I shoot Leah a warning look. “Derek’s face is way too angelic to be the Phantom.”
Meadow says, “I wonder how he gets it that pale.”
I sit up, cross-legged in the middle of my bed, and lean forward. “Maybe he goes back to his room and shoots up.” I really don’t want to believe that.
Meadow shrugs. “He probably just does a little weed.”
“That’s hardly a drug habit.” He didn’t deny it, though. Didn’t offer any explanations. Behind those melting eyes and the gentle pressure of his hand on my arm, could he be dangerous? “Maybe we shouldn’t try to hang out with them so much tomorrow.”
Meadow sits up. “No way. If he is into drugs that means he major likes me. A guy into abusing substances needs a lot of motivation to skip a chance to go to a bar. Motivation like me.”
She rolls her eyes at Leah—thinks I don’t see, but I do and I get it. I’m not in the club. I don’t know anything about typical guy behavior. A little weed. A couple of bars. I admit that scares me. I don’t want any part of it.
I stretch and glance from Meadow to Leah. “We compete tomorrow. We need to focus.” I need to focus and not think about Derek lying in bed listening to me sing—while he trips out on whatever he takes. “I don’t think we should take any risks.”
Sarah throws open the bathroom door. “They’re doing lunch with us tomorrow after we perform. I already set it up with Blake.”
“Way to go, Sarah.” Meadow jumps up, hugs her, and steals the bathroom.
Leah and I groan. She plops on my bed next to me. “Now we’ll never get in there.”
Sarah jumps on my bed, too. Her flawless skin glows.
I hate to be a downer, but I still say, “Blake seems a little wild.”
“No more than the usual guy.” She pulls a face at me. “I know you’ve never been to a party, but—really—it’s no big deal. They all drink.”
I drop my voice to a whisper. “What do you think about Derek and the drugs?”
Leah shakes her head, impatient with my persistence.
Sarah wrinkles up her nose. “I don’t know. He doesn’t fit the average stoner profile, but artsy creative geniuses do drugs, too. He is pale.”
I nod. Beautifully pale. White, white skin. Dark, dark hair. And then those brown eyes and a sensitive, fascinating mouth. It’s kind of on the tortured side of the spectrum. Maybe that’s where the drugs come in.
The whole gentleman, won’t-go-to-a-bar thing could have been a huge act to trick Meadow. Or me. Did I frown when Blake brought up the bar? Probably. Derek could be up in that bar with Blake, chugging down a cold one—no, this is Europe, a slightly chilled, kind of warm one—at this moment, laughing with Blake about how he fooled me. How his plan is evolving nicely. How I stood frozen on that hotel step, massively entranced, as he walked away. He looks perfect, sounds perfect, but what do any of us know about him? He could be hiding anything he wants behind that heart-stopping face. I know what guys who look like Derek do.
Leah leans in close. “I don’t know if Derek is a scary drug addict, but there’s one thing we all know.” She looks hard at me, a smile playing around her lips. “He’s definitely not into Meadow.”
I pull out of the cozy knot. “He was being nice. Professional.” My heart starts zooming. “Guys don’t get into me.”
Sarah puts her fingers to her lips and whispers, “They do now.”
“Get used to it.” Leah tickles my feet. “You’re hot, Beth.”
I push her away. “You’re delusional.”
Sarah tickles me from the other side. “You could get anybody you want.”
I squirm away from them. “What about Meadow?”
“Blake told me Derek only goes for girls who can sing.” Sarah pushes aside her thick bangs.
“She sang really well this morning.”
“Not like you sing that solo to him every night.”
I swallow hard, shake my head. “This isn’t me. I don’t know how to get Derek.” I put out my hands to ward them off. “I’m here to sing.”
Leah and Sarah trade glances. Sarah pats my foot. “That’s all you’ll have to do.”
I don’t sleep well. The biggest day of my life is about to dawn. No pressure.
Right. I toss and turn, get up—trip over Meadow’s bed on my way to the bathroom. I put the toilet lid down and perch on it, my legs pulled up under my chin, my arms clutched around them in an upright fetal meltdown.
I’m dying to sing. That’s how I unwind. I fake it, quietly mouth through all our pieces. When I get to the end, I go back and lie down, close my eyes. I see Derek alone in his hotel room with a razor blade and a line of white dust, or a needle in his hand and a rubber strap tied around his arm. That picture fades, replaced by the wave of emotion that went through me when he said—Sing, sing me to sleep.
You can sing,
Please, sing me to sleep—
Tonight.
If Derek knew the pre-dyed, pre-manicured, pre-made-up, pre-lasered Beth, the Beast, would he have been so happy to meet me? That’s what I was when I recorded. He could be just like Colby, only smoother. A star singer instead of a star jock. Colby could be nice when he wanted to be. He managed to get all the beautiful girls at school that he wanted. If his performance at the prom is any kind of clue, maybe his brand of nice is mostly arrogance. Derek didn’t seem like that. How do I know, though?
So he listened to me sing, walked us home, and touched my arm. Does that mean he isn’t just as nasty as every other guy in the universe? Except Scott. But Derek isn’t a short, nerdy sweetheart who’s been bullied all his life. He’s gorgeous, oozes talent, experience, confidence. He isn’t anything like Scott. Could Derek be for real as nice as he seems—despite the drug habit? I close my eyes and find something new in my heart. A small spark of something I don’t recognize.Awake tonight,
I give up
And embrace the glow you lit
When your eyes captured mine
And I heard you whisper,
‘Sing, sing me to sleep.
You can sing,
Please, sing me to sleep—
Tonight.’
All of my life
I wait for
A touch like wings brushing my heart.
Is this blush on my face
All you have to give me?
Sing, sing me to sleep.
You can sing,
Please, sing me to sleep—
Tonight.
I wake up too early. My head is pounding, and I feel like I’m going to puke. Breakfast and a couple of Advils help. Warm-ups and a run through help more. We pile on our tour bus and ride uptown to the ancient church where we’ll perform.
Then I have to deal with getting ready. My face is a routine by now. Meadow’s mom winds my hair up and fastens it to my head with the sharpest hairpins on earth. She shellacs it all in place. Then I’m stepping into my ruby gown. I get nervous again—hide out in the bathroom singing my solo over and over until we’re called.
We file onto the risers in our swishy ruby gowns. Eighty elegant girls. I feel okay, almost confident. I know my voice won’t let me down. The venue helps my nerves. No cold auditorium. A warm chapel full of wood like we sing in back home. Should be good acoustics.
I look at the audience. The benches behind the judges’ table are filled with guys in white golf shirts with a fancy red “A” embroidered on the pocket. Their whole choir came to hear us. Derek is looking at me. Our eyes lock, and he smiles. At that moment I’m grateful I look so dang perfect. Drug habit or not, he’s impossible to resist. I smile back at him. He gives me a thumbs-up. I take a deep breath, let it out slowly while Terri walks into the room. Polite applause. We sing the test piece. Totally nail it. More applause. We sing our technical second piece. The applause is louder for that one.