“What’s your name?” she asked a woman sitting in a chair next to her. The woman looked surprised, but answered, “Delilah.”
“That’s very pretty,” said Aria. She was halfway through filling in the blank — Delilah Blue — when a strange tug formed in her chest. It was the kind of inexplicable pull that normally drew her to Gabby, but this one was tugging her in another direction. She got up and followed the pull left beyond the desk and up two flights, frowning as she realized where she was going.
Henry’s room.
She was halfway to his door when it opened, and a couple stepped out into the hall. They looked like Henry, minus the sickly pale. Parents, thought Aria, as they turned and walked away. They did it so slowly, as if wearing weights. Aria waited until they were gone before she peered through the glass and saw Henry in bed, the red blanket spread across his lap (she’d wanted to give him something he could put away so he wouldn’t fall out of love with the color). He seemed so sad. His expression was raw, unguarded, and since Aria could tell that the sadness was something he wore only when he was alone, and since it seemed wrong to see it without his permission, she knocked.
“Aria,” he whispered as she stepped in.
“Hey, Henry.”
“I’m really glad you’re here,” said Henry. Something was different about him. The dark purple smoke that usually hung like a cloud around him had come unstuck and now swirled in the air above him. “I said good-bye to my parents today. They don’t know it, but I did.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I’m tired….” He closed his eyes. “So are they.”
Aria thought about something Gabby had said to her, about the fact that Marco may be the one in bed, but they were all ill. Sickness did that, infected everyone. But that no one could get better until the one in bed did.
“Your parents won’t get better,” said Aria. “Not until you do.”
There was a long, long pause. “I know,” said Henry. He closed his eyes.
Aria got to her feet and was nearly to the door when she heard him whisper.
“Thanks, Aria,” he said. “For listening.”
“You’re welcome, Henry,” she whispered back before slipping out.
And then, halfway down the hall, Aria passed a teenage boy.
She almost didn’t notice him, but the jingle of his bracelet snagged her attention. He was tall and slim, with black hair and eyes the prettiest green she’d ever seen, and he was wearing a charm bracelet. It was a bruised purple, almost black, but unlike Aria’s bracelet, his wasn’t bare. On it hung a handful of dark pendants in the shape of feathers.
The boy smiled a faint, sad smile as he passed by her. Aria thought she’d be relieved to see him, but a sinking feeling filled her chest as she watched him make his way toward Henry’s room and go inside.
Gabby found her mom in the hall talking to a nurse.
“What are you doing here, mija?” asked Mrs. Torres. “Shouldn’t you be on your way to school?”
“I need you to sign a permission slip, so I can join a club.” Gabby unfolded the paper and smoothed it out a little before handing it over.
“What club?”
“Choir,” she said.
“That’s wonderful,” said her mom. “I’m always saying you have a lovely voice.”
Gabby hadn’t heard her mom say anything like that in years. In fact, on the rare occasion Mrs. Torres heard her daughter humming, she usually shushed her. But Gabby simply nodded and took the sheet back. She was about to leave when she hesitated and said, “I really like this school.”
“I’m glad,” said her mom, her attention already sliding away.
“I hope we can stay,” added Gabby. “I mean, not that I hope Marco has to stay here that long, of course, but I hope that after … when he’s better …”
“One step at a time,” said her mom. “We shouldn’t look over the hill until we reach the top. Marco needs to focus all his energy on getting better.”
“I’m not talking about Marco, I’m talking about me.” Gabby cringed as soon as she said it.
“Gabrielle Torres —” scolded her mom.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean it like that. I know we’re here for Marco. But what’s so wrong with having something to look forward to?” Gabby didn’t know if she was talking about Marco right now or herself. She decided she should be talking about Marco, so she added, “The high school’s right next to the middle school, and it has an awesome soccer team, and —”
Mrs. Torres’s phone rang, cutting her off. She held up a hand. “We’ll talk about this later, mija.”
Gabby sighed and nodded, even though she knew they wouldn’t.
She headed back to the lobby, but Aria wasn’t there. Gabby was about to go looking for her when the girl suddenly appeared.
But for the first time since they’d met, Aria didn’t seem very happy. In fact, she looked a little shaken up.
“You okay?” asked Gabby. Aria blinked a few times and forced something that was almost a smile but wasn’t.
“Yeah, sorry,” she said. “Did your mom sign the paper?”
Gabby waved the permission slip. “We’re good to go,” she said. And then she wondered who had signed Aria’s paper. If her parents weren’t around, then who did she live with? Now didn’t seem like the right time to ask.
Even though they chatted on the way to school, Gabby was good enough at reading people to see that something was definitely on Aria’s mind. All morning she seemed off, and when she wasn’t herself by lunchtime, Gabby finally spoke up.
“What’s going on?” she asked. “Is something wrong?”
Aria shook her head. “No,” she said. “I’m sorry … it’s nothing … I just …” She shook her head again, as if trying to shake away a thought and brightened forcibly. “Cookies. We need cookies. I’ll go get us some.”
And before Gabby could say anything, Aria vanished back into the lunch line. Gabby stood there with her tray and turned to survey the lunchroom. It had seemed so scary on the first day, when everyone was a stranger and every table a foreign territory, but now it didn’t look so frightening. She recognized half the faces, and —
“Hey!” called Charlotte from a table across the cafeteria. “Over here!”
Gabby glanced around, worried she must be signaling to someone else, but Charlotte called out again, this time saying, “Hey, Gabby!”
The short boy with the soccer ball — Sam — was sitting beside her, and they waved Gabby over.
She made her way up to their table, tray in hand, and Sam kicked his backpack off the chair beside him so Gabby could sit.
“Hey there,” he said. “I’m Sam.”
“I know,” said Gabby. “I’m Gabby Torres.”
“Listen to you,” said Sam with a whistle. “Giving your full name. Just like a star.”
Gabby blushed. She’d gotten used to saying her last name because at the hospitals — and everywhere else, before now — she existed in relation to Marco. He was a patient. She was a family member. The last name was how they placed her.
“He’s just teasing you,” said Charlotte. “And besides, it’s a compliment! Got to have a good stage name.” She twirled her ponytail. “My last name’s Bellarmine, but if I make it big I’m going by Bell. Charlotte Bell.”
“Charlie Bell,” said Sam, “and it’s only a matter of when, not if.”
Gabby’s chest tightened. Ifs and whens ruled Marco’s life.
“You’re a quiet one, Gabby Torres,” said Sam.
Gabby shook her head. “Sorry,” she said. “Sometimes I forget I’m not speaking.”
“Internal monologue,” said Charlotte. “That’s what it’s called.”
“Really?” asked Gabby. “Well, my …” She almost said brother, but stopped. She didn’t know why she stopped, hated herself for stopping, but she couldn’t do it, couldn’t will herself to drop Marco into this like a weight. “My mom is always remindi
ng me to speak up.”
Two lies. It was her brother who said those kinds of things, not her mom. Because her mom would never notice.
“I bet my mom wishes I had that problem,” rambled Charlotte. “She says my voice may be a gift, but the fact I use it so much isn’t.”
“You’re a really good singer,” said Gabby.
Sam ruffled Charlotte’s hair. “Understatement, Gabby Torres. Charlie here is amazing.”
Charlotte blushed and shrugged. “I like singing, but I really want to be an actress.”
“She’d be president of the theater club,” said Sam, “but they won’t let a person in her position …”
“What position?” asked Gabby.
“Seventh grade,” Charlotte groaned. “It’s not my fault I’m an old soul trapped in a seventh grader’s body.”
Sam laughed. Gabby smiled. And then a crash echoed across the cafeteria, and all three turned to see Aria standing there, a wall of cookies and chips overturned at her feet.
Aria had been hiding behind the snack shelf.
She’d seen Charlotte and Sam the moment she and Gabby had reached the cafeteria. More important, she’d seen Charlotte and Sam see Gabby, and she’d spent the last several minutes pretending to examine the school’s dessert selection while secretly watching the trio. And watching Gabby’s smoke. As Gabby sat down and chatted and smiled, her smoke began to twist. And then it began to thin. A lot.
Aria had been so excited to see it that she’d leaned forward into the shelf, and before she knew it, the whole thing had come crashing down. She stood there a moment, stunned by the hundreds of eyes that looked her way. So this was what the opposite of invisible felt like.
After a second, the kids turned back to their lunch, and Aria shook off the surprise and stepped gingerly over the mess as she approached Gabby’s table.
Aria said hi, and Sam and Charlotte said hi back, and Sam mentioned that everything on Aria’s plate was purple — it was — and then a strange thing happened. Aria had been worried that Charlotte and Sam might gravitate toward her instead of Gabby, but she was wrong. In fact, they hardly seemed to notice her. Their attention kind of … slid off, drawn back to Gabby. It didn’t hurt Aria’s feelings. On the contrary, it made things better. Easier. After all, Aria couldn’t stay. Sam and Charlotte could.
Aria reached for her drink, and her bracelet knocked against a bowl on her tray. She frowned, thinking about the boy in the hall, and the feather charms hanging from his wrist. Is that how wings were earned? One feather at a time? Would that boy get a new feather for helping Henry? What kind of help had Henry needed?
“I have to ask,” said Gabby, and Aria dragged her attention back to the table. “What’s with the soccer ball?”
“Here we go,” said Charlotte, rolling her eyes.
Sam let it fall forward onto the table and rested his elbow on top. “I read somewhere that athletes, the really great ones, keep their ball with them wherever they go. They bond with it and —”
“That is so utterly ridiculous,” cut in Charlotte.
“I don’t know,” said Gabby. “My brother tried it for a week once.” Her mouth snapped shut as soon as she said it.
“You have a brother?” asked Charlotte.
“Yeah,” she said slowly. “He’s in high school.”
“What position does he play?”
Gabby picked at her food. “He was a defender.”
“Was?” asked Charlotte, clearly worried.
“He’s taking a season off,” Gabby said quickly. “He got injured.” Aria frowned at the lie, even though she understood why Gabby did it. She didn’t want Charlotte and Sam to look at her differently because of Marco, but still …
“What position do you play?” Aria asked Sam.
“Sam is, in fact, a horrible goalie.”
“Charlotte!”
“Dude, no offense, but you’re, like, four feet tall.”
“I’m waiting for my growth spurt.”
Gabby smiled despite herself. Charlotte snorted. Aria chuckled. Sam ignored them all.
“I want to be as good as possible. Hey, Gabby, maybe your brother could give me some pointers.”
“Yeah,” Gabby said quietly. “Maybe.”
“Sports are boring,” offered Charlotte. “Back to music. I can’t wait to hear you audition, Gabby.”
Gabby nearly spit out her drink. “Do what?”
“Audition,” said Charlotte. “You know, so Ms. Riley can assign solos. You didn’t think we just sat around harmonizing in a circle all the time, did you?”
“I … I wasn’t sure….”
“Don’t worry,” said Sam, resting his chin on his soccer ball. “You’ll do great.”
Aria watched as Gabby’s smoke twisted and curled with doubts. Other people believed in her, and that had made a dent, but she needed to believe in herself. And Aria knew that wasn’t something she or Charlotte or Sam or anyone could do for her.
“I just don’t know if I’m ready to sing alone,” said Gabby. “I’m not that good.”
Sam squinted. “Are you doing that thing people do when they know they’re good and just want to be told?”
“Sam,” said Charlotte soberly, “I think she’s being serious. Are you being serious? Because you’re good. Like, really good. You sure you’ve never really sung before?”
Gabby shook her head.
“You don’t need voice lessons. You need voice lessons.”
“I … I don’t know the difference,” said Gabby.
Charlotte took a long, dramatic breath. “I mean confidence. You know how to sing. But you can’t sing your best until you know what your voice is.”
“Until you’re a who!” chimed in Aria. All three looked at her. “Until you know who you are,” she clarified.
“Yeah, exactly,” said Charlotte, nodding firmly. The bell rang overhead. “So the question, Gabby Torres, is: Who are you?”
Ms. Riley smiled when Gabby came in.
“So glad you decided to stay,” she said, collecting the permission slips.
Gabby managed a small, nervous smile. She hoped she would be, too.
Choir started the way it had on Friday, with the warm-ups in the circle, but after only a couple of songs, Ms. Riley announced it was time to audition for solos. Gabby’s stomach began to twist, and she forced herself to take a few steadying breaths.
Each student, Ms. Riley explained, would get up on the small stage that ran down one side of the room and perform for the rest of the group. They could pick any song they wanted, but there would be no musical accompaniment. Just voices.
“A word,” she said, “before we get started. Singing isn’t just about notes or lyrics. It’s about the things between the words, the pieces of song that don’t go on paper. When you sing, you shouldn’t be reciting. You should be infusing. It’s about expression — Mr. Robert is fond of that phrase, isn’t he? Only here, you don’t have to find the words. I can give you those. But you have to find the heart.”
Charlotte rolled her eyes playfully.
She was up first. And Gabby thought she was fabulous. Her voice was lovely and clear, like bells. Blue came after Bellarmine, and Aria took the stage next. Gabby knew she was only here for her and she felt kind of bad about getting her into this … and then she remembered that she hadn’t. The whole thing had been Aria’s idea.
Aria cleared her throat and started to sing. Gabby smiled when she recognized the song. They must have heard it a dozen times on the radio. And Aria wasn’t that bad. She even found the right key once or twice, and when it was over she mimicked Charlotte’s bow, and the class gave a dappled applause as she stepped off the miniature stage.
“What do you think?” Aria asked Gabby as she took her seat. “Am I destined to be a star?”
“Definitely,” said Gabby. And she meant it. Aria probably didn’t have a future as a singer, but she was bright, and she made everything around her brighter. It was weird, thought Gabby, that n
o one else seemed to notice.
They continued down the roster, until Ms. Riley reached the letter T, and Gabby knew what that meant. It was her turn.
“Miss Torres, you’re up.”
She felt a little ill as she got to her feet and approached the makeshift stage. She knew what she wanted to sing, but as she got up on the platform and turned to face the room, her mouth went dry. The students stared at her, waiting. Ms. Riley stared at her, waiting. The only one who didn’t stare at her, waiting, was Aria, because Aria was suddenly nowhere to be seen. Gabby frowned. Had she chosen now of all times to go to the bathroom? Just then, Charlotte whistled, and Sam clapped, the sounds dragging Gabby’s attention back. She focused on Charlotte and Sam and started singing.
The first few notes tumbled out, timid and too soft, and Gabby faltered to a stop. In that moment she wanted nothing more than to stop and get off the stage, to hide. Everyone was listening and that was terrifying, so Gabby did the only thing she could think of.
She closed her eyes.
And it was funny, but she could almost feel a hand on her shoulder, and the weight of it was calming. She took a deep breath and started again, and whether it was the closed eyes or the imaginary hand, this time, the song came easily.
It was an old song, the kind her abuela used to hum, the kind her mom had even hummed back before she’d stopped humming and started stressing, the kind Gabby usually hummed to herself when she was alone, the melody gentle, comforting.
Gabby had to drag the lyrics out of the back of her mind because it had been so long since she’d actually sung them. The melody lived in her head all the time, but the words were tucked away.
But they came to her now, and she sang, and with her eyes closed she forgot that she was singing them to anyone but herself. And then the song ended, and she heard clapping, and blinked to find the whole room applauding. Charlotte and Sam — and Aria, back in her seat like she’d never left — the loudest.