Aaron bristled. “She’s strict, yes, but that’s because she’s so good. She’s ten times as talented as Nussy, but he’s always dancing and flirting, so of course everyone likes him better. And for the record, I don’t care for the Dr. Mrs. thing. Why is she the Mrs. and Nussy isn’t Dr. Mr.?”
Jilly held up a hand. “Down, boy.”
Aaron withdrew. “Sorry.”
“No, don’t apologize.” Jilly regarded him thoughtfully. “God. How did I not see that about the title? I feel gross. I’m a girl. I should have seen it right off.” Jilly leaned against an instrument locker. “It’s the whole department. Everything is misogynistic. Look at choir: there are so many women lining up to sing they had to make a ghetto chorus, but the guys get the special a cappella troupe.”
“There should be a women’s a cappella group. Why isn’t there?”
“Well, I heard they tried once, years ago.”
“It would need a faculty sponsor. Nussy runs the Ambassadors—Damien leads a lot of rehearsals, but Nussy steers the ship.”
Jilly rolled her eyes. “No way will he take on a fourth choir.”
“It’s not as if there aren’t other instructors in the department who could sponsor.”
The answer hovered between them.
“You need to ask her.” Jilly bounced on her toes. “You’re the only one she would say yes to.”
Aaron held up a hand when she started to argue. “We need to develop a proposal first. She’ll want to see proof you’re serious, that this won’t be another mess like the last group.”
“But what’s the point of going through all the work if she’s not—?”
“Don’t go getting this idea she’s going to melt and roll over because girl power. If there’s one thing I know about Dr. Nussenbaum, it’s that she makes you earn what she gives you. You want her help, I bet you can get it, but you have to bring it.”
Jilly’s shoulders slumped. “Then it’s already over. I could maybe get a dozen girls together, but I can’t lead them. And if I don’t, I can’t guarantee they’ll go for Dr. Mrs.—Dr. Nussenbaum—as a sponsor. Plus I don’t know anything about composing or arranging music.” Jilly let her head rest against the metal mesh. “The reason the other girl group fell apart was because they couldn’t decide what they wanted to sing, who should have the solo, what kind of arrangement they should have. That’s why we need a sponsor, so the breakdown doesn’t happen. But you’re telling me to get a sponsor we need to function so well we don’t need one.”
Aaron rubbed his chin, trying to think of a workaround. “It’s not so much about needing to prove you don’t need her so much as showing her you’re serious. Prep one song. Gather a group of women who won’t fight. Find an upperclassman who is a good leader. Once you do well, you’ll have everyone clamoring to get in, but hopefully by then you have Dr. Nussenbaum to keep them in line.”
Jilly had a light in her eyes, a wicked sparkle Aaron loved to see. “You’re totally right. It’s not about the best singers or being fair. It’s about making the group work. Oh, Aaron. Except—we still need someone to arrange the music.”
“I’m no Dr. Allison or anything, but I can arrange a pop song well enough.”
Jilly went still. “Don’t tease me. Are you seriously offering?”
“Well yeah, but I know you’d rather have a girl, so I’ll pinch hit until someone—”
The look on Jilly’s face melted Aaron. “Aaron Seavers, I fucking love you.” Her smile was as wide as her face. “Oh God, hon. Seriously. If we can pull this off…I owe you. And I already owe you a lot.”
Aaron’s skin felt like a furnace. “Stop. You do not. You’re my friend. Of course I’ll do this for you.”
Jilly paced in the small space between the table and the lockers. “We need a song. Wait—we need a name.”
Aaron’s stomach gurgled loudly, and he put his hand on his belly. “We need some lunch.”
Linking their arms, Jilly led them out of the lounge.
It didn’t take long for the female a cappella group to get off the ground. Three days after she and Aaron had first conceived of the idea, Jilly and three other girls sat huddled around a table, speaking over the top of one another as Aaron listened.
Karen folded her manicured hands politely together on the Formica. “We have to decide what approach to take. Whatever song we pick to show to Dr. Nussenbaum won’t simply make or break us with her. It’ll set the tone for everything we do.”
“We need a name.” Marion pursed her lips and tapped her pen over an open notebook littered with scrawl. “The name will be the heart of us. It has to be right.”
“We could play off of the Ambassadors,” Jilly said, “but it’s already hard not to seem like we’re copying them.”
“We don’t want to be an also-ran, either.”
Aaron glanced at Marion’s list of rejected titles. Diplomats. Champions. Emissaries. “Justice. That’s not bad.”
“It’s too on the nose.” Karen took the paper from Marion and frowned at it. “We can’t sound like little girls playing, and this does. It can’t be all gurrrls.”
Aaron rubbed his ear. “Yeah. You’re claiming your space. This is your opening shot. Your big cannon going off.”
Tanya gasped and held up her hands, her whole body vibrating. “Salvo. Our name is Salvo.”
The word resonated around the table as everyone digested it, letting the taste of the name ring out.
Jilly let out a breath. “It’s perfect. It means aggression and attack, but it sounds almost like a musical term.”
“Well, it’s also a kind of shorthand for salutation,” Marion pointed out. “Friendly aggression.”
Karen nodded. “Yes. It’s the best name. And it sounds like we all agree. Now we need the songs.”
Aaron sat back, watching their passion clash over the tabletop. Occasionally they asked him for reassurances he could transpose something, but eventually he had to step in and redirect them.
“Forget composition. You need to think about the instrumentation. Range is going to be an issue, straight up. Your lowest alto isn’t ever going to be a bass.”
Marion rolled her eyes. “They totally cheated in Pitch Perfect with the vocal-node thing.”
“It’s okay,” Aaron said. “You’re not talking about national competitions yet where instruments are strictly forbidden. Add a single bass guitar, and you’ll get lower color.”
“A double bass would be better.” Karen tapped her pen on her paper. “I could do it, though I’d rather sing. Which means we need a girl who doesn’t want to sing to help.”
Jilly tipped her head to the side. “Why does it have to be a girl? Aaron’s helping us—why can’t we ask a guy to play bass?”
“But with a guy are we a girl group still?”
“Is this about vaginas, or about making us a space to be heard?”
“The basses in the orchestra are all assholes. We can’t ask them.”
“Then who are we going to ask, huh?”
Aaron shut his eyes and shrank into himself, fully understanding what Jilly had warned him about.
Karen took the group back under control. “Ladies. We’ll work out who we ask to do what later. Aaron, did you have more to say?”
He didn’t, but Karen sure seemed to want him to. He cleared his throat. “Instrumentation is an option, but more than anything else you need to think about your vocals. Choose songs that serve you—where the action is on top and in the middle. Don’t go trying to recreate something heavy on the bottom. You need to make the music highlight your voices. Your female voices.”
Karen nodded. “We should check out the ICCA and BOCA catalogs. What are the girl groups doing at Varsity Vocals?”
“We don’t want to copy them,” Tanya said.
Jilly leaned forward. “But we can study them
. All the girl groups, even the pop ones. Let’s get a list together, and we can go over it with Aaron.”
“We need more members.”
They launched into their plans again, and Aaron retreated into the background once more, smiling.
Chapter Nine
Two weeks before homecoming, Mina arrived at orchestra rehearsal vibrating before Giles as if she were her own bass string. “Karen told me about this group she and some other girls are forming. It’s a girl group like the Ambassadors, except anyone can try out. Not just choir.”
Giles blinked under the force of her enthusiasm. “That’s…great. I guess I didn’t know it meant so much to you.”
“A-H cancelled the a cappella choir because of budget cuts before I got to high school. Even then, it was mostly the greatest hits of the 80s and maybe 90s on a good day. This group is serious. They’re not quite talking ICCA, but I think it’s because they’re just getting started.”
“ICCA?”
She threw up her hands. “International Championships of A Cappella. Varsity Vocals? Did you not see Pitch Perfect?”
Jesus, he’d never seen Min this riled up. “I did, but I guess I forgot to take notes. So this group would be another Barton Bellas?”
“Yes. Except this is ground up. I miss singing so much. I don’t want to do stupid women’s chorus, but this. I want it.” She gripped his arm tightly. “You have to help me pick an audition piece.”
Giles gently pried her fingers away. “Of course I will.”
“We’ll go to my room, hunt sheet music online and go snag a practice room.” She gasped. “Shit, I’ve already used all my signup time for this week!”
Stroking her shoulder, Giles tried to bring her down to earth. “Honey, it’s okay. We’ll figure it out. When are tryouts?”
“Karen didn’t say.”
“Here’s what we’re going to do. You’re going to go get your laptop and a bottle of water. I’ll send Brian out for dinner and go see if I can magic up a practice room.”
“But I told you, I already—”
Giles stopped her with a finger on her lips. “Laptop. Water. Meet me here.”
After letting out a shaky breath, she kissed him on the cheek and took off.
As he re-entered the building, Giles texted Brian and arranged for dinner delivery. Food secured, he wandered to the practice rooms, praying one was open. Of course it wasn’t, so he bartered a deal for free tutoring Saturday with a nervous, low-seated violin from the backwoods of Wisconsin in exchange for her practice room. He was about to duck inside when his section leader came up to him leading a group of three girls…and Aaron.
Karen beamed at Giles. “Hey, there you are. Do you have a minute?”
Giles deliberately kept his gaze away from Aaron, but he could see him out of the corner of his eye. “Sure thing. What can I do for you?”
Why is Aaron here with Karen?
Karen turned to the people she led. “Go ahead and get settled in the lounge. I’ll be right there.” She winked at Giles. “Hopefully with a friend.”
Giles decided to head her off at the pass. “I wanted to ask you about this girl-group thing. My friend Mina is interested, and I wondered if you could give me more information.”
“How funny—that’s exactly what I was going to talk to you about.” She nodded at the lounge. “We’re about to start our first official meeting. Come join us.”
“Uh—well, actually, Mina’s on her way here now. She wanted to rehearse.” He couldn’t tell her no, not outright—not yet. “Do you have any dates set for tryouts or ideas of what you’re looking for?”
“We’re thinking sometime the week of homecoming. As for what we’re after, we want team players. It’s not just about strong singers. It’s about attitude, willingness to work. No divas need apply to Salvo.” She nudged his arm. “I’m serious about helping. I’ll keep you posted on our other planning meetings. Because you know I’ll wear you down. We need you.”
I need you to not have Aaron involved first. “I don’t know anything about singing. I sound like a drowning cat in a bag.”
“We don’t need male singers. We need help arranging songs, choreographing, playing background instruments. You’re gifted with music, Giles. You pick up every song with barely any effort.”
Yes, but if he had to sit in the same room with Aaron, he’d vomit from nerves all over the score. “I’m swamped with all the orchestra stuff for the homecoming concert.”
“I’ll bother you after then.” She winked at him and headed into the lounge, calling over her shoulder, “Tell Mina she’s going to be great.”
Mina and Giles worked three hours a night for her audition. Privately he thought she was seriously overthinking things, but mostly he marveled at how intense she was about joining this group. This wasn’t a side of his best friend he’d known existed, and it felt weird how, out of the blue, it had cropped up.
Eventually, one night as he walked her to her dorm, he told her so.
She held her sheet music tight to her chest and stared at the sidewalk in front of them rather than look Giles in the eye. “Probably it’s not what I’m wanting it to be. Probably I won’t get in.”
“Come on. You’ve been killing it every night.”
She tucked a long strand of shiny black hair behind her ear. “It’s not like Glee where they racially balance their members and make special numbers for the wheelchair-bound.”
Giles stopped short. “Wait. You’re saying you think they’ll not pick you because you’re Korean?”
She gave him a withering glare. “You want to know how many not-white kids got the lead in the school play, the solo in chorus? Zero. Black guys and Latinos can be linebackers, but they’re never the quarterback. Not in Minnesota.”
This was crazy. “Come on, Min, you’re trying to tell me everyone’s deliberately not picking ethnic kids because they’re racist?”
She rolled her eyes. “Ethnic kids. Because what, you have no ethnicity? You said you felt singled out because you were gay, you were always the gay kid. Well, hon, I’m always that Asian girl. No American Girl doll looked like me when I was growing up, and now there’s one. No Barbie except for a sidekick. Those Barbie movies? Blonde white girls in the lead roles, every time, except for the brunettes. Even Japanese anime westernizes itself half the time. There’s space for me at the table to be an also-ran. That’s about the best there is.” She hugged her arms tight to her body. “I don’t want to be an also-ran this time.”
Giles had never thought about Mina’s race. She was as American as he was in every way—she’d been in Minnesota since she was eighteen months old. To him she was Mina, end of story. Now, for the first time in his sixteen years of knowing her, he contemplated what it was like to be the same as everyone else inside but looking like almost nobody else outside.
“I’m sorry,” he said, which was worthless, but it was all he had. “I had no idea, but I should have, and I’m sorry.”
Shrugging, she averted her gaze. “I didn’t know about you playing gigolo to the closet cases.”
He put a hand on her shoulder. “Min, you’re getting into this group. You’re an amazing singer. I’m nervous you’ll give up viola for choir, you’re so good.”
She smiled shyly. “Good enough they won’t care about the Asian thing?”
“The Asian thing shouldn’t be a thing. They should see you for who you are. They should be open-minded enough to not judge you by anything but your voice and your ability to be a team player.”
“Should doesn’t mean will.”
No, it didn’t.
That night as Giles lay in his bunk, a dark thought haunted him. He could make sure nobody excluded Mina for not being white enough if he was on the planning committee. Except he’d have to face Aaron. It’d be a dick move to not help Mina, but the very thought of dealing wit
h Aaron made him sweat.
“Can I ask you something?” Giles asked Brian as he finished a game of Halo.
Brian put down his controller. “Sure. What’s on your mind?”
Giles hesitated. “I’ll warn you, it’s kind of a gay moment.”
“If you’re after sex advice with either gender, I’m going to totally suck.”
“It’s not exactly a relationship.” Giles climbed down from the bunk and sat beside Brian, staring at the wall behind the TV. “It’s this guy I made out with last summer. It was pretty intense, actually, and while I wasn’t his first time, I definitely showed him all the way around the plate, if you get my meaning.” He tugged nervously at his ear. “He kind of freaked out after, and I got bummed. Then he shows up here at Saint Timothy.”
Brian raised his eyebrows. “You mean, you didn’t know he was going here?”
“He wasn’t going here. When we talked, he had no idea where to go for college. Now here he is. First he shuns me, then he scams on my school.”
“Man, that’s kind of skeevy.”
Giles threw up both hands in relief. “Thank you. He’s not just here, either. He’s some star pupil of Nussy’s, and now he’s helping with Salvo. Which they asked me to help with too.”
“Sounds like a no-brainer. Run. Hard and fast.”
“Yes, but Mina wants to be in this group, and she’s nervous. If I help, I could…influence them.”
“Tough call.” He scratched his chin. “Wait—I think I heard of this guy. Is this the tenor who belted out ‘Lover to Lover’ at the Ambassadors initiation?”
“God, yes.”
Brian laughed and nudged him with his shoulder. “Sorry, man. Didn’t mean to rub it in.”
“That’s just it. Everywhere I go, there he is.”
“Well, man, I’m sorry. I’ll totally hate him for you, even though I actually think that is a girl thing to do.”
“I feel like Salieri in the Amadeus movie. I always thought he was such a whiner, and now I’m living his fucking life.”
“You shouldn’t let this guy get to you. I mean, is he actively throwing it in your face?”
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