Holly's Heart Collection Three (46 page)
This evening, after we checked into the hotel, we went to the John F. Kennedy Center for the Performing Arts building—it’s huge, made of marble, and surrounded by pillars. It also overlooks the Potomac River. That’s where our competition is tomorrow.
I’m so excited . . . nervous, too. So is everyone else. Mrs. Duncan has been great about soothing our fears, encouraging us with her “we can do it” comments. Still, it’s frazzling. I mean, here we are. We made districts, state, and regionals. And the best of the best are competing along with us.
Do we have what it takes to win?
I packed my journal-notebook back into the bottom of my suitcase. Of course, I knew I could trust my girl friends. It wasn’t like being back home with two little snoopers scoping out every tidbit of my life.
When the Miller twins finished talking to their parents, I used my cell phone and called the Dressel Hills General Hospital. Two thousand miles away!
“Mom, hi . . . it’s me, Holly.”
“Oh, honey, you’re there already.” She sounded a little drugged up.
“It’s two hours later here.”
“That’s right.” She yawned. “I hope you and your friends are having a good time.”
“Yes, but how are you?”
“Still a bit groggy.”
“How’s the baby?” I asked.
“Aw, April’s so sweet and pretty. She’s ready to go home, but we’re stuck here another couple of days.”
“That’s probably good, Mom. Take your time getting your strength back, okay?” I didn’t want to tell her that she should stay in the hospital as long as possible. What awaited her at 207 Downhill Court would discourage any surgery patient!
I kept talking. “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for talking Uncle Jack into letting me come.”
“Oh, I didn’t talk him into it. Your brother talked
me
into it.”
“What?”
“Stan called last night, sometime after supper, I think. He said you were dying to go with the choir.”
“He said that?”
“He certainly did, and when Jack and I talked it over, we decided to ask Mrs. Hibbard to supervise.”
“Wow, I had no idea Stan—”
“Yes, you have your stepbrother to thank for this,” she said again, beginning to sound a bit droopy. I had a feeling she was going to fall asleep on me.
“Well, I hope you’re feeling better real soon, Mom. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
“Good-bye. And give April a kiss for me.”
“I will.”
When I hung up, I told Andie and the twins what Mom had said about Stan. “Can you figure this?”
“Maybe Stan isn’t as horrid as you think,” Kayla spoke up. But, of course, she didn’t really count; she’d been sweet on him since day one.
“He’s horrid, all right,” I stated. “It’s just that he got tired of hearing me hound him about shirking his duty. That’s got to be the only reason.”
“Well . . . maybe.” Andie wore a sly smile.
“Hey, wait a minute.” I grabbed a pillow and flung it at her. “Did you have something to do with this?”
“Me? I promised . . . remember?” But her eyes told another story.
“Andie, how can I ever trust you again?” I said, laughing.
“I got you here—didn’t I?”
The answer to that was a perfectly fabulous pillow fight— minus a zillion feathers. Nope. These state-of-the-art hotel pillows were the absolute best around.
Hopefully, so was the Dressel Hills Show Choir.
IT’S A GIRL THING
I don’t remember encountering air as thick with anticipation as it was the next afternoon. Right after lunch, no less. Everyone in the choir felt it, too. I could see it on their faces—the brightness, the urgency. The desire to sing to our utmost ability.
We used our allotted time to vocalize, but as warmed up and mellow as we sounded, there were still a few bugs to work out. Things like confidence and poise—all-important elements. Things that, if missing, were sure to stand out.
Since we didn’t want to look like hicks from the sticks—not here, surrounded by all the grandeur of the nation’s capital—we listened carefully as Mrs. Duncan gave us our final “polishing.”
“She’s fine-tuning us again,” Andie said softly.
I grinned back at my friend. “Yep, Mrs. Duncan is the best.”
All lined up and waiting in the wings, we agonized through the melodious sounds of two other choirs ahead of us. One group hailed from West Virginia, not far from here. The other choir was an all-black, all-girl choir from New York City. After hearing their performance, I was worried. These babes were out-of-this-world good, and there was no getting around it—we were up against style and charisma—a total class act.
I caught Mrs. Duncan’s eye and shrugged during the audience applause. Promptly, she poked up her thumb and flashed a plucky grin. She believed in us.
And . . . we were next.
The emcee was introducing us as we crept over the silent, velvety floor behind the main curtains. “And now, from colorful Colorado, I give you the Dressel Hills High School Show Choir!”
Of course the audience was jazzed—the last group had wound them up. Anyway, we were greeted with a thunderous welcome. And when the side curtains parted automatically, we walked onto the stage, single file, finding our way to our appointed spots on the risers.
There was no seeing the audience, because the spotlights on us were so hot and bright. Somewhere, out in the sea of blackness, the Miller twins’ relatives were watching . . . along with the vice-president of the United States!
I don’t know why, but once we stood there, I realized how very high these risers were compared to the ones back home. For a split second, I thought I might become dizzy and, heaven forbid, pass out in front of half the population of . . .
This was déjà vu—recalling a scene from another time and another place—our seventh-grade musical, more than two years back. I could even hear a familiar voice saying,
“Holly Meredith, you’re turning green!”
But I shoved that ridiculous thought out of my mind.
Mrs. Duncan gave a cue for Andie to play the four-note chord that started us off on our a cappella madrigals. Thank goodness, the illusion disappeared, and I focused hard on remembering my part—as did each of my choir-member friends.
We sang from our hearts. No question.
Mrs. Duncan’s face reflected our enthusiasm. And the coolest thing—we sounded great!
After our performance, we left the stage via another magical portal, unseen by the audience. This was the stuff of fairy tales, and once all of us were in the same place again, we were given a tour of the building. We saw six beautiful theatres housed inside the center. My favorites were the Eisenhower Theatre, mainly for plays, and the Terrace Theatre, where people from all over the world come to experience poetry readings, modern dance, and drama.
I couldn’t help wondering what it would be like to play Maria von Trapp—female lead in
The Sound of Music
—on one of those incredible stages.
Next, we took the Metro, an underground subway system with the coolest curved and indented walls and roof—reminding me of Mom’s Saturday-morning waffles. Only these were warped!
Lincoln Memorial, next stop. Everyone, it seemed, had to have individual pictures taken in front of Lincoln’s huge statue— nineteen feet high. Tears sprang to my eyes as I read the opening lines of the Gettysburg Address, etched in marble.
Four score and seven years ago . . .
What a place!
Mrs. Duncan gathered all of us for a group shot. Before we disbanded, she asked, “How many want to see Ford’s Theatre? We still have time.”
Unanimous.
“Anyone tired?” she asked.
No one would admit it. We were in fabulous Washington, D.C., for pete’s sake!
Andie, Paula, and I stuck together. Kayla and Amy-Liz were close behind us when we caught the Metro again. Soon we were being whisked downtown . . . and back in time.
The old theater on Tenth Street had been restored to its appearance on that fateful night in 1864, when Abraham Lincoln had been fatally shot. During the story of the assassination— dramatically told by the guide—Andie literally jumped at the shot of the blank gun.
Exhausted but delighted with the events of the day, we headed to the nearest pizza place for supper.
“How did your performance go?” Uncle Jack asked later that evening when I called the hospital again.
“Mrs. Duncan says we were great.”
“How did you like the Kennedy Center?” he asked.
“Perfect. I think it must be acoustically flawless. I mean, not only could we hear our voices coming through the giant stage speakers, we actually got the feel of the auditorium, even though it was so huge. It’s an incredible place.” I sighed. “I don’t know, I guess it’s hard to put into words.”
He chuckled a bit. “I guess that’s how you might describe the little dumplin’ I have here in my arms. You couldn’t begin to describe
her
with words.”
“Oh . . . you must be holding April,” I cooed.
“Just a minute, the whole family’s here for a visit.” He gave the phone to Mom.
“Hi, Holly-Heart. Did the competition go well?” She sounded pretty much herself again.
“I wish you could’ve heard us sing.”
“Oh, I’m so happy for you, honey.”
There was mumbling going on in the background—someone was telling Stan to sit down with the baby.
I almost cracked up. “What’s Stan doing?”
“Oh, he asked to hold his baby sister,” Mom explained. “And I don’t think he quite remembers how. It’s been a long time since Stephie was this tiny.”
“For sure,” I muttered, but I was confused. I really couldn’t picture it. Stan—holding a two-day-old infant?
Carrie got on the line next. “Hey, Holly, I think something came in the mail for you, from that publisher person. You know, the one in Chicago?”
“Really? What’s the writing look like?”
“Huh?”
“The address on the envelope—whose writing is it?” I knew if it were mine—the self-addressed, stamped envelope—it was a definite rejection.
“I think it was typewritten,” she replied.
“Large or small envelope?”
“Small.”
“Yes!” This was so fabulous. I couldn’t wait to tell Jared.
Briefly, I talked to Mom again, then said good-bye. But even as I hung up the phone, I could not imagine Stan holding baby April.
When I told my roommates about it, they hooted with laughter. None of them could believe it—especially not Andie. Kayla, yeah, because, like I said, she had this major thing for my brousin.
Andie had ordered room service, of all things. “It’s part of the deal, right?” she said, laughing it off.
“It’s not like we have carte blanche,” I reprimanded her. “This stuff is expensive, and the taxpayers of Dressel Hills aren’t picking up the tab. We’re on our own.”
Paula nodded. “Which reminds me, Mrs. Duncan said to go easy on expenditures.”
“No kidding.” I stared at Andie.
She whipped out a handful of twenties and waved them around. “Maybe, but my dad said we could live it up . . . just a little.”
It turned out she’d ordered root beer floats for all of us. When? Who knows. But I have a sneaking suspicion it was while Paula, Kayla, and I went exploring the pool room and spa right after we got back from our tour around the city.
Anyway, we slurped them up, found an old black-and-white movie on cable TV, and snuggled down for a night of girl talk and giggling.
Two hours later, Andie gasped, clutching her throat. Honestly, I thought she was choking. “You haven’t called Sean yet, have you?”
I grinned. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”
“Holly! C’mon—don’t forget who’s responsible for getting you here.”
“Uh-huh.” I grinned back at her.
She leaped onto my bed, followed by Kayla and Paula. “So tell us, is the love of your life coming with us Monday?”
There was no keeping it quiet any longer. “My
friend
is joining us for the FBI tour, and it looks like he’ll be able to hang out with us most of the day.”
“With us.” Andie teased. “C’mon, Holly, we all know it’s
you
he wants to see.”
I shrugged, thinking they were probably right. Only thing was, how would Sean fit into the group dynamics here? After having established a comfortable long-distance friendship, well, I just didn’t know how things would work out in person. I guess I’d find out.