His arms tighten around me, and his mouth presses on mine again. “It’s yours, Beth.” His words flow into my soul and twist me into knots. “You know it’s yours.”
chapter 23
QUITS
You say that you’re mine.
You say that your heart is true.
I believe every line,
When you look at me the way you do.
And even though I doubt you,
I can’t live without you.
Your lips made it right,
Holding me tonight.
I close my eyes and say, “Yes.”
Say, “Yes,” forever after.
If I’m part of your song,
Nothing, love, will ever go wrong.
Our tune will hold laughter,
Soothe my fears of disaster.
I’ ll leap and f ly with you,
Fly with you forever after.
I couldn’t sleep after I got home last night—wrote that to my favorite song from junior high. I got groggy before I could finish it. It needs two more verses and a bridge. In the cold light of this morning’s cold cereal, I reread my scrawl, try to make sense of the crossed-out lines, and remember what he wants me to do. Derek’s Plan B is unbelievably great. Really. But I so don’t want to call Terri. Awkward times a zillion. It takes three tries dialing her before I have the guts to let it ring. She doesn’t pick up. I force myself to let it ring five times, get ready to hang up before her voice-mail comes on.
“Hello?”
Crap. “Hi, Terri.”
“Beth? Is that you?”
“Uh-huh.” I sit down on a kitchen stool and then stand right back up. “Sorry to bug you.”
“Don’t think of it.”
“I just wanted . . . I need to—”
“You sound upset. Is there a problem?”
“Um—not really.” I walk around the counter.
“Do you need help?” She pauses and her voice gets intense. “Are you safe? ”
“Oh, yeah. No. It’s nothing like that.”
“You scared me. I know your parents are divorced and—”
“No. No. Nothing like that.”
“Well, what can I help you with?” Her voice lifts. “I hope you like the pieces we’re doing.” Excitement comes through our static-laced cell connection.
“They’re all great. I appreciate you showcasing me.” I lean my elbows on the kitchen counter. “But, um, maybe the other girls don’t.”
“Nonsense.”
“I’ve been thinking . . . maybe I should . . . ” I trail off.
“Don’t worry about it a second. You’ll be off to college next year. We wasted so many seasons hiding you in the altos. I’m making this last one count.”
I realize I have a chunk of frizzy dyed hair clutched too tight in my hand. “I’ve been listening a lot to the Amabile CDs.”
“The guys or the girls?”
She caught me. “Both.”
“If you go to the right school next year, you’ll be performing pieces like that. Where are you applying? We should talk.”
“Okay. Thanks. We should.” I try to start telling her about the AYS, but she’s way ahead of me.
“Have you heard from Derek? Since Lausanne?”
“Yes.”
“How’s that going?”
“He’s intense.” Why do I make him sound like that? I should say that he’s amazing, says he loves me, wants to look out for me.
“Smooth?”
“Very.”
“Be careful, Beth. I know you’re new to guys wanting your attention. You shouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“Really?” I know she’s talking physical, but maybe her advice applies to more.
“Of course.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re sure you’re safe?”
“Very. Bye.”
I hit Derek’s number.
“You talk to Terri yet?”
I grit my teeth. “Uh-huh. Just.”
“How’d she take it?”
My face screws up tight. “She hasn’t got the pill yet.” I don’t say it very loud.
“What?”
I sink onto a stool and tip my head forward so my hair falls around my face. “I couldn’t do it.”
“You can’t just not show on Tuesday. Call her back. She deserves that much.”
“I can’t quit over the phone. Never see them again.” I sound defeated. “They’re all going to hate me.”
“Who cares? They’re using you.”
His confidence makes me sit up straight. “Amabile won’t be using me?” My voice has an abrupt edge to it.
“No.” Unyielding. Harsh. Commanding. All in one solid negative.
That gets me up on my feet. “And you’re not using me?”
I’m glad I can’t see his face. “What does that mean?”
“Terri asked about you—about us. She said I shouldn’t agree to anything that makes me uncomfortable.”
“That’s rich.”
Mom’s head pops around the corner. “You okay?” Guess I’m getting screechy.
I wave her off and run up the stairs hissing into the phone. “Maybe I’m not comfortable with quitting my choir. Maybe I’m not comfortable singing with all those nice AYS girls. Maybe I’m not comfortable with you planning my life.”
Silence. He starts saying something and stops. Clears his throat. Twice. “Comfort is highly overrated. Joining the AYS won’t be comfortable. It’ll be loads of hard work. I didn’t think you’d be afraid of work. I thought you’d eat it up.”
“It’s not the work.” I make it to my room, shut the door, and lean back against it.
He’s saying, “Are you afraid of spending more time with me? Does that make you uncomfortable?”
Does it? I don’t know. I thought that’s what I wanted. All I wanted. “Sometimes I am afraid.” I sink slowly to the floor. “Not of you—for you.”
“Don’t worry about me.” His tone cuts.
Crap. He’s angry. But I keep pushing. “Back in Lausanne—Blake said—”
“Blake’s an idiot.”
“It’s eating me up. When we’re together, you’re overpowering. I can’t think. But when I’m alone—that’s all I do.” I’m talking too loud again.
“Then we need to be together more.” I’m on the verge of dissolving into the sexy, coaxing thick in his voice.
I bang my head back against the door to clear it. “You’re sidestepping me again.”
“You’ve got a lot of music to learn. That should keep you busy until Tuesday. No more worrying.”
His bossy tactic gives me backbone. “I’m not coming Tuesday.”
“You have to.”
“No. I don’t.”
He heats up. “You’ll be way behind. It’s tough to miss even one week of practice. They started this week. If you don’t go Tuesday, you’ll be two weeks behind. You’ll miss solo auditions.”
“If they want me to solo, they know how I sing.” I get on my feet and glance around my cluttered room for that folder of music.
“But you have to compete for it.”
I laugh. “Are you saying there are claws under the nice?”
“Hardly. They give everyone a shot.”
“So I don’t solo on those ten pieces.” I uncover the folder on my dresser and flip through the pieces. Some of them look really good.
“I vouched for you. My rep’s on the line here. Get over yourself and call Terri.”
I slam the folder shut. “I don’t like being told what to do. I didn’t ask you to risk your precious name for me.” My room is too hot. I go over to my window and open it. Muggy out. I pull it closed, stand staring out at the overcast afternoon and the cars going by on the cracked asphalt.
“Please, Beth. I miss you.” His voice is slinky again. “Let’s not fight over this.”