so distant since he appeared like a mole at the tree house.
Vanessa has been babbling this entire time about something to do with the photos on her phone. It seems like Serena must have been listening, but I have no idea what she’s going on about.
“Well, I better stop talking,” she thankfully says. “Trying to rest my voice for tonight, you know.” Her expression is one of conspicuous entitlement. “See you later.” With a little wave and a flip of her hair, she’s headed out the same doors that Hayden left through.
When Serena turns back to me, I must be wearing an incredulous expression.
“What’s with the funny look?”
I give a shrug of disbelief. “How do you even know if that’s real or not? It always seems like she’s being a bitch to you – even when she acts like she’s not.”
Serena grabs my hand again. “She’s not really like that. Vanessa just likes to be dramatic.”
But I wonder if Serena sees how Vanessa has changed. When Serena was away last year, it was like Vanessa realized she could be the shining star here; and now, she can’t seem to make room for any other stars in the constellation. And like the brightest star in the sky, some see only the brilliant exterior while others sense its dangerous fire beneath.
* * *
On the other side of the curtain, the auditorium buzzes with the white noise of parents talking, excited to seeing their kids on stage tonight.
I’ve taken my place on the back tier of the semi-circle risers the orchestra is spread across. The woodwind players, below me, make last minute adjustments with their reeds while I use my toe to kick the stand of my bass forward another inch.
Finally, we hear Mrs. Moser, the principal at our school, walk onto the stage in front of the curtains. A wave of hush rolls over the audience as she welcomes everyone and rattles off a brief introduction to the evening.
When her footfalls fade from the side stairs, the curtain retreats, and the audience turns into a raging sea of bobbleheads, eagerly scanning the orchestra to locate their child prodigies. I look on in amusement, as several parents wave at their offspring like it’s the third grade Nativity play. We all ignore them.
The Visual Arts students, who spent weeks on the intricate backdrops, have transformed the stage. Complex, web-like LED lighting hangs above us, making the entire stage glow, and there are tiny origami snowflakes strung at intervals like they are in downward flight from the sky. The show begins with the first haunting notes of “Song for a Winter’s Night”. A large group of freshman and sophomore female vocalists, dressed in white, emerge from opposing wings to meet in the middle for the choral version of the iconic song. It’s immediately followed by Eric Lee’s solo piano intro to Joni Mitchell’s “River”, sung in four different parts by Emily, Serena, Vanessa and a Junior girl. The set changes to a cross-cultural mash-up theme that includes a bizarre mix of menorahs, colourful Muslim lanterns, and Kwanzaa crops before our orchestra plays classical selections like Tchaikovsky’s “Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy”, and Mozart’s “Eine Kleine Nachtmusik”. In between these musical pieces and set changes, the Drama students perform short scenes from classic holiday plays like A Christmas Carol and It’s A Wonderful Life. Towards the end, brick walls and railway cars covered in Christmas graffiti appear for a jazz band rendition of Louis Armstrong’s “Cool Yule”, and then it’s the finale from RENT. Owing to the years of professional training, there’s no suggestion onstage of any animosity between Hayden and Vanessa that raged during yesterday’s rehearsal. Vanessa manages to pull off her bit adequately, but I still think Serena could have sung it better.
The curtains close for the final time after a resounding standing ovation for the teachers and students. Some of us begin to pack up our instruments while others immediately make their way down the risers and stairs to meet their families.
My dads are still talking with Gary and Charles in the back corner, so I begin packing up my stuff. When I’m finished coiling my electrical cable, I catch sight of Serena at the bottom of the stairs. Vanessa and her parents are just walking away from her, smiling and waving goodbye. I sprint down to catch up with her.
“Hey you!” I reach out to hold her hand in mine. “You were amazing tonight!”
“You, too,” she responds shyly, and squeezes my fingers.
“My parents are here. And I promised them that they’d finally meet you – you know, like, as my girlfriend.”
She’s smiling sweetly up at me, arm wrapped around my waist, and I feel a kind of pride mix with giddy disbelief that she’s really with me.
“Technically, you met Peter already, but I want to introduce you to my other dad, Jonathan.”
Her lips straighten out while she tilts her head. “Your other dad?” She squints her eyes, perplexed. “Your birth dad is here?”
“My birth dad?” We are duelling with bewilderment now. I am definitely feeling more puzzled than she looks. “Um, no. Remember, I don’t have any idea who that is. Jonathan and Peter are my parents. My dads.”
“Wait. You mean, like, they’re together? As in ‘married’?”
“Uh, yeah.” Did I fail to explain, at some point, that my parents were married? I thought I told her about their anniversary party. Does it make a difference to her that my parents are actually married? “That would be the dads thing.”
Just then her phone buzzes, and she looks down at it for a few moments.
“Jonathan’s over there with Peter, who you met a few weeks ago.”
She looks up from the screen – and as she scans across the room to the corner where I’ve pointed – where my dads are now speaking with Mr. Yankov – she freezes. Suddenly, the colour drains from her face like water running over a painter’s palette.
“What?” I ask. “What’s wrong?”
Serena’s dad walks up just then. “Good evening, Maxwell. That was a wonderful performance you gave tonight.”
“Thanks Mr. Santos,” I mumble, distracted by Serena’s unusual behaviour.
“And Chispa, you were just…” He must finally notice Serena’s pallor because he reaches for her hand. “Serena?”
She’s not moving, transfixed, and still holding her phone. Then, she turns to me with a horrified expression crumpling her delicate features. I start babbling, not sure what to make of her sudden rigidity. “If you don’t want to meet my dads tonight, we could do it another time.”
“Your dads?” Her father sounds as confused as Serena first appeared when I’d said this.
Serena is as white as a sheet, and pushes away from me with a trembling hand. “I didn’t know… I can’t do this – not now. I’ve got to go!” And then, she bolts. She just takes off, sprinting for the doors.
“Serena!” I call out after her.
But she is through the auditorium exit before I can figure out what to do. I don’t even realize my parents have finished talking to the Orchestra Director, and made their way over to us, until I feel Peter’s hand on my shoulder in the next instant.
“Great show tonight, son!” Peter pats my back strongly, and then pulls me into a hug.
I stare at him blankly, not sure what to say. I feel like I should run after Serena, but I’m caught in this bizarre vortex of my parents meeting her dad. Only, I can’t even introduce Serena to them because she took off – right after I told her that I have two dads.
“Um, thanks,” I mumble.
There’s a lull, and it’s only then that I clue into Mr. Santos still standing beside me. Peter looks on expectantly.
“Oh. Peter, Jonathan, this is Mr. Santos. Mr. Santos, these are my dads.”
Peter beams at Serena’s dad, and reaches out to shake his hand. “Pleasure,” Peter says, their entwined fists moving up and down briskl
y.
Jonathan’s expression is inexplicably serious, as he uses his professional tone to ask, “And you have a child at the school?”
Mr. Santos looks thrown for a moment, distracted, before clearing his throat and replying, “Yes. My daughter is Serena. She was singing this evening.”
Serena’s dad looks like he’s having trouble swallowing, and I wonder what he is trying to keep down. He must want to go after Serena as much as I do.
“Max, is everything okay?” Jonathan asks intuitively, a concerned look on his face.
“I was just…” I look off in the direction of the side doors where Serena disappeared. “I was going to introduce you.” I can’t quite finish this thought.
“Introduce us to whom?” Peter asks, a cheeky smile on his face. He elbows Jonathan, who doesn’t appear to catch on.
“Serena,” I mumble.
“And Serena is…?” Peter says, glancing conspiratorially over at Jonathan.
Jonathan is stone-faced. That’s when I realize that there’s something weird going on between Serena’s dad and Jonathan. Mr. Santos’ posture is no longer that of vague confusion, but has become ramrod straight and vigilant.
“She’s my… She’s my girlfriend,” I say.
“Your girlfriend?” Peter teases. “So, we finally get a chance to meet her, and she’s nowhere to be found! Got any other secrets up your sleeve that you care to share with us?” His smile spreads between my baffled expression and Jonathan’s closed look of concern.
I’m not imagining this: Mr. Santos looks really uncomfortable. Meanwhile, Jonathan has that look he gets when he tries to use his therapeutic techniques to diffuse tension. It’s a lot like what he does when people react negatively to my parents as a couple in public. And that’s when it hits me. Mr. Santos is uneasy meeting my dads! Oh, man. I thought he was religious, but is it possible he’s one of those intolerant types, like Peter’s family? Shit! Have I fallen in love with a girl whose father is a bigot?
Wait. Is that why Serena took off? Is she too freaked out to introduce my dads to her own because she’s afraid of his reaction? This seems crazy – but… I glare at her dad as this thought develops in my head. Instantly, I know I’ve got to find her as soon as humanly possible. I’ve got to find out what’s going on.
