Silence (2 page)

Someday.

Someday Broadway. I say it over and over in my head.

And it keeps me going when I feel lost, adrift. My dreams anchor me to the present. They give me hope. And that hope is what propels me forward each day, knowing that there is something bigger and better in my future. Something worth believing in.

Someday Broadway.

Warmth on my skin stops me suddenly. It shifts across my face like sunshine. Someone is watching me. I can sense it. I glance around. And I see him. Tall, slender. With tousled caramel-colored hair that touches his shoulders. A pale scar runs across his chin. It stands out against the sun-kissed shade of his skin. I’ve never seen him before. Something about him seems familiar. His eyes catch mine and keep me there. Eyes that glow like they are lit from within. A golden-blue spotlight. My skin is still warm from his gaze. He can’t be looking at me; it must be a mistake. I glance around to see if he is looking at someone else. Someone behind me, perhaps, but there is no one. No one except me. I am caught again in the spotlight of his eyes. And I cannot move. I watch him. Watching me.

The bell rings, startling me.

Lily grabs my arm. “Stella, we’ll be late for class,” she says. She looks at him. At me.

“Right,” I answer. But I don’t move. I am held captive.

“Stella!” Lily shakes me again, forcing me to look at her. “Come on.” She rolls her eyes—her signal that this is someone we should dismiss as unimportant. Not good-looking enough. Not a football player. Not special.

But somehow, though I can’t explain it, I know he is special. I don’t know how. I just do.

“Right,” I say again. “Let’s go,” I manage as I break free and move with Lily, heading to class.

I look over my shoulder one last time. He’s still watching me.

Rehearsals begin right away. The cast sits in a circle on stage. We hold our scripts. Read our lines. I love it. I am meant to do this forever.

Tony is played by a senior, Kace Maxwell. He stars in every school play and basically rules the drama department. I know who he is, but we’ve never spoken. I doubt he knew my name before I appeared on the cast list as Maria. The other students worship him, hang on his every word, follow him around, compliment him. Kace has black hair and bright hazel eyes that sparkle like he has a secret. My mother would say he has charisma, that indefinable something that makes people stand out from the rest.

I wonder if I have charisma.

Kace is friends with everyone. He is nice, but reserved. I can tell he wishes his best friend, Quinn, had been chosen instead of me. Quinn is always the lead. If Kace is the king of the drama department, Quinn is queen. Everyone expected her to play Maria. She auditioned for the role, but was cast as one of the Jet girlfriends. She is also my understudy.

“Stella is a sophomore. I’m a senior,” I overhear her complaining. “This is my last chance. She’ll have other years to be the lead.”

That’s how it usually works; seniors usually do play the leads. Her words shake my confidence and make me wonder why Mr. Preston chose me.

Quinn smiles my way, but her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. It’s like a clown smile someone drew on her face with pink lipstick.

I try not to let it distract me. I have a job to do. I look down at my script. Highlight my lines.

Someday Broadway.

The next afternoon, we run songs next to the piano. Nerves tingle in my hands and feet. I hear my heart beating in my ears as I wait for my turn. I can do this. I know I can.

I listen to the first song. Kace sings “Something’s Coming
.
” His pitch is perfect, his tone smooth and pure. Kace has a voice that draws you in and makes you want to listen. He doesn’t miss a note. As I sit on stage and listen, my hands become clammy, my throat parched. I have never been so nervous to sing.

I reach for my water bottle. Take a sip. Breathe in and out. Try to focus.

The atmosphere in the room changes. Crackles. An electricity surrounds me like lightning. I sense him before I see him.

Hair like a lion’s mane. Chaos and order at the same time. Soulful eyes with stories to tell. Though he is at the back of the theater, I know who he is. The same as before. It’s as if I know him.

I close my water bottle. Pretend to look at my script. Instead, I watch him. He wears jeans and a long-sleeved T-shirt with a blue backpack slung over one shoulder. Sneakers. He is lanky, like he doesn’t eat much. He moves gracefully and slowly, taking a seat in the first row.

What does his voice sound like? I imagine it to be deep, smooth. His lips are round, in contrast to the sloping arches of his cheekbones. I find myself looking again at the scar on his chin. It must have been painful.

I am awakened from my hypnotism by applause. Everyone is clapping for Kace. I hear my hands clap together. It sounds overly loud. I try to soften them so my clapping isn’t so jarring. But I am not thinking about Kace and his song.

When Mr. Preston calls my name, I don’t hear him at first. Someone next to me pokes me in the side. “Stella, that’s you.”

Embarrassed, I stand quickly and move toward the piano.

Mr. Preston nods. “I want to run your solo of ‘Somewhere
.
’ Then you can work on it at home. Try to layer it with emotion. Remember, you close the show. I want to feel your pain, your loss.”

“I understand,” I tell him. My throat is so dry. I swallow, gulp air. I hope I can deliver. I’ve practiced at home, but I’ve never performed this song in front of anyone.

Just then, Mr. Preston notices him and steps to the other side of me, closer to the edge of the stage. “Ah, Mr. Rivers. Thank you for coming. Please, join us.”

Everyone turns and watches as the stranger moves toward the steps on the left of the stage. Whispers swirl around me like the gnats that come out before sunset and hover in masses over the grass, waiting to bite.

“Who is he?”

“Why is he here?”

“He’s new.”

“Is his name on the cast list?”

“I don’t know.”

I watch him as he comes closer. His eyes should be on Mr. Preston, but they are locked with mine. They are the color of the sky on a summer day. I can’t breathe. How in the world will I sing?

Mr. Preston stops him by throwing an arm around his shoulders as though they are old friends. “People, this is Hayden Rivers.”

Hayden Rivers.

Hayden. I have a name for him now.

Mr. Preston is still speaking. “Hayden is a new student here, and thankfully, he plays the piano. Much better than I do!” Everyone erupts in laughter at that. When Mr. Preston plays, he bangs on the keys as if he is fighting with the piano. He butchers Rodgers and Hammerstein and Leonard Bernstein and Stephen Schwartz, turning their classic songs into commercial jingles.

Mr. Preston raises one hand for silence, but he is laughing with us. “So I’ve begged and pleaded, and Hayden agreed to help us out.” He holds up his hand to his mouth in a conspiratorial manner and says to Hayden in a stage whisper, so it is loud enough for everyone to hear, “Don’t tell them how much I have to pay you!”

Hayden smiles shyly, seemingly at the group. But he only looks at me.

I hold my breath and wait for him to speak. I anticipate the smooth, deep voice I have imagined.

“Th-thank . . . you. Gl-glad . . . to . . . help.” Hayden’s voice is halting. Staggered. Slow. As though it is difficult for him to form the words. His voice is nothing like I expected.

I’m disappointed, somehow. I look down at my hands and weave my fingers together. Hold on tight.

Some students whisper to one another. Judge him. Words like “weird” and “strange” reach my ears. One comment is louder than the rest. It booms in my ears like a loudspeaker.

“Is he an alien?” This provokes laughter. For some inexplicable reason, I feel protective. So much so that it overcomes my shyness, my disappointment. Everything. I want to cover Hayden’s ears so he can’t hear their words. I look at him, hoping to help somehow. And I find myself caught in his stare. I don’t look away.

“Okay then. Introduction’s over.” If Mr. Preston heard the comments, he doesn’t show it. He points at me instead. “Stella over there is our Maria. She’s next.”

I watch as Hayden glides toward me with a smooth gait, seemingly oblivious to the stares and whispers. Our eyes lock as though neither of us wants to be the first to look away.

When he steps behind me to sit at the piano, my skin tingles. A shiver runs through my stomach. The air shifts around me as though it has been rearranged.

I wait to hear the notes of the introduction. I expect to hear the song I have rehearsed. But when Hayden begins to play, the room spins. I am captivated by the emotion in the music. The notes dance in the air, as Hayden breathes life into the song.

His head is bent over the piano keys. Hair hides his face. I watch in wonder as Hayden’s fingers create a story without words. Somehow, at the right moment, I open my mouth and sing. I find the rhythm, the hills and valleys of the melody. The pain and anguish of loss in the song. I pour everything I have into my performance.

I am no longer myself. I am Maria. Every inch of my being is filled with her sorrow. I don’t think about the lyrics or the sound of my own voice. I am lost in the music. The moment.

The last note is soft. Filled with heartache. I hear the sound disappear. The silence slaps me. I startle awake, as though I slipped out of my own skin and have now returned. My first instinct is to look at Hayden.

Our eyes meet. It is as if we have just danced together. I smile, thanking him. He grins back like we share a secret. In that split second, we are the only two people on the stage. The only two people in the world. No one has ever looked at me like this before. I am hot and cold at the same time, but I have never felt so present. There is nothing but this moment. It is only then that I notice the applause.

“That’s what I’m talking about, people,” Mr. Preston tells us. “Nice work, Stella. Sing it that way opening night, and we’ll get a standing ovation.”

It’s the biggest compliment I can imagine. I duck my head and thank Mr. Preston softly.

Kace is called up next with the Jets. As he passes me, he bows slightly. Bestows a leading man smile. I have earned his respect. I may be a sophomore, but Kace now believes I am worthy of standing beside him on stage.

I am released while the Jets rehearse. I can go home. But I wish to stay just a bit longer. I linger over my backpack. Try to sneak one more look at the piano, except students block my view. I can’t see him.

But I can hear the music as I leave the stage.

Touching my heart with the language of sound. Magical.

NEW

— 
Stella
 —

I walk through the halls, suddenly popular. Everyone knows my name now. I am instantly elevated. Just like that. I am the star of the school musical.

“You are über famous,” Lily says.

The third cheerleader in a row calls, “Hi, Stella.”

“Who knew being your BFF was going to land me a spot on the varsity squad?”

I shrug, downplaying my own happiness at finally being noticed. “I’m just the flavor of the month. No big deal.”

Lily nods and forces a grin. For a split second, I think I spot jealousy lurking in the shadows of her smile. Then it is gone. And I can’t be sure if I imagined it.

“Nada importante,” Lily agrees. I hear sarcasm hiding in the syllables. Little drops of envy mixed with bitterness. I hope I am wrong. That I am overly sensitive to being the center of attention.

I spot Hayden leaning against his locker. His eyes are almost hidden under a canopy of tangled hair. But they find mine like a guiding star. I am drawn to him. So much that it takes me by surprise. I catch my breath. Wonder what I am doing. Mesmerized by a boy.

I must stay on course. I have a goal. A focus. Someday Broadway.

My mother lost her focus when she met my dad. She abandoned her goal of becoming an actress. She never went to New York, London, or Hollywood. She never lived her dream. Instead, she became an accountant in suburbia. And then he left her. For his twenty-something trainer with flat abs and a spray tan. Love breaks your heart and leaves you sobbing on the kitchen floor.

So I keep walking. I don’t stop.

Every day, I stand on stage, reciting my lines. Singing my songs. I think I am acting. Pretending I am Maria. That I love Tony. Kace looks into my eyes. Holds my hand. But I don’t see him. I am thinking of Hayden. I am not acting. I know this. I am singing my songs to Hayden. I am afraid he knows this. So I stop looking at him.

Lily has US History with Hayden. She’s nicknamed him SC for the Scarecrow in
The Wizard of Oz.
She rattles off a list of all the things that are wrong with him.

“He’s awkward, has perpetual bedhead, and a speech problem. His fashion sense is très horrible. Y.C.D.B.”

Lily likes to say things in code. Y.C.D.B. means “You Can Do Better.”

“Kace is perfect for you,” she announces at lunch. “You could be like a Hollywood It couple. The stars of the musical, falling in love.” Her voice gets all romantic and dreamy.

I roll my eyes, take a bite out of my apple. I want to tell her that I’m not interested in Kace. I sing my songs to Hayden, I want to say. But I don’t. Because Hayden’s never even spoken to me. He looks at me like he knows me, like I mean something to him. When I sing, he plays the piano. That’s all, but it’s better that way.

After my parents split up, I vowed that I will never fall in love. I will never feel the pain of betrayal my mother has felt. I will never trust a boy with my heart. Yet somehow, I find myself wanting the something I vowed never to want. And wanting it with Hayden.

Dress rehearsal. I love my costume. It’s flowing and white, feminine and graceful. It makes me feel immortal. I think of the words my mother says all the time to Emerson, my younger sister, and me.

“These are some of the best moments of your life. Embrace them.”

I embrace this moment. Spinning around in the mirror, entranced by my reflection, I am a whirling ring of white light. My life has endless possibilities. I breathe deep. Hold tight to this moment. Smile at myself.