Acadian Star (4 page)

“Of course not.” Meg forced a smile and tried to meet Nève's gaze, but her cousin kept her head down, studying her lyrics.

Was Nève still mad at her about what she said to Mireille earlier? Once she explained everything, Meg was sure Nève would understand.

But not with Mireille there. Somehow Meg would have to get her cousin alone.

“Oh, Nève, come find me after your song. I should have time to do your hair, after all.”

“Does that mean you're not going to get Tante Perle?” Nève looked up. Her face contorted in an expression Meg had trouble reading.

“No, I just…” Meg began.

Just then, Gertie motioned for the performers to assemble for the opening act.

“Eee! That's us!” Mireille grabbed Nève's arm.

“We need to talk,” Nève whispered. Were those tears Meg saw? Was Nève really that upset?

“Come on, Nève!” Mireille pulled her towards the group.

Meg stood alone, trying to make sense of what had just happened. She bowed her head and rushed to the girl's washroom, her cheeks burning.

So maybe she shouldn't have made fun of Tante Perle along with Mireille. But was that enough of a reason for Nève to act so hurt? Meg chucked her backpack on the counter and turned on the tap. She splashed a palm full of cool water on her face and stared in the mirror.

Wineberry Red. She rubbed at the stubborn stain with wet fingers, and then yanked at the last piece of paper towel from the holder.

She caught the image of Véronique stepping out of a washroom stall in the reflection of the mirror.

“Hi, Meg. Where's Nève?” Of course Véronique would wonder. She and Nève were usually inseparable. Still, the question annoyed Meg. She swung around to face her.

“With Mireille.” She spat out the words.

Véronique drew her chin to her chest in surprise.

Meg turned back to the mirror and worked the last of the lipstick off her cheek. “Sorry, it's just…never mind. Sorry, Véronique.”

Véronique joined her at a nearby sink.

“It's okay,” Véronique said as she lathered the pink soap in her hands. “Everyone's really stressed out tonight. Especially Nève.”

Meg locked eyes with Véronique in the mirror. Véronique squeaked the tap closed.

“Oh, didn't you hear? They got the call at suppertime. Nève's dad took a job in Fort McMurray. They leave right after lobster season.” Véronique brushed past Meg to get a paper towel.

“Uh…oh sorry, I took the last one,” Meg said, dazed.

“No worries,” Véronique said. She shook her hands to dry them, sending a sprinkle of water droplets onto the floor and counter. “Gotta go. I'm in the opening ceremony.” With that, Véronique yanked the door open and disappeared.

Meg's knees wobbled. She leaned against the water-splattered counter. Her best friend was moving to Alberta? How could this be happening?

No wonder Nève was upset! Meg rushed out of the washroom into the chaos of performers. She had to talk to Nève before the concert started.

“Opening ceremony people backstage, please!” Gertie tapped her clipboard with a pen. A rush of people grazed past Meg and headed up to the main hall. She caught a glimpse of Nève's glossy blonde hair halfway up the stairs.

“Nève!” she shouted above the din of stomping feet. But her shout was swallowed by the confusion and noise. The group disappeared through the door leading backstage at the top of the stairs. Chairs scraped overhead as people took their seats in the main hall as the concert began.

Meg turned and leaned heavily against the staircase railing. Nève
couldn't
move to Alberta! When would she ever see her again?

“Juniors line up, you're next.” Gertie checked off names from her clipboard. “Meg Gallant, Nève Gallant, Stacey Landry, Mireille LeBlanc…”

Great, Meg thought. She was singing first, then Nève. There was no way she'd get to talk to her friend until Nève finished her song.

“Okay, Meg, you're up first.” Gertie pointed her pen to Meg and motioned to the stairs that led backstage.

Meg trudged up the steps. She flattened her hair with the palms of her hands, waiting for the opening act to wrap up. How could she even do this after learning about Nève moving? Did she even remember the words? How was she ever going to get through this performance after what had just happened?

The next few minutes were a blur. Uncle Vince's band wrapped up the opening act as the performers took their bows. Meg tried to catch Nève's eye, but the group exited the stage from the opposite side. Stagehands hustled props on and off the stage around Meg, adding to the confusion.

The announcer spoke.

“Wow! Wasn't that something? I can't think of a better way to kick off Picasse Bay's first ever Acadian Star competition.” A round of applause sounded from the audience. “We'll now begin with our junior competitors. The judges will make their comments after each performer and the finalists will be announced before the grand finale.

“And now, without further ado, our first junior competitor—Meg Gallant!”

Another round of applause rose from the audience. Hands urged Meg onstage from behind. She barely had time to think before she found herself alone at centre stage. The bright spotlight seared white pricks of light across her vision. A sea of faces wavered in front of her.

“And what will you be singing for us tonight?” a voice asked.

Meg zoned in on the three people sitting just below the stage. They sat poised on an elevated platform behind a long table covered with a white cloth. Three small Acadian flags graced their spots, next to stacks of papers and pens.

The judges!

Meg froze. Thoughts of Nève moving away swirled with the lyrics jumbling in her mind. A cold sweat stuck the polyester of her costume to her skin. What
had
she decided to sing, anyway?

“I…uh…”

Meg's mind went blank.

Chapter 5

M
EG GLANCED OVER AT THE BAND
and caught Uncle Vince's eye. He winked at her and raised the bow to his fiddle. The music kicked in to save her. Meg opened her mouth and went into autopilot.

“
Oh, oh
…
I'm between a rock and a hard place
…”

This was so different from practising with Nève in her room, using hairbrushes as microphones. Meg fumbled to get the mike to the right height while she sang. It screeched with feedback in protest. Uncle Vince smiled in encouragement as he played, urging Meg to regain her focus.

Meg carried on. The judges nodded to the beat.

“
And there isn't anywhere I'd rather be
…”

A little wobbly on that part. Maybe the judges wouldn't notice.

“
But I'm thinking by the look I see on your face
…
that it isn't quite the same for you and me
…”

Meg worked through the song verse by verse. The spirit of the music propelled her forward. More words, flashing stage lights. She breathed in deeply for the big finish.

Almost there…

“
Oh-oh-oh
…
between a rock and a hard place
...”

And then…it was over.

The applause surprised Meg. She dropped her shoulders in relief and ran her hands against the sides of her skirt to dry the dampness. The memory of the song pulsed through her body as she took deep breaths to steady her racing heart. The coloured lights faded back. A white spotlight beamed a circle of harsh light at her feet.

She waited.

The judges looked down and made notes. Monsieur Giroir tipped his head towards Soeur Agnes for a brief moment. He whispered something that made her smile.

The local judges spoke first.

“
Merci
, Meg,” Monsieur Giroir began. “I know it's always difficult to be the first to sing. All things considered, I enjoyed that very much. You have a lovely tone to your voice. Good job.”

Sœur Agnes was next. “Meg, you were always such a little songbird. I usually like something a little more traditional, but overall I think your tempo was good and you worked through your nerves.
Très bien
, Meg.”

Meg smiled and nodded her head in a show of thanks. She held her breath while the visiting judge, Madame Deveau, finished her notes.

Madame Deveau looked up from her writing and studied Meg over the half lenses of her glasses. Her shoulders stooped with age, but her eyes were sharp and intelligent. Their icy stare played on Meg's nerves.

“Madamoiselle Gallant,” Madame Deveau began. “I must say, you have an amazing spirit in your voice.”

Meg allowed herself to exhale slightly, but Madame Deveau wasn't finished.

“But there is one question you need to ask yourself if you make it through the final round to Halifax.” She tapped her pen on the paper in front of her and took a moment before she leaned into her microphone to continue. “Are you sure you are up to the task?”

Madame Deveau picked up her papers and tapped them on the table as if to straighten them. A hush blanketed the audience for what seemed like an eternity. Meg stood, not sure if she should answer the question or turn and run to get the moment over with. Someone offstage clapped to break the silence, prompting a small eruption of polite applause.

Meg squeaked out a thank you into the microphone. Her cheeks burned as she rushed off the stage.

Are you sure you are up to the task?

What kind of question was that? Meg fumed.

She caught a glimpse of Nève waiting for her turn in the wings. The sight of her friend brought the weight of the day square down upon her as she exited to the other side. The strange behaviour of Tante Perle, the fact that Nève was moving, and now this; there was no way Madame Deveau would vote for her to go to Halifax after that comment.

Meg flew down the stairs and grabbed her backpack. Faces blurred as she raced into the washroom and headed for the middle stall. The washroom's fluorescent light buzzed and flickered for a moment, adding to Meg's angst. A handwritten sign hung from the stall door.

Out of order.

Perfect. No one would look for her in there. And with Madame Deveau's words still fresh in her mind, Meg was in no mood to face anyone.

The muffled music sounded through the ceiling of the washroom from the main hall overhead. Nève had begun her song already. Meg brought the toilet lid down and sat on it, her face in her hands. The heat of humiliation sent trickles of sweat down her back.

Maybe it was just a crazy dream to think that she would make it to the finals in Halifax with Nève. But she and Nève had dreamt about it, talked about it, and even decided what they would wear. It hardly mattered anymore. Nève would be six provinces away by the time the finals came along, anyway.

Meg couldn't bear another minute of the clammy polyester of her costume and peeled it off. She pulled the light blouse, apron, and woollen skirt of her Évangeline costume from her backpack and slipped them on, then shoved her feet back into the leather of her dance shoes.

The comfort of the fresh clothing steeled Meg's nerves. She pulled at the laces of her shoe as she steadied it on the toilet lid. How appropriate. Months of practice—down the crapper.

Maybe Madame Deveau was right. Maybe she didn't have what it takes to cut it in Halifax.

One way or another, though, there was still the finale to prepare for.

The finale. Tante Perle. Meg had almost forgotten.

She could still hear Nève's song sound through the floor from the hall above. Should she wait for her like her mom had suggested? It would give them a chance to talk.

No, Meg reasoned. She'd be back in no time if she ran. The way back was another thing, with Tante Perle with her, but either way, she should have plenty of time to talk to Nève before the finale.

Meg turned to stash her backpack in the busted stall. She slipped on the wet floor and nearly fell but caught herself against the door.