Authors: Angela Morrison
Tags: #Juvenile Fiction, #Social Issues, #Dating & Sex
Sing Me to Sleep (17 page)
The Aussies get up. Then the Chinese. The Russians, Italians, Irish. Soon a mini UN pours onto the floor. Leah and Meadow pull me with them. Sarah and about fifteen other girls follow. We plunge into the craziness, get swept into the current of choristers and national pride. Leah and I have our big flag. Everyone else has the small flags from the opening ceremony. Major red, white, and blue.
The national anthem singing continues, gets louder. The running wilder. Lots of pushing. A total rush. Nothing like the rush I got onstage with Derek last night, but running in a crazy mob of happy humanity is cool. The only thing better would be Derek beside me in this sweaty, pulsing mass. That would make it hot. I sort of amaze myself. Who knew I could think like this?
“The judges have made their decisions,” blares on max over the sound system. “TAKE YOUR SEATS.” After three tries, our competitive natures get the better of us, and we flood into the rows.
The announcements start with the mixed-voice youth choirs. SATB—guys and girls. A choir from a music school in Poland wins.
One of our judges comes to the mike. “The bronze medal choirs in the single-voice youth category are . . .”
I hold my breath. Terri has her head down. We’re all like that—united in tension. In the Choral Olympics every choir gets a bronze, silver, or gold. It would be so humiliating to get bronze. Phew. He’s announcing the silvers now. I see Terri relax. Her head comes up. Silver would be respectable.
Meadow squeals out loud when the judge says, “And now for our gold medal choirs,” without announcing Bliss Youth Singers of Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA. Terri shushes her, but she’s smiling all over the place and giving us two thumbs-up.
Gold.
We got
gold
. Terri’s counting so she can figure out what place we end up. In addition to the medal category, they announce in order—from worst to best. If we break into the top ten, she thinks we can get funding from an arts commission for a CD.
We got
gold
. Terri’s counting so she can figure out what place we end up. In addition to the medal category, they announce in order—from worst to best. If we break into the top ten, she thinks we can get funding from an arts commission for a CD.
As the judge continues without calling our name, we’re having a hard time containing ourselves. Squirming, crying, suppressed celebrating. Another choir. Still not us. Another choir. Still not us.
Meadow bends over with her arms wrapped around her stomach, chanting, “We won. We won. We won.”
The judge pauses and looks around the room. “The top three choirs are Amabile Young Men’s Ensemble, London, Ontario, Canada; Expressly Haiku from Kyoto, Japan; and Bliss Youth Singers, Ann Arbor, Michigan, USA.” Applause and cheering. We’re going crazy jumping up and down, hugging each other, screaming.
“Will a representative come forward from each of these choirs?”
Meadow starts to head out, but Leah and Sarah tackle her. Terri nods at me. “Beth, get up there!”
I follow a tiny Japanese girl onto the stage. Derek comes forward for his choir. The judge recognizes us from the previous evening. “You two behave yourselves this morning.” My face gets as ruby red as our gowns. The crowd laughs. A couple of wolf whistles.
The judge holds his hand out for quiet. “A gold medal and third place go to . . . Bliss Youth Singers, Ann Arbor, Michigan.” The audience claps as I plaster on a smile and move forward to get our medal and special plaque for placing third. I step back.
The Japanese girls get second.
The Amabile guys win. Of course they do. No one has a chance against them. They are too good. Way too good.
Derek goes forward, gets the medal and trophy. Major clapping. He turns and waves and the screaming starts. The guy is chick bait. No doubt about it. How can he want to be with me? He could have any girl he wants. As many girls as he wants. Does he really want just me? Or am I one of the many?
The judge calms the audience, introduces the next presenter, and leads us offstage. Derek walks behind me, leans forward, whispers, “It should have been you.”
His voice wipes out my jealous doubts. I lean back so he can hear me. “Third in the world? I’ll take that.” I wish we could escape to a corner for a steamy make-out session, but he goes off to his choir, and I return to mine.
Terri’s losing it. I put the gold medal over her neck and hand her the plaque. Massive hugging moment. We’re both laughing and crying. Shoot. We have to sit and be quiet while the adult and children categories’ results are read off.
When the announcements are finished, we all sing the test piece in a mass performance, and then it’s done. Over until next summer. The adults start to file out, but the youth choirs pour onto the floor. All kinds of kids congratulate me. The Amabile guys get mobbed. A knot of sweet, nerdy guys that remind me of Scott asks me to sign their programs. I can’t see Derek in the chaos.
The craziness starts to subside. Terri and the moms begin rounding us up. I look around. Sarah is kissing Blake. Derek is still surrounded by about twenty girls. He sees me—excuses himself. Okay, he breaks away from them.
We’re drawn together. I’m desperate to hold him, kiss those lips that are smiling so big at me. We come together in a rush. Then I am holding him. I am kissing that delicious mouth. It is real. He is mine.
“We’re going to miss lunch, ladies.” Terri’s got everybody together but Sarah and me.
Derek lets me go. “This afternoon?”
“We have to go shopping.”
“Come with us.”
Sarah and Blake join us. “Yeah, Beth. Sarah says she’ll do it.”
“What?”
“It sounds really cool. Come with.”
I look at Derek. “What?”
“Time we had some adventure.”
Adventure Park. That’s what they call this place. It’s ropes and nets in trees. And zip lines.
I’m wearing my fleece—it’s cool up here—heavy leather gloves, a helmet, and, get this, a harness. A ring clipped to a rope is supposed to keep me from falling. Derek and I are on a tiny wood platform built about thirty feet off the ground in a massive tree. I wish we could just walk through this ancient forest with its whispering foliage, holding hands and staring at each other, but no—adventure calls.
I’m standing in front of the first zip line, freaked right out. Derek is behind me. “You’re hooked in, right?” He reaches under my arm, brushes my ribs, and tugs on the ring to reassure me that it will hold.
I don’t jump and slide down the line. Partly because I’m totally scared and partly because I like the way this feels, him behind me, reaching his arm around me, looking after me. I lean back into him. “Kiss me for luck.”
“Go Beth. There’s a bunch of people waiting.”
I don’t jump. He pecks my cheek and pushes me off the platform. I scream and close my eyes as I zoom down the line. Halfway down, though, the scream of terror turns into a jazzed squeal. Zip? They aren’t kidding. I actually catch the net at the other end and pull myself onto it. I unhook the metal gadget, so Derek can follow me. He launches himself off the platform—glides way faster than I did.
I’m giddy and laughing. He’s happy that I’m not wimping. We scramble through the rest of the course. It’s way fun. By the end, I leap off the last zip line and take it with my eyes wide open.
Derek’s ready to go again. We have a couple more hours here and can go down any of the courses through the trees that we want as many times as we can get our butts down them.
We bump fists, and he says, “Let’s take the high course. You rock.”
I slow down. “That wasn’t the high course?”
He points to a couple of his friends on a platform at the very top of the extremely tall, massive like a skyscraper—no way, nohow I’m getting up there—tree we’re standing next to. “That’s the high course.”
Jelly knees. Total wimp. “How about I watch?”
He hesitates. “Are you sure?”
“Just don’t kill yourself. I haven’t had enough of you.”
He laughs—like I made a joke, but it’s got a bitter edge to it that takes me by surprise. “What?”
But he’s gone.
I follow and watch him. Not a good idea. Even the lower course looks scary from the ground. The high course is bloodcurdling. I know he’s hooked in—but he’s way, way, way up there. And he just goes for it. No hesitation. No fear. At one point, there is a younger Amabile singer stuck in front of him. Derek
unhooks
completely and scrambles around him.
Unhooks.
He slips—
unhooks
completely and scrambles around him.
Unhooks.
He slips—
“Derek!”
He catches himself instead of splatting at my feet. He hooks in again and focuses down until he finds me. He reads the flipped out terror expression on my face from all the way up there. “Maybe you shouldn’t watch.”
I go looking for Sarah, but she and Blake have disappeared.
I could go back and do the same route I went through with Derek, but what a drag doing it by myself. Aren’t I spoiled? All of a sudden, I don’t want to ever do anything by myself again. It’s him or nothing. That makes me sad. Tomorrow morning I’m on a plane, flying away from Derek. He’ll be home in two weeks, and then we’ll squeeze every minute together we can into our lives, but it won’t ever be like this again. How can he waste a minute?
The duet we sang together last night keeps running through my head. I hum the chorus as I wander through the trees. . . .
Our love is so true . . . won’t take a step. . . . Thank God, you came. . . . It’s you. It’s you
. As long as there isn’t a giant tree to swing from.
Our love is so true . . . won’t take a step. . . . Thank God, you came. . . . It’s you. It’s you
. As long as there isn’t a giant tree to swing from.
I make up my own verse, get lost in the trees as I work out the lines. Finally get it to say what I can’t. I sing first.
I want you near, all night, all day.
I need to believe the things you say
You say it’s me—
But how can that be true?
I imagine him singing back to me.
There’s no one else, I’ ll be so true.
Trust me babe, and I’ ll love you.
I get stuck on his last line. By the time I find the wood building where all the courses start, Derek’s already there—waiting for me, chugging a giant bottle of tepid Evian.
“How did you finish so fast?” How many more times did he unhook to pass somebody? “You’re a maniac.”
He shrugs his shoulders. “Gotta get that adrenaline any way you can.”
“You scared the heck out of me.”
“That’s so sweet.”
“Not particularly pleasant—for me.”
He clears his throat and takes a swig of his water. “Probably a good thing you won’t be around for the next couple of weeks.” He’s sweating, pulls off his hockey jersey. His T-shirt underneath rides up and exposes a Band-Aid on his lower stomach on his right side.
“I thought you were touring.” I walk over to him, run my hand over his stomach, find the Band-Aid. “What did you do to yourself?”
“Mosquito bite. Look at this one on my arm.” He holds up his arm. “I swell way up.” There is a nasty, swollen, scratched bite on his arm.
“You’re not supposed to scratch at it. Do you have another Band-Aid?” The spot on his stomach wasn’t red like this mess on his arm.
He slips one out of his pocket. I dump some water on his arm, pat it dry with a tissue, and plaster the Band-Aid on it.
“Now that itches like crazy.”
“Stop trying to distract me. Why did you say that about me not being around?”
“We’re not going to be hanging out in museums. Did you know there are glaciers in the Alps you can ski on all summer?”
Shoot. I need to call my mom and see if she’ll buy me a new ticket home. He’ll kill himself.
My face must look desperate. It gets to him. “I’m sorry, Beth.” His eyes fill with a pain I don’t understand. “I shouldn’t have forced myself on you like this.” He makes it sound like tomorrow will be good-bye. “It’s not fair.”
“Don’t say that.” Now I’m scared. “I’d still be crying on that bench by the lake if it weren’t for you. Force yourself? You rescued me.”
“But I haven’t been totally honest with you.” His hand rests on his waist, covering the spot where the Band-Aid is.
I don’t know if I want to hear this. Is it Blake’s drug-habit tease or Meadow’s girlfriend theory? “I’m listening.”
“I have—um—”
Whatever it is, we’ll work through it. At least he’s going to tell me. I can help him. He doesn’t realize it, but I owe him. Every time he touched me—all week long—that stupid test and my wrecked genes did disappear. And last night, for those few minutes onstage with him, I was a star. I can’t believe he did that for me. I dreamed the applause all night. Nothing can hurt with him in my life. I never want to sing with anyone else.
It’s bittersweet, though. Here’s a guy I could imagine wanting to have a baby with someday. At least trying. Or practicing. That makes me sweat. Maybe I will need that pill prescription. He says it’s not about sex, but the way I feel when we make out is overpowering. I’m pretty sure it has something to do with sex. Isn’t he feeling that, too?
Whatever it is that haunts him—whatever he needs me for—I’m there.
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