Derek: cool. see you in Lausanne
Beth: where we’ll beat the heck out of you guys
Derek: not likely
I’ve had enough. I don’t know how to end the chat session, so I close the whole site. I don’t ever want to go back on it again. I don’t care what Sarah and Meadow say.
Great. We’re wasting half this practice trying on dresses. That cocky Amabile boy made me realize we’re nowhere near ready to compete. To even stand a chance in an international competition, we can’t sing standing in parts like a traditional choir—altos, first and second sopranos. We have to be all mixed up to get a nice blend. Judges can hear the difference. We’ll be laughed right out of Switzerland if we don’t.
It’s tough to sing that way. The altos can’t follow me. The other parts can’t follow their strongest singers. Each chorister has to be able to sing the part on her own. And it’s all got to be memorized perfectly. It’s coming, but we’re running out of time. We’re going to be competing against choirs from music schools. They practice for hours every day, not a couple nights a week. Our big spring concert is three weeks away. We need every minute of every practice. Terri’s thrown in a couple marathon Saturday sessions after school’s out, but I’m not confident we’ll be where we need to be. I don’t want to just go to the Choral Olympics. After all Meadow’s mom has put me through, I want gold. And that boy across the border in Ontario’s fake excuse for a London, he better watch out.
So I hang out at practice that night, steaming. I’m also mad that I gave in and wore that dumb bra. No inserts. They creep me out, wobbly rubber things still sitting in their bag. I’m not touching them. The bra is bad enough. The underwires are digging into me, and it’s just not comfortable to be pushed and squeezed like this. It’s really strange to look down and see cleavage. I’m such a coward, though. I figured I better not risk Meadow’s mom’s wrath tonight by showing up in my sports bra for her fancy fitting.
She and Meadow put their hearts and souls into these gowns. I need to keep being a good girl, and I’ll get to sing. It’s all so unreal. I’ll wake up one morning and it will have evaporated. I’ll be the Beast anchoring the alto, and we won’t be going anywhere. Each day that goes by and that’s not true makes the next day less real. Less solid. Thin fabric that will tear if I do anything wrong. The only trip I’ll be going on is whatever the hell Colby plans next for me.
I want to go back to scribbling lyrics on the back of the last song in my choir binder. I think I was getting somewhere, but Leah and Sarah, both armed with those straightener things, are ironing my hair again. “Ouch.”
How did it go? Something about daisies and butterflies. No, it was . . .Not quite a tadpole,
Not quite a swan.
An opening bud?
The sun at dawn?
Crap. Too embarrassing for words. I need to erase it all. Fast.
Sarah burns me again. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” The lyrics in my brain disintegrate. “Thanks for helping me.”
“I can’t hold this steady.” Sarah puts down the straightening iron. “I’m so nervous.”
Leah releases the lock of hair she straightened. “Why?”
Sarah sighs. “What if the gown looks bad on me? Red isn’t my color.”
“But they aren’t red.” Leah clamps the straightening iron on another chunk of hair and slowly slides it down. “They are ruby. Jewel tones look good on everybody.”
“You’re starting to sound like Meadow’s mom.” Sarah puts down her straightener and brushes out her side of my head.
“Well—she’s right. The other choirs will all be in black, white, or some nauseating blue.” Leah releases the last smoothed strand of hair. “We’ll make such a statement. No one wears red.”
“Maybe because it’s slutty.” Sarah has been moody all night.
“It’s elegant.” Leah takes the brush and perfects my hair. “You saw the fabric. Definitely not slutty.” She hands me the mirror.
“It is pretty.” I can’t imagine me wearing something made of it.
Meadow appears at the sanctuary door. “Beth—you’re next.”
“Wait a minute. I need to tell you three about something.”
I fill them in about my chat with Derek. Meadow whips out her iPhone, pulls up my page, and uses my friend link to get to Derek’s page. “Oh, baby. I call dibs on him.”
“You can’t call him. He wrote to Beth.” Sarah peers over Meadow’s shoulder at the tiny screen. “She gets to decide.”
Meadow studies the screen, navigating around his page. “He obviously thinks she’s me. I’m Bliss’s soloist.”
Leah puts down the brush and tries to get a look at Meadow’s screen. “You have a boyfriend, don’t you?”
Meadow shrugs. “He’s starting to get on my nerves. Derek here is definitely an upgrade.”
“Meadow!” Her mom’s voice bellows up from the depths of the church.
“Let’s go, Beth.” Meadow drags me to the basement lair.
Downstairs her mom has transformed the dingy basement. Big lamps. Lots of mirrors. Four portable wardrobe racks glistening with ruby dresses. There’s a screen in the corner. Four other girls are wearing long slips and stepping into their gowns.
Meadow’s mom herds me behind the screen and hands me an extra-long slip. My tee is really tight. I set down my glasses, pull off my tee, and catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror behind the screen. Put my glasses back on for a clearer view. That bra makes me look way sexy. How can a lacey bra and cleavage transform my bony body like that? My too-long legs are waxed smooth, my stomach is flat, and there isn’t a single zit to be seen anywhere on me. Maybe I can go to the beach this summer. Lake Huron never really warms up, but I love wading in the icy water on a muggy July day. I haven’t done it since I was a kid.
I pull the satiny slip over my head. The fabric slides over my body like a whisper. I shimmy my designer jeans that I only wear to Bliss rehearsals and for Meadow’s excursions out from under it. The soft fabric touches my skin, clings to the curves of my body. Totally luxurious. I feel like I did when Scott touched my lips.
Scott.
What would my old friend with his white teeth, clear skin, sexy-guy neck, and wispy locks of blond hair think of me like this? I can almost picture myself with a guy like that Derek. I stand there working out a hopeful chorus.An awkward tadpole
Turns to graceful frog.
The swan can swim
Beyond her deep bog.
Delicate petals escaping the storm
Beautiful prince who says
He’ ll keep me warm—
“Beth—” Meadow’s mom saves me from my insane thoughts.
She pulls me over to one of a half a dozen women with tape measures around their necks and pins in their mouths working on girls in the room. This one’s got a bunch of pretty ruby fabric draped over her arm. Cranberry. If it were Christmas we could call it that. The fabric turns into my gown when she holds it up.
I step into it, put my arms through the short sleeves that are gathered at the shoulder, puff briefly, and then gather onto my arm a few inches later. I wriggle to get into it. Meadow’s mom zips me up in back.
The gown is simple. Round neck—not low enough to show my bracreated cleavage, but my lovely clavicle is exposed. Empire waist—the bodice is gathered tight under my bustline, and the full skirt flares out from there. Nothing tight across the stomach. Terri’s so practical. We can use our gut for breath support and not burst our seams. Or look fat. The whole effect, from the short feminine sleeves to the soft gathers that give me more bust, to the perfect drape of the richly colored fabric broadcasts elegance. If you cut off my head, I’d look amazing. It must be good from the back, too, with my perfectly cut, dyed, highlighted, flattened hair hanging down my back.