Rising Star (4 page)

“So how did it go?” Pop asked, sitting at her desk.

“It was a bit disappointing,” said Chloe, not wanting to admit to being a total failure. “I wanted to ask about a song for the concert, but Mr. Player was going on about me not using the right muscles when I sing.”

“What are you doing at this school if you can't sing properly?” said Tara.

“Take no notice,” Pop told Chloe, glaring at Tara. “Tara is a bass player. Singing is a sideline for her. She doesn't have a clue what she's talking about.”

“Don't worry,” added Lolly. “It's only your first lesson. The concert isn't for ages. You've got plenty of time to choose a song and I'm sure Mr. Player will get you in shape.”

“He might not,” said Tara. Pop scowled at her, but she went on regardless. “If you can't sing properly,” she said nastily, “you'll
never
be a Rising Star!”

Somehow, Chloe had to swallow the disappointment of her first singing lesson and concentrate on the rest of the school day. There was a full schedule of ordinary classes, as well as all the extra ones, too. After school, there was supervised homework in the homework room at Paddock House, and by bedtime everyone was exhausted.

“
Our
first singing lesson is tomorrow!” said Pop as they climbed into bed.

“Judge Jim Henson, Head of the Rock Department, sat in on my first bass lesson!” bragged Tara. “He might write something for me to play at the concert!”

“Pigs might fly!” Pop shot back. Chloe pulled her quilt up around her ears and closed her eyes. She'd have to get her singing figured out quickly or the others would be ahead of her with their concert preparations.

But after several voice lessons, Chloe had still made no progress, in spite of the breathing exercises Mr. Player had asked her to do. At one lesson, he even brought a drawing in to show her, with lungs, diaphragm, and stomach muscles marked on it.

“Do your breathing exercises again with your hand on your tummy,” he told her patiently. She did as she was told, letting her muscles go slack as she breathed in through her nose, and feeling them tighten as she pushed the last puffs of air back out through her mouth.

“That's what should be happening when you sing,” he reminded her.

But Chloe was getting frustrated. “I can't do it!” she snapped. “I'm too worried about what I'm going to sing at the concert.”

Mr. Player folded his arms and leaned against the piano. “Getting your voice in shape is far more important than thinking of performing,” he said. “There will be other concerts ... when you've learned to use your voice properly.”

Chloe stared at him in horror. “But I
have
to do the concert,” she told him. “I can't possibly miss it!”

“Listen to me,” he said. “You have the potential to be an excellent singer, but you'll only make trouble for yourself if you try to perform now. Get your technique right first;
then
you can sing in concerts. Now, don't let me hear any more about it.”

Chloe stumbled through the rest of her lesson in a daze. Not sing at the concert? She
had
to sing.
Everyone
was performing. She'd die of shame if Mr. Player wouldn't allow her to take part. She could imagine what Tara would say. And what about those precious Rising Stars points?

After the lesson was over, she pushed open the door to the little courtyard nearby. She didn't feel like joining her friends right away, and this place had been a refuge for her before, when everything had gone wrong on audition day.

She was moping so much, she didn't see the figure on the bench until she was halfway there. Judge Jim Henson, the head of rock, was sitting in his favorite spot, busy working on an old guitar. He looked up and smiled.

“Well, hello! It's my old friend Chloe. How 'ya doin'?”

She bit her lip. It was no good pretending to Judge Jim, even if she'd wanted to. He'd calmed her down on audition day and figured out what was wrong. If she was going to talk to anyone, Judge Jim was the best person to confide in.

“I'm not doing very well,” she admitted. “But I've been wanting to thank you for helping me to get my place here.”

Judge Jim waved his hand dismissively. “You got the place,” he said. “Not me. You want to join me here?” he added. “I'm just restringing this old friend of mine. I'd be happy to have some company.”

Chloe went to the bench and Judge Jim moved up so there was enough room for her to sit down. He ran his wrinkled hand down the neck of the guitar.

“Had this since I wasn't too much older than you,” he said. “I know she's not much to look at now, but she's my oldest friend. When I first earned myself a lot of money, I went out and bought all the best guitars of the day, but somehow this old girl has stayed with me through thick and thin.”

Chloe took a look at the instrument he was holding. It didn't look like anything special. It was scratched and worn, with lots of painted patterns on it, faded now, but once probably really bright. Its old strings lay discarded on the ground in a springy heap.

“Maybe it would be better if
I
played an instrument.” Chloe sighed.

“I thought you had your instrument all neat and tidy in your voice box,” Judge Jim said. “You don't need to buy strings to get that working properly.”

“But I can't get my voice to work at
all
,” Chloe said. As she spoke, her voice wobbled, but she was determined not to cry. She had used one of Judge Jim's huge handkerchiefs to mop up her tears once before, and she didn't want him to have to find another.

Chloe explained about her voice getting quieter and quieter instead of more and more powerful like Mr. Player wanted. She told him about her elementary school teacher, too—who Mr. Player thought had ruined her confidence.

“And now, if I can't sing properly, Mr. Player says I won't be able to take part in the
concert
!” She stopped short. It was such a dreadful thing to admit.

All the time she was talking, Judge Jim kept working on his guitar. He said nothing while he fitted the last string and tightened it up. At last, he ran his fingers over them and the strings whispered in the silent courtyard.

“You got amplifier problems,” he announced at last. “Like my friend here, you need to hook up to your amplifier before you can perform.”

“Yes,” said Chloe. “And Mr. Player has taught me all about my tummy muscles, but I still can't do it.”

“And why would that be?” asked Judge Jim, adjusting the strings.

Chloe shrugged miserably.

“Does a baby need to learn how to use its muscles before it can cry?” he asked, his brown eyes meeting hers for the first time.

“No,” Chloe shook her head. “I guess not.”

“Well, then. You got the voice. You got the amplifier. Your body knows how to use them, but your mind is interfering. You need to calm down. Be easy on yourself. You might not think it, but you got all the time in the world.” He smiled.

“Look at my friend here. I can't tell you the number of times I threw her across the room when I was young 'cause I couldn't get her to sound how I wanted. I was like you, child. I was so full of ambition, and sometimes it worked against me. It was always better once I'd calmed down and relaxed. Sometimes, I thought my hands had lost their cunning, and forgotten how to play, but it wasn't that. You can't make music when you're all scrunched up with anger, or with fear.”

“But I
must
get my voice working or I won't be able to sing in the
concert
,” Chloe protested.

Judge Jim looked deep into her eyes.

“In your life there will be many, many times when you can't have what you want,” he told her. “In this business, as well as needing determination, you sometimes have to learn to let things go. We're artists, and although any art needs hard work, you can't force it. The more you try to force your voice, the more it will resist you. Relax, give your voice a break, and it'll come back.”

“But ... ”

Judge Jim raised his eyebrows but didn't argue. He stood up and grunted, stooping to pick up the old strings. He slung the guitar over his shoulder and looked at her.

“I have to go give a lesson. You take care now, and be sure to come and see me again soon.”

Chloe watched him leave and then kicked miserably at a pebble on the ground.

He doesn't understand,
she told herself.
He doesn't! I have to do the concert or I'll have to admit to everyone I can't sing, and then I'll die!

On the way back to Paddock House, Chloe met a group of seventh-grade boys discussing what they were going to perform at the concert.

“Hey, Chloe!” yelled Toby Bones, a friend of Danny's and a singer like Chloe. “How're your plans for the concert going?”

Chloe didn't want to stop, but there was no escape. Everyone gathered around, anxious to share what they were doing.

“I can't get my piece right,” Toby confessed ruefully. “Every single time I sing, I forget to breathe in the right place!”

“How's the drumming going?” Chloe hastily asked

Danny.

“Okay,” he said.

“He's too modest.” Toby laughed. “His drumming is fantastic. He's sure to get lots of Rising Stars points. No wonder he got a scholarship!”

“You got a scholarship, too, didn't you?” Marmalade said to Chloe. “You must be pretty confident about the concert. What are you singing? Is it something I could dance to?”

Chloe edged away from the boys. “That'd be telling,” she said, trying to sound upbeat. “Got to go. It's almost homework time.”

She hurried away, and once she was out of sight, she leaned against a wall to catch her breath. She still couldn't face going back to the house. Tara would be bragging about how well her bass piece was going, and Pop would insist on demonstrating the dance routine she'd choreographed with Lolly to go with their song.

Chloe decided to text Jess. Maybe that would make her feel a bit better. And then, next weekend when Chloe went home, she and Jess could try to work out what to do.

Help! I've lost my voice. Need 2 tlk,
she texted. Jess's message came back almost at once, but it wasn't what Chloe wanted to hear.

Of course Jess didn't understand what a crisis this was, and it was too complicated to explain in a text. Chloe stuffed the cell back in her pocket. She had never felt so alone in her life. Everyone at Rockley Park would soon know that she wasn't going to be in the concert, and they would
all
want to know why. When they knew, they would despise her.

A cold ribbon of fear ran down her back. They
would
despise her. This school was all about success, not failure. People like Pop and Lolly had spent their entire lives being successes. They'd probably sympathize with her because they were nice people, but Chloe would be isolated, the only one with nothing to say when the concert was being discussed. She would have no one to talk to, and no Rising Stars points to put toward the all-important concert at the end of the school year!

Chloe couldn't wait for the next week to pass so she could go home for semester break. Even though this break was only a weekend, because the semester was so short, it would still give her a breather. At school, she seemed to be spending all her time putting off questions about her choice of song for the concert.

“You're being very secretive about your song,” Lolly said one evening when they were washing their hair. “Mr. Player must have come up with something really special for you. I can't wait to find out what it is. Are you going to dance as well, or just sing?”

“Just sing,” mumbled Chloe unhappily. She hated lying, especially to Lolly, who was such a good friend, but she couldn't bring herself to admit the truth.

 

 

At the last singing lesson before semester break, Chloe arrived to find some mellow jazz playing on the stereo. Mrs. Jones wasn't at the piano, and Mr. Player didn't have Chloe's file open as usual.

“This is some of my favorite relaxing music,” he told her. “Do you like it?”

Chloe let the soothing notes slide over her mind. She'd never listened to jazz before.

“Mmm,” she agreed. “It's good.”

“Now come down here.” Mr. Player took her to stand in front of the mirror. “Look how tense you are!” He put his hands on her shoulders and pushed them gently down. “That's better. Let the music flow over you. This is our last lesson before break, and I want to send you home relaxed and happy.”

That was impossible, Chloe thought, but she listened politely.

“I don't want you to worry about doing any exercises, or trying to sing. I've just got one bit of fun homework for you to do. Now tell me something. When was the last time you threw up? It's a serious question,” he added, seeing the bewildered expression on her face.

“I think it was last winter,” Chloe said, trying to remember. “My little brother got a bug and all my family came down with it. Why?”

“Because I want you to try to remember what happens when you throw up. Find a quiet corner over break and practice. I don't really want you to be sick, of course! But try acting it out. Make all the horrible noises you did then. It might help if you get a friend to try with you. Have a laugh doing it, but try to reproduce that powerful feeling. Sometimes, doing that helps singers to learn how to project their voices.”