Holly's Heart Collection Three (40 page)
He chuckled softly. “I couldn’t have said it better myself.” And that was that.
We talked about story lines for our own individual projects, and by the time we arrived in Denver, Jared and I were actually discussing the possibility of collaborating on a bigger project. Someday.
Andie couldn’t believe it when I told her about it in the ladies’ room a while later. “This is so-o cool! You’re actually getting along with Jared without the mushy stuff.”
“I wondered what you’d think,” I replied, grinning. Andie had this thing about my becoming friends with lots of Dressel Hills boys, since she still wasn’t all that crazy about my long-distance relationship with Sean.
Paula and Kayla listened without saying a word, and I wondered if they weren’t still a bit leery about Jared. After all, in the past he’d done a fabulous job of fooling every single one of us into thinking he was absolutely crazy over us.
But things were different now—for me, at least. I didn’t feel vulnerable anymore. Mostly because of Sean. And Jared knew it, which made all the difference in the world.
I primped and fussed over my hair, which was growing out from its first and only real cutting—back in September, the day before school started. And the perm was perfect now, too— relaxed but not limp. I only wished it might’ve behaved this way right from the beginning. But that was another story.
“C’mon, Holly-Heart,” Andie said, gathering up my brush and comb and stuffing them into my purse. “This is a choir competition, not a fashion show.”
“I know, I know.”
“So forget the hair.” She pulled me away from the mirror.
I studied her short, bouncy curls. Maybe someday I’d get brave and have my long hair really whacked off. With that thought, I followed Andie and the other girls out the door and down the hall to the practice room.
Everyone seemed jittery. Not Mrs. Duncan, however. She was confident, poised—ready to go. “Let’s knock the judges’ socks off,” she said, sporting a winning smile.
That got us revved up a bit, and then when we went through our vocalization warm-ups, I could feel the enthusiasm in the air as we worked to make our unison sound strong and clear, like one voice. The spirit of camaraderie and oneness was powerful. Like an electrical current.
Was it even remotely possible for us to place at this level?
We were certainly dressed for the occasion, wearing our Sunday best. For a change, Danny Myers fit right in. He was always dressing up for school and other everyday things, but that was his style. And thinking about metamorphosing, I had a sneaking suspicion that he was changing, too.
The auditorium where we were scheduled to sing was bright with overhead lighting and a wall of windows on one side. The judges—two women and two men—sat about a third of the way back, their postures severe and precise, an indication of how scrutinizing they would probably be. Only one of them, the woman on the far left, even so much as cracked a smile.
We filed onto the stage from behind the curtains, taking the risers without a single one of us tripping or falling. When we were all standing with attention-perfect postures, Mrs. Duncan lifted her arms, offering an encouraging smile, then gave us a one-measure cue, and we began. Even as we sang, I sensed that things were going well.
The judges never took their eyes off us. Not once. And when they did glance down to write and calculate our points, we had already finished singing our first madrigal.
By the time we’d performed the required competition pieces, I felt emotionally drained. All of us had expended so much energy putting out a great sound that we were more than ready to chow down.
Back on the bus, Mrs. Duncan announced that we were going to stop off for supper. Everyone cheered.
Somehow or other, Danny ended up sitting across from me at the restaurant. There had been a time, not so long ago, when he’d had the audacity to admonish me about my eating habits. He’d amazed me by quoting several Proverbs, humiliating me in front of my church friends—all because I’d ordered a giant helping of French fries after having devoured a strawberry sundae with three scoops of ice cream.
Today, however, he said nothing when I smothered my order of fries with ketchup and salt and prepared to eat the Whoppin’ Burger complete with pickles, tomatoes, and extra cheese.
What made the difference? I figured it was the maturation process. The tongue-lashing over my cravings for ice cream and fries had come in the autumn of my eighth-grade year. Danny, now a sophomore, was coming of age. At last!
“So . . . how do you think we did today?” I said between bites.
Danny leaned back and sighed. “To tell you the truth, I doubt that we’ve ever sounded better.”
“Really?” Andie chimed in. “That good?”
“Well, it’s not quite the same as our youth choir at church,” he said. And I knew what he meant. The spiritual unity was missing. Still, lots of us were Christians in the choir, which counted for something. And on top of that, we’d worked hard polishing our repertoire the past few months in preparation for the competition.
Mrs. Duncan came around to chat at each table. Danny asked her opinion on how the choir sounded. Her face lit up. “I can’t ever remember a group sounding so terrific. Honestly, this year’s show choir is really tops.”
“Do you think we have a shot at the international competitions in Vienna?” I asked.
“It’s hard to say. I’m very sure the competition will become more intense as we move up the ladder, but if you kids keep singing as well as you did today—the sky’s the limit!”
We must have really believed her, because when the final tally was announced the following Monday, none of us was too surprised to hear that the Dressel Hills Show Choir had taken first place once again!
“We’re going to Kansas,” I told Mom after school on Monday.
“When?” Her arms were wrapped around her protruding stomach as she sat in a sunny spot on her side of the bed.
“Next Saturday and Sunday.”
“Well, I hope you won’t be gone when the baby decides to make her appearance.” She looked a tad worried.
“Do you think there’s a possibility of that?”
“Holly-Heart, I don’t want to spoil your opportunity to sing with the choir,” she said, encouraging me to come around and sit near her. “But I’ll be needing your help here with the other children when I go to the hospital.”
“What about Uncle Jack? Can’t he help?”
She smiled. “Your stepdad wants to be present for the birth of our baby.”
I wondered about that. Hadn’t he already witnessed a real, live birth? After all, he was the father of four other children.
But the more I thought about it, the more I realized that Uncle Jack would definitely want to witness the miracle of this child’s birth, as well.
“What about Stan? Can’t he help out here if you go into labor while I’m gone?”
Her forehead shifted up, creating lines. Lines that probably meant she didn’t think my brousin could handle the task, or worse, she didn’t think he would cooperate enough to pull it off. More than likely, the latter was true.
“Stan’s not as eager to assist with the younger children, if you know what I mean,” she was saying.
“Right,” I fired back. “Isn’t it just a little too obvious?”
“Now, don’t go jumping to conclusions. Stan has his reasons.” She paused, then continued. “Your brother’s making his way through some very advanced high-school classes these days.”
Sounded to me like she was sticking up for him. “C’mon, Mom, don’t you see? He’ll use any excuse he can.”
She was silent for a moment, looking tired and radiant at the same time. Her golden blond hair hung in soft waves around her face, creating an almost ethereal impression.
But I wasn’t dense. I could see she didn’t need her oldest daughter giving her grief about household chores and the possibility of having to baby-sit during her labor.
My mother was pushing forty and not as energetic as she had been years before, when she carried Carrie and me to full term. Besides, she’d suffered a miscarriage back when I was in grade school, before she and Daddy got divorced. I wanted to go gentle on her. “It’s just that Stan expects me to pick up the pieces for him all the time . . . you know, sort of be his backup.”
Mom nodded. “I understand how you must feel.”
“I really don’t enjoy being Plan B,” I said, but in this case, I didn’t relish the idea of being Plan A, either. Especially if it meant jeopardizing my plans for choir.
“Is there a good chance the baby will come early?” I said softly, afraid the very question might stir her up, get her thinking about it.
She reached for my hand. “I don’t think we have anything to worry about. Many prayers have been going up for our baby, so we can both relax.”
I gave Mom a kiss on her cheek. Everything was under control in the baby department. Mom would be just fine.
What a relief. I was going to Kansas next weekend!
IT’S A GIRL THING
There were no signs of false labor, premature labor, or any other kind of labor as Mom waved to me from the living room window early the following Saturday morning. But thanks to the new cell phone I’d just received for my birthday, I was sure to hear the moment anything happened.
Uncle Jack backed the family van out of the driveway, and we headed to the school parking lot, near downtown. The city school district had come up with the revenue for a chartered bus, maybe because Dressel Hills High had never placed in anything cultural. Oh sure, there were always trophies for football and track, but we’d never won one in the arts.
I had a fabulous feeling about all of this. Our show choir was about to put Dressel Hills, Colorado, on the map!
We boarded the bus while it was still dark. I waved good-bye to Uncle Jack, who stood tall and proud along with the other parents. I was surprised there was no media coverage of the event. This was definitely a first.
By three o’clock in the afternoon, Central Time, we had arrived in Topeka, Kansas, warmed up, and were ready to outperform ourselves. The trip had taken less than ten hours, with no stops for lunch or anything else—we’d brought snacks and sack lunches with us, and the bus had rest room facilities.
Most of us had snoozed off and on, so no one was really too wiped out from the trip. Except maybe the driver. Anyway, we did our best when it came time to hit the practice room. Mrs. Duncan, grinning broadly, gave us a pep talk before it was our turn to sing.
“We’re this far, aren’t we? Is this great or what?” Her hazel-brown eyes twinkled as she looked out at all of us, perched on the risers. “Anybody here not ready to show the world who’s the best high-school choir around?”
I smiled at her comment and stood up with the others when she gave the familiar motion. We worked through several interpretative spots from “Alleluia” by American composer Randall Thompson. Man, did I love this piece—I sang my heart out. Paula and Kayla did, too. In fact, as I glanced around, everyone seemed jazzed up about where we were and what we were about to do.
After the competition we found the nearest fast-food place and pigged out. Once again, Danny Myers ended up sitting at the same table with me. He seemed more mellow than I’d ever remembered him. And as he talked, I noticed the preachy edge was missing from his voice.