The Sweetest Sound Page 5

  Applause flooded the stage in waves after the Youth Choir finished. The preacher talked to the audience and prayed. Spending time at the Lodge was always like being somewhere between a church service and an inspirational TV show.

  Soon enough, all the young people were ushered from backstage and the adult choir members began to take their places. Somehow Faith, Zara, and I managed to elbow our way to a tiny area at the foot of the stage.

  Anticipation, electric and sharp, pinged through the room. Diners set down their forks and cups. Everything else had been leading up to this. It was time for the Show.

  Aunt Fannie stepped into a shallow pool of light. Like all the women in the adult choir, she was wearing her deep purple choir robe with the silky golden collar.

  I felt a familiar flutter in my chest. Aunt Fannie may love attention, she was absolutely one of the worst drivers on the planet, and she was shameless when it came to tracking down single men in the church worthy, as she put it, of “evaluation.”

  But when she took the stage for Sunday Brunch, none of that mattered. She was poised and proper and beautiful and… and, whatever it was when you were just too good for people to look away. That was Aunt Fannie.

  Behind her were rows and rows of her choirmates. A woman I didn’t recognize was at the piano. The adult band combo was also onstage. Junior remained, looking like Daddy with his guitar poised at the ready.

  The melody—Mariah Carey’s “Anytime You Need a Friend,” with a gospel arrangement—flowed from the band. Then Aunt Fannie began to sing.

  Beside me, Faith sang along. She could not match the soaring heights of Aunt Fannie’s notes, but her tone was raw and sounded pretty good. Zara’s voice was higher, sweeter than Faith’s, but she struggled with the high notes.

  At that moment, I almost said it. I. CAN. SING. I wanted to be like one of the girls from my favorite books. Like Mo LoBeau in Three Times Lucky, who prays for the return of her upstream mother while she lives with people who love her but aren’t her family. Or the girl in So B. It, Heidi, who can’t stand not knowing her history and wants so desperately to understand her own story that she hops on a bus and runs off for answers.

  Girls like that take action. Girls like me take cover.

  It made me feel guilty, knowing my best friends had never, EVER heard me sing. Their voices may not have been perfect, but I felt their sincerity, their happiness, through their whispered attempts to match Aunt Fannie note for note.

  What was wrong with me? Why did I have to be such a… mouse?

  In my mind, I saw it plain as day. Saw myself getting swept up in the song’s lyrics, blessed by their meaning. Saw myself turning to Zara, then Faith, and admitting that I’d been keeping this HUGE secret because I had been afraid. Inside my head, as Auntie’s voice rang out clear as a church bell, moving notes around as though each was written just for her, I tried to picture us up there together. Then I got a pang from someplace deep inside. Not me and Auntie. I really wanted to sing a duet with my mother. If only my mother could be here. How perfect would that be? Me joining her onstage, sharing my blessing with everyone AND keeping my promise. Somehow I knew if my mother were to come back, even for one day, I’d find the courage. I would. I really would.

  Faith slung an arm around my shoulder. Even though I’d never told her about my voice, and in all our years of being in choir together where she’d never heard me flat-out sing, she knew about my fantasy. About how I didn’t want to think badly about my mother for leaving. How I wished her well and much happiness because, after all, that was what Daddy told me to do. But how I still hoped.

  Out of nowhere, a rush of tears welled in my eyes.

  “Excuse me,” I said, before taking off toward the back of the hall.

  Standing in the semidarkness behind a wall of people, I humphed and huffed, blowing air through my cheeks and nose, not at all sophisticated.

  My heart did its caged dance in my chest. I shut my eyes and felt myself absorb each note. Salty tears leaked quietly down my face. I swiped them away, one by one. And without even realizing it, I began singing, too. My voice curving around, blending perfectly with Aunt Fannie’s.

  If only I’d had the courage to stand on that stage and let myself go the way Aunt Fannie did.

  My hand went gently to my chest, a light falsetto trailing my notes as Auntie climbed higher and higher. I was matching her tone and sound with an ease that surprised me, even though I was not singing full out. Mrs. Reddit told me it is not about who can sing higher, but who can control their notes as they move higher and lower.

  Lightly, I touched my throat. Felt the pulse of my vocal cords as my voice whispered through the musical registers.

  Then I felt a presence.

  A plaid bow tie to my right.

  Jones.

  And he was looking at me with the most curious expression.

  Had he heard me?

  Funny thing. The idea of Jones hearing me at that moment didn’t terrify me. Not one little bit. Still, I scurried away before he could ask any questions.

  Have you ever felt like you couldn’t decide whether you were terrified or thrilled?

  That was how I felt after our pastor thanked Miss Betty for her service, then introduced the new director and his assistant.

  Miss Clayton had joined us. Faith and I exchanged looks. I had told her and Zara about my plan to get Miss Clayton and Daddy together. We smiled extra sweetly at our teacher, and she knelt and gave my shoulder a squeeze.

  “What do you think, Cadence? He looks like a nice man. Maybe he’ll be a wonderful new addition to the church,” she said, staring up at the new director. Then a few of the old ladies beneath church hats as wide as helicopters called out, “God is good!”

  Which drew the usual response of “Every day! Amen!”

  From where I stood, I got a good look at the new choir director. Mr. Bassie was a tall man who reminded me of a real-life Easter Bunny. With skin a rich chocolate brown and sort of a barrel shape going on, all he needed were big feet and fuzzy ears. But his smile was dazzling, his pants pleats were creased sharp as knives, and the polish on his patent-leather shoes sparkled beneath the stage lights. He was very outgoing, asking, “How’s everybody doing this morning?” As soon as he sat at the piano, he began to play, talking all the while. He was really good, and after a time I forgot to be excited or thrilled or terrified. Like everyone else, I was just enjoying the whole show.

  Then, as he played his medley, he began to tell us how he grew up in Pittsburgh and had a rough life. How he fought against negative influences trying to stop him. How he stumbled along the way, but soon as he discovered his love of music, he knew “the Lord had made a way for me. He showed me a path, but it was up to me to take the first step. I have been high-stepping ever since. Amen.”

  “Amen!” answered the audience.

  I got a shiver when he said that last part because, I knew it was weird, but it seemed like he was looking right at me. Like he knew I was going through a rough time and had something to overcome. Like he knew I wasn’t fighting for what I wanted the way I should.

  But, really, did I even know what I wanted?

  I’d promised God and myself and my friends that I’d try out for the Youth Choir and sing better and all that, but was it what I wanted?

  That was when Zara slid over next to me, saying what a nice man Mr. Bassie seemed to be and didn’t I think I’d be able to go through with my audition? When Miss Clayton made a face like she didn’t understand, Faith explained, “Me and Zara turned eleven last month. Mouse turns eleven next month. We’re all pretty desperate to get out of the kiddie choir and into the Youth Choir. But with Miss Betty, you have to audition in front of everybody to move up.”

  Miss Clayton said, “And, Cadence, you feel like your shyness is holding you back?”

  I nodded. Next thing we knew, Mr. Bassie was making a few big announcements of his own. First, he introduced us to his young assistant, a woman called Miss Stravinsk
i. He said she’d work primarily with the Youth and Children’s Choirs. Zara was thrilled. She grabbed me and told me I couldn’t be scared of this choir director’s assistant because she looked so young, like she was practically our age. I supposed that Zara was unable to see me turning green with terror right at that very moment.

  My mind must have wandered off someplace because, the next thing I knew, Faith was giving me a hard shove with her shoulder. She was saying, “Oh, my goodness!” and other people were gasping. Oooohing and ahhhhhhing all over the place. I was lost.

  What?

  What?

  What?

  Onstage, Mr. Bassie was grinning. He had left the piano bench and was standing near the front of the stage, nodding his head.

  He said, “We have a little less than six weeks to get ready for the big Gospel Music Jamboree the day after Thanksgiving. I knew when I accepted this position that I wanted to get to know all of my singers, but especially my young people. I know what music did for my life growing up, and I want to make it the best possible experience for all of you. That’s why I am opening up the recording studios at the church to all you beautiful young people. And I am encouraging you, in the spirit of fellowship and community, to work as duos, trios, or quartets. Form singing groups among yourselves and record videos using the equipment at the church. You must each introduce yourselves and tell me a few things about you. That way, not only do I get to evaluate your voices, I get to know a little bit about you, too. Miss Stravinski and I will go through the videos separately. For those young people in the Children’s Choir who are of age, the video can serve as your audition, and for all students, the videos will be used to assess your skill level. Oh, I almost forgot the best part. The performances that we like most will earn spots as highlighted performers at the Gospel Jamboree!”

  A thousand pinpricks of electricity charged through me. Highlight performances at the Jamboree were a big deal. Zara and Faith looked so happy. Miss Clayton smiled, but her eyes showed concern, like she knew exactly what I was feeling.

  I couldn’t help wondering… if my mother were here, would her face show the same concern?

  “We’re going to be the best young trio ever!” said Faith. One look at her, and you could see the ideas flooding into her head.

  The room was in an uproar. Mr. Bassie went back to playing piano. The whole band played with him, so it got loud near the stage. We moved back toward the entry, where there were fewer people. Faith was pacing. She got like that when ideas started filling her head.

  It was just the three of us. Faith walking back and forth, Zara twirling like a mermaid caught in a waterfall—and me, standing rigid, like my feet were made of ice.

  5

  It’s Like That

  Sunday, after church, Daddy told Junior and me that he was going out for a while. “You got a date, old man?” Junior asked, grinning. If I hadn’t seen it with my very own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it: My big, strong, overprotective father actually blushed.

  He scowled at Junior, looking at him from head to toe. Junior had dressed to go running. When Daddy looked at me, he saw that I had, as well. Lyra was hopping around on her leash, bark-bark-barking at the air. Daddy seemed to notice all of this for the first time.

  “I don’t want her catching cold,” Daddy said, nodding in my direction and cleverly changing the subject. Naturally, when I tried to cut in and say I’d be fine, he and Junior started arguing about how cold it was or was not, and Junior was all “she’ll be fine” and Daddy was all “it’s chillier than you think,” and Junior rolled his eyes and then Daddy rolled his eyes.

  Now, if I were truly a drama queen, I would have stomped my foot or gotten all huffy. I mean, really! But instead, I inhaled and gave a little wave.

  I said, “Excuse me, I’m right here. We’re not going far, Daddy.” Then, because I was a Future Bestselling Author with Amazing Powers of Observation, I looked at Daddy in his nice long wool coat and perfectly clean black leather gloves.

  I asked, “Daddy, do you really have a date tonight? Is it with Miss Clayton?” My hands were enveloped in soft raspberry-colored gloves, so when I clapped it didn’t really make a sound. Once again, his clay-colored cheeks darkened to a deep cranberry. Can’t you just picture that! So sweet. Anyway, he finally cleared his throat and answered.

  “Yes, well, um, this afternoon. An early supper. Maybe a movie, too,” he said, looking guilty.

  I let out a big, happy sigh.

  But he bent down until we were eye to eye. “Are you really all right with this, Mouse? I’m just getting to know her. It’s nice to have another grown-up, a lady, to talk to,” he said. Then he paused, looking flustered. Finally, he went on, “You know, you’ll always be my Number One girl.”

  I smiled. “Daddy, it’s perfectly fine. Miss Clayton is awesome. Have a good time.”

  Junior piped in, “Yeah, old man. Just don’t take her dancing. I’ve seen your moves. Trust me, seeing you dance would definitely kill the romance!”

  Daddy and Junior exchanged some fake boxing jabs. I wondered if all men preferred to throw punches at each other rather than hugs.

  “… shouldn’t be worrying about my love life,” Daddy was saying. “All you need to focus on is those colleges. And the only one that matters, Penn State!”

  Junior backed away, shaking his head. “Is that right, old man?” Junior was smiling, at least his lips were, but his eyes… his eyes seemed to be focused far away.

  “Boy, I’m going to get you into that football program if it’s the last thing I do!” Daddy said.

  With that, Daddy threw one more jab at Junior and headed out. Junior dodged, swatted Daddy’s hand, then angled me and Lyra toward the door.

  I liked running with Junior. He listened to music when we ran, but he only wore one side of the headphones. You know? For safety.

  I liked the quiet. The way you could feel like it was only you and your heartbeat. I shut out almost everything. Pretended I was in a world of my own.

  The new choir director’s introduction and his announcement about the videos kept replaying through my mind.

  What was I going to do? I didn’t know if I was ready to record myself singing. Not with Faith and Zara standing there looking at me.

  Or was I?

  Junior stuck out his arm, blocking my path. We were at an intersection, and a big truck was rumbling past. Lyra barked excitedly. The truck passed, and Junior steered us toward a side street.

  I thought about it. I had to figure out a way to tell Zara and Faith about my secret. It was crazy to think that I’d been singing more and more when I was alone, that I fantasized about singing in front of audiences, but that I didn’t have the courage to tell my best friends.

  Junior continued running. I stared up at him. His eyes looked squinty, like something was bothering him. He was the most popular kid at Harmony High and one of the best athletes in the state. So what was on his mind? He glanced down at me and gave a quick smile.

  Even if he was a half brother, Junior had always felt 100 percent to me. I was sure that nothing could be troubling my big brother. Me, on the other hand, I was plagued with troubles. Plagued.

  Really, what was I going to do?

  Monday at school, I was so excited to see Miss Clayton. I waved at her, but tried not to stare so she wouldn’t know I was wondering about her date with my dad. While the other students were settling in, I took out my personal journal.

  Flipping the pages, I found the spot where I’d started writing last night—the spot where I’d begun working on a story about a girl like me, with friends like Faith and Zara, and a secret she needed to share.

  While Miss Clayton called the class to order and asked how our weekends were, I sat hunched over the journal, tapping it with my pencil.

  * What if I made my main character, the girl like me, have special powers?

  * What if she had some kind of magic potion that made her feel like she could do anything and she just told her fr
iends about her secret?

  * What if she wrote them a letter?

  I was stopped from going further, however, when Miss Clayton came over and touched my hair. “I can see someone is eager to begin lessons this morning,” she said, standing at my side. Several kids groaned, and I knew they were thinking I was even more lame and uncool for writing in my journal without being asked.

  I stuffed my pencil and journal away, although she assured me I’d have plenty of time for that later. My cheeks felt hot from the stares of my classmates. When I peeked around, I didn’t see anyone looking at me—I just knew that they had. I just knew.

  We started our lessons and went to work like normal. I couldn’t wait until it was writing time. I wanted to work on one of my stories. Only, when the time came, Miss Clayton made an announcement that almost broke my poor little heart in two.

  Nooooooooooooooooooooooo!

  Oh, Miss Clayton! How could you?

  I felt myself start to tumble inside.

  Here is what she said:

  “Students, today we are going to shake things up a bit. Based on some test results from several weeks back, we’re offering our highest-scoring students an opportunity to work with Mrs. Reddit, while the other fifth-grade teachers and I will work with the rest of you. Believe me, for those of you chosen, it’s a great opportunity. And for everybody else, we’ll have fun, too!”

  There I was, preparing for the best part of my day. And then this.

  My hands started to shake. On the board, there were only three names—mine, Mei-Mei’s, and Sophie Cohen’s.

  Miss Clayton glanced at me with a hopeful look, but the only look I could make on my face was one that said, Doom! Doom! Doom!

  “I thought you’d be pleased,” Miss Clayton said as I stumbled over my own feet heading for the door.