No, God, you can’t have him.
You gave him to me.
He’s mine.
He’s all I ask for.
This boy I can adore.
I imagine ambulances arriving and paramedics rushing toward us. I put out my hand and screech—No one else come near him.
He sees only me.
My love
Can never harm him.
My touch will ever warm him.
Derek’s eyes flutter open. They fill with terror. I’m not Christine anymore. I’m the Phantom, and all those Amabile girls—especially his prissy ex—better get this straight. I won’t ever let him go, no matter how many chandeliers I have to take out.
Derek’s headlight cuts into the night. He flips a U-turn, catches me, passes me. I sigh in defeat and turn on Jeannette’s crackling old radio to keep the ghosts at bay, getting more and more uptight about this whole situation. What am I doing? Amabile? Who am I kidding? I’m not even Canadian. I need to run back to my own kind with my head down and my tail between my legs. Crap. He’s gone again.
It’s getting darker. What if he’s nowhere around when I get to the turn. What if I don’t see any signs that say London? What if I slam on the brakes and flip my poor, rattling, ugly old car around. Head for home. Now. Jeannette stutters. I agree and ease up the gas to give her a break.
Shoot. He’s back. No escape. That lone headlight bearing down on me has to be him. Mind reader. The guy’s got some sort of powers. He’s certainly got control of me. Yes, Derek. Whatever you want, Derek. Please, Derek. Keep me in the dark—that’s fine with me. I’ll just sigh and let you kiss me again. He’s too perfect to withstand. It’s so not fair.
And now he’s Evel Knievel on his motorbike. I’ve got to sabotage that thing. What if he got high and went out on it?
Self-destructs. Scott saw it as soon as he laid eyes on Derek. Stupid Scott. If Derek dares to self-destruct on me, Scott won’t have to carry through with his dumb macho caveman threats. I will kill Derek myself.
chapter 22
CHAMBERS
Derek slows down when we get near London. He puts on his flashers and rides smack in front of me like a police escort for a pop star. I so don’t miss the exit. And he’s right there as we wind through the city to the church where they practice.
He parks his bike beside me. I get out. “I’m never following you again.”
“What?”
“Every time you disappeared, I was sure I’d find your crumpled body in the middle of the road. Don’t do that to me.” I stalk away, push through the door into the church before he can make excuses.
He introduces me to all the directors. There’s two from his choir and two from the AYS. I smile and shake their hands, thank them for letting me sing with them tonight.
She’s here. His ex. I recognize her from Derek’s profile. He took her pictures with him down, but she’s still all over his wall. Great. She’s even tinier than she looks in her picture. She’s standing in a spot in the center of the choir next to an empty space that’s obviously Derek’s. She moves—quietly finds a new spot. Our eyes meet, and she smiles.
Crap. She is a nice girl.
My face heats up, and I look back at the tall conductor with a wispy beard that I’m supposed to be talking to.
“Why don’t you try the solo on this first piece?” He hands me the sheet music.
Derek’s name is in the corner next to Arranged by.
“Derek wrote the solo for one singer—”
“Back when I could still hit the high notes.”
“We split it alto/soprano—which line do you feel comfortable with?” The guy waits for me to answer.
I don’t. Derek butts in with, “She can sing it all.”
“Derek.” There he goes again. I flip through the music, sight-reading in my head and checking the lows and highs. He’s right. As usual. I can. “I’ll try it.”
Derek maneuvers me through the choir to our places. “Don’t be nervous.”
“You are the only thing that makes me nervous. Singing calms me.”
“Then we better get started before you bite my head off.”
One of the AYS directors leads the warm-ups. No back rubs—guess that’s a girl choir thing. Derek tries to stick with me on the high notes, gets screechy, and gives up. On the low scale, I can go way past the lowest note in this solo. Derek is impressed.
“I sing tenor at school.”
He laughs.
We both have to drop out when it drops to bass range. I notice Blake is a bass. Figures.
Now tall guy with the wispy beard takes the wand. “All right, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome. It’s good to be back with you. We’re going to get right to work on Derek’s arrangement. He’s found us a soloist who can sing the impossible range he wrote. Everyone say hello to Beth.” He pauses while people turn and nod to me. I half raise my hand and wave a couple fingers. “She’s joining us this season. Please make her feel welcome.”
Wow. Done deal. I look sideways at Derek. He’s so avoiding me. He’s supposed to keep his eyes glued to the director, so am I for that matter. Still. No excuse. He must know I’m fuming. I open my music, hold it so I can watch the director, too, and smash my foot down hard on Derek’s toes.
He winces.
Now I can sing.
I fall in with the altos. This is their first run-through of the piece, and already the sound is amazing. The basses are really good, mellow and rich. Their low vibrations ground it. Derek’s pure voice beside me leads the tenors. The altos are all getting the part—not just me and my perfect pitch. And the sopranos don’t balk at the harmonic descant Derek throws at them on the second page.
The first verse and chorus is SATB. Then an instrumental interlude with piano and strings, and I come in. It’s not perfect, my first shot at that solo, but it’s pretty good. At the end of the piece, several of the girls turn around, lightly clap. Not haughty. Friendly. And Derek’s ex is smiling at me again. It’s nice. These girls are nice. It’s all overwhelming, Canadian nice.
Derek’s hand on my back and brief, “Way to go,” is knee-melting nice.
Derek tries the tenor solo in the next piece. He muffs it a couple times but makes it through. Another girl sings the soprano on that one. It’s short but poignant, and she sings it well.
All of them, the girls especially, have a real beauty to the tone of their voices. Nobody is weak. And the blending is flawless. No one tries to stick out. I can’t say it isn’t a total rush to meld my voice with that group. It would be amazing to sing with them all the time. I can’t believe Derek talked them into me. He obviously has everyone here wrapped as tightly around his baby finger as I am.
How does he do it? Why do they let him? Maybe they know. Whatever it is that he won’t tell me. Everyone here could know every little nasty, sordid detail. Maybe I should get chummy with all these nice girls. Especially Derek’s ex-nice girl.
After practice, Derek introduces me to some of them. His ex included. She really is nice. “We’ll see you Tuesday, then.” No hint of anger at me in her voice whatsoever. “Practice starts at 6:30.”
“I’m not sure—”
“She’ll be there.” Derek decides for me again. “Save her a seat, okay?”
She gives him a dazzling, perky smile. “Sure, Derek. I’ll look after her.”
One of the AYS directors hands me a heavy binder of sheet music. “We’ll be doing the first ten on Tuesday.” Ten? Whoa. “Know your part, okay? Derek says you’re happy to sing alto.”
I nod.
“Great. We had to retire a couple of our best last year.” She makes it sound like her singers are racehorses not girls. You can compete in the youth choir category until you are twenty-two. Then retirement? I hope not.
I can’t make it Tuesday. I have to go to my choir. The words are there, ready to escape my lips, but I just nod.
We leave Derek’s bike and drive Jeannette to a nearby Tim Hortons. I’m starving. I get so
up and a big sandwich on a croissant. Derek polishes off four pink-frosted, candy-sprinkled donuts.
“That’s not a very manly choice.”
“You’re so sexist.” He picks up his last donut and bites into it. “Pink? I thought you’d get it. In honor of Meadow. She’ll get to be the soloist again.”
“Poor Terri.”
“She’ll get over it.”
“Poor Meadow—and her parents.” I put down my spoon and lean forward. “They invested a lot in me last spring.”
“And you delivered in Lausanne. You don’t owe them anything.”
“That’s easy for you to say.” They counted on me for radio spots and their Christmas party this year.
Derek nods at my choir bag. “Go home and take a look at that music, and if you can honestly tell me you’d rather sing the baby stuff Terri’s got for you instead of what the AYS are doing, plus my fantastic creations in chamber choir—fine.”
I lift a spoonful of soup and pour it back into the bowl. “You know it doesn’t compare.”
“Good. How about we meet back here—Tuesday at 5:30 for a quick dinner before your practice.”
I glance around and frown. “Is this the only place to eat in London?”
“That I can afford?”
“Now who’s being sexist? I can pay—especially for better food.”
Derek wipes his sticky fingers on a napkin. “You don’t like the ambiance?”
“I don’t like the soup.” It’s even worse than the Dunkin’ Donuts by my house.
“Can’t beat the donuts.”
“If you get fat—”
“Me? Impossible.”
He’s right. I look at him closely. It’s not just that he’s leaner than in Switzerland like I thought on Monday. He’s thinner—probably by at least ten pounds. Drugs make you skinny. Even I know that. He slips out a few pills and swallows them—like in Lausanne. Right in front of me. Who takes vitamins at night?
“Do you think that’s a good idea? You have to ride your motorcycle home.”
“They’re for my stomach.”
I study his face. “Not vitamins?”
“Vitamins for my stomach.”
“I’m worried about you.”
“Don’t be. My cold is cleared up for now.”
“But—”
“I’m fine.” He takes off for the guy’s restroom.
When he comes back, I smile truce at him and say, “Hey, why is your ex-girlfriend being so nice to me? She caught me staring and smiled. It’s weird.”
“She’s dating somebody else. We’re friends. She’s cool with you and me.”
“She’s too nice, though. There’s something kind of creepy about it.”
He shakes his finger at me. “Now that isn’t nice.”
“I live next to Detroit where people shoot you if you cut them off in traffic.”
“Here, people stop and wave you in.”
“I could see your ex doing that.” I stir my soup.
His eyes follow my movements. “I told you. She wants what’s best for me, and she knows that’s you.”
“How can she know that?” I drop the spoon and lean back, get his eyes. “Why isn’t she best? I think I’m best for you. But she should think she’s best for you.”
“It’s complicated. Ancient history. I don’t want to get into it tonight.”
“Of course not.” I dig a spoonful of soup out of my bowl and stare at it with distaste. I can’t eat it.
Derek clears our tray. I follow him to the door. He holds the door open and says, “Just let me—let us be nice to you. I want this to work. We need it to work.” He takes hold of my hand and strokes the back of it with his thumb while he talks low in my ear. “I love singing with you. I want to write with you.”
I shake my head at that. “We can always go back to Plan A.”
“I don’t want to be a fisherman.”
“Pack your guitar and we’ll head for Nashville.”
He takes my keys and unlocks my car. “With Motown in your backyard? You’ve got diva pipes. You could be the next Mariah.” He opens the door for me.
“Not Whitney?”
“You could be any of them.”
I get in and wait for him to go around and get in on the passenger side. “Motown is too close. It wouldn’t be running away.”
“I can’t run away. I’ve got—”
“Too many ties? I’m not enough? I’m not sure if I like your Plan B. I want you to myself. Too many Derek groupies back there.”
“You’re the only one I kiss good night.”
My eyes are drawn to his lips and heat pours through my body. “Prove it.”
Derek pushes his seat back as far as it can go. “Come here.” He holds his arms out.
I shift over the parking brake in the center console and onto his lap. I hold his face between my hands and kiss him.
He kisses me back. “I want what’s best for you.”
“And that’s you?”
“Probably not. But if I can get you singing with Amabile—that’s something. The best I can give you.”
I shake my head—press my lips to his chest. “Your heart. That’s all I want. That’s the best thing you can give me.”
“You stole that before we even met.”
“I don’t want to be a thief. I want you to give it.”
His arms tighten around me, and his mouth presses on mine again. “It’s yours, Beth.” His words flow into my soul and twist me into knots. “You know it’s yours.”
chapter 23
QUITS
You say that you’re mine.
You say that your heart is true.
I believe every line,
When you look at me the way you do.
And even though I doubt you,
I can’t live without you.
Your lips made it right,
Holding me tonight.
I close my eyes and say, “Yes.”
Say, “Yes,” forever after.
If I’m part of your song,
Nothing, love, will ever go wrong.
Our tune will hold laughter,
Soothe my fears of disaster.
I’ ll leap and f ly with you,
Fly with you forever after.
I couldn’t sleep after I got home last night—wrote that to my favorite song from junior high. I got groggy before I could finish it. It needs two more verses and a bridge. In the cold light of this morning’s cold cereal, I reread my scrawl, try to make sense of the crossed-out lines, and remember what he wants me to do. Derek’s Plan B is unbelievably great. Really. But I so don’t want to call Terri. Awkward times a zillion. It takes three tries dialing her before I have the guts to let it ring. She doesn’t pick up. I force myself to let it ring five times, get ready to hang up before her voice-mail comes on.
“Hello?”
Crap. “Hi, Terri.”
“Beth? Is that you?”
“Uh-huh.” I sit down on a kitchen stool and then stand right back up. “Sorry to bug you.”
“Don’t think of it.”
“I just wanted . . . I need to—”
“You sound upset. Is there a problem?”
“Um—not really.” I walk around the counter.
“Do you need help?” She pauses and her voice gets intense. “Are you safe? ”
“Oh, yeah. No. It’s nothing like that.”
“You scared me. I know your parents are divorced and—”
“No. No. Nothing like that.”
“Well, what can I help you with?” Her voice lifts. “I hope you like the pieces we’re doing.” Excitement comes through our static-laced cell connection.
“They’re all great. I appreciate you showcasing me.” I lean my elbows on the kitchen counter. “But, um, maybe the other girls don’t.”
“Nonsense.”
“I’ve been thinking . . . maybe I should . . . ” I trail off.
“Don’t worry about it a second. You’ll be
off to college next year. We wasted so many seasons hiding you in the altos. I’m making this last one count.”
I realize I have a chunk of frizzy dyed hair clutched too tight in my hand. “I’ve been listening a lot to the Amabile CDs.”
“The guys or the girls?”
She caught me. “Both.”
“If you go to the right school next year, you’ll be performing pieces like that. Where are you applying? We should talk.”
“Okay. Thanks. We should.” I try to start telling her about the AYS, but she’s way ahead of me.
“Have you heard from Derek? Since Lausanne?”
“Yes.”
“How’s that going?”
“He’s intense.” Why do I make him sound like that? I should say that he’s amazing, says he loves me, wants to look out for me.
“Smooth?”
“Very.”
“Be careful, Beth. I know you’re new to guys wanting your attention. You shouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”
“Really?” I know she’s talking physical, but maybe her advice applies to more.
“Of course.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re sure you’re safe?”
“Very. Bye.”
I hit Derek’s number.
“You talk to Terri yet?”
I grit my teeth. “Uh-huh. Just.”
“How’d she take it?”
My face screws up tight. “She hasn’t got the pill yet.” I don’t say it very loud.
“What?”
I sink onto a stool and tip my head forward so my hair falls around my face. “I couldn’t do it.”
“You can’t just not show on Tuesday. Call her back. She deserves that much.”
“I can’t quit over the phone. Never see them again.” I sound defeated. “They’re all going to hate me.”
“Who cares? They’re using you.”
His confidence makes me sit up straight. “Amabile won’t be using me?” My voice has an abrupt edge to it.