The piano starts “Take Me Home.” I close my eyes. The music transports me back to the church in Ann Arbor. It’s just the girls and me. No pressure. Derek’s there, too, though, waiting for me to sing, wanting to fall in love with my song. I open my eyes at the cue. My voice pours out. I look away from Terri, find Derek watching me, hanging on every note, mesmerized. It sends a thrill through me. Somehow I keep singing, but he’s stolen me. Every note, every quiet throb of passion is for him. Take me home, take me home, take me home. I’m not sure how he’s doing this, but even though I’m up here on stage with eighty girls, singing for the judges and an audience, it’s way intimate between Derek and me. The intensity of it mounts when I sing, The dark boy who said he loved me / And fills my dreams at night.
He’s the dark boy who filled my dreams last night. I want him there again, tonight and every night.
He is the first one on his feet when the last note fades. His choir joins him. The rest of the audience rises. No cheering. Decorum reigns at the Choral Olympics during the judging. But the clapping doesn’t stop. We march out, our dresses swirling dramatically around our feet, with the audience still applauding. They don’t stop until one of the judges makes them.
The chaperone moms herd us into our dressing area. We can’t scream like we want. Or even hug. We make do with high-fiving and cheek-kissing.
Meadow’s mom directs the others as they unzip us and help us out of our gowns. We all change into off-white capris and ballet pink blouses with puffy short sleeves and eyelet-lace accents. We even wear matching sandals. I dress automatically, thrilled by that ovation and the pleased look on the judges’ faces and the way Derek’s mouth trembled at the song’s close. I wish I could take my hair down, but we’re supposed to leave it up.
I wipe off the heavy lipstick they made me wear to perform and smooth on Watermelon Ice. Reminds me of Scott. Poor Scott. He’s so far away from me here and now. So different from Derek. Steady. Loyal. Sweet. Friend.
Derek doesn’t seem like any of those things. Especially the friend angle. But sweet? For sure. Last night showed sweet. And singing for him just now was extreme sweet. But that was in me. How did he feel? What could he possibly see in me? Maybe it is all an act. Those guys have been around. He’s had a lot of chances to perfect picking up a girl to pass the time with at a festival. I never imagined something like that happening here, but, heck, I’ll play along. Why not? He doesn’t know who I really am. I am free here. He thinks I’m beautiful.
We meet Derek and Blake at the pizza place across the road from our hotel. The pizzas are all named for movie stars—mostly American. The guys got us a table outside on the sidewalk. Kind of loud with cars going by but way European.
“Great job.” Derek shakes my hand in both of his—holds onto it while he says, “Beautiful, Beth. Exquisite. How do you do that?”
I draw my hand back. “I heard you sing. You know how to do it.”
“Not like that. I can’t sing like that.”
Blake leans over his shoulder and looks me up and down. “Maybe you just need the right inspiration.”
He gets another elbow in the gut and, “Shut up,” from Derek.
We order pizza to celebrate. Blake cheats again with the dairy, but Derek gets pasta with meat sauce. When his order comes, he takes out a handful of capsules and swallows them—notices my stare, shrugs. “Vitamins. My mom is way into macrobiotics.”
I believe him. Every word. Honest.
This place serves authentic Italian pizzas—thin crust, wood fired. I stuff a slice melting with mozzarella into my mouth. It’s so different from home. Fresh and chewy. And the tomatoes are sweet. I close my eyes to savor it better—can’t believe I’m actually eating with him. I’m learning this guy stuff as fast as I can.
“You don’t eat it like that.” Derek watches me swallow from across the narrow table. He picks up a slice of my pizza, folds it over. “Here.” He slides it into my mouth. Obedient as always, I bite and manage to chew without turning too pink. He’s staring—looks like he’s starving.
“You want a piece? This is way too much for me.” Everyone gets their own small pizza here, not giant ones that will serve a table like back home, but it’s too much.
He shakes his head. “Cheese.”
“You guys sing tomorrow, right?”
“I hope you’ll come.” He looks at me the way he did while I sang.
“Wouldn’t miss it.” I gaze back at him and hope I’m sending the right message.
I’m lost somewhere deep in his velvet-brown stare when my cell phone rings in my bag. I’m carrying it today. Mom said she’d call to see how our performance went. She warned me that calls from Europe cost a fortune in roaming and long-distance charges, so we’ve made due with emails, but today actually talking will be worth it.
I find it before she hangs up. “Mom?”
“Beth?” She says something I don’t hear.
I shout, “Hang on a minute,” and get up, walk up the sidewalk. “I think this is better.”
“How did it go, honey?”
“Great, Mom. I sang like I never have before.” I glance back at Derek sitting at the table, leaning back in his chair, staring at me. He holds my eyes, makes my face hot. “We met some nice guys from Amabile—over the border in London.”
“Good, dear. I’m glad you’re having a nice time.” She sounds down.
“You okay?” I worry about her alone.
“Sure.” Her voice breaks.
“What’s going on Mom?”
“Nothing that can’t wait until you’re home next week.”
I close my eyes. No, not today. Agree with her. Hang up. Wait. You don’t want to know. “Is it that test?”
She doesn’t say anything, but I can hear soft crying sounds.
“It was positive, wasn’t it?” Something deep inside me clenches hard against the pain that’s cutting into my heart. “I’m a carrier.”
“We’ll go see a genetic counselor when you get home.” She takes a deep breath, tries to control her voice. “I didn’t want to tell you like this.”
“Okay. Is there anything else I should know?”
“Don’t let this news ruin your trip. Forget about it and have a great time. We’ll deal with it when you’re back. The doctors wanted you to go on the pill right away, but I told them we didn’t have to worry about that. I’m proud of you, honey.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“I love you. I’m sorry. I’m so—so—sorry.” She’s crying again.
“I love you, too.” My voice cracks on the last word. The phone goes dead. My eyes sting. I figure I have about two minutes before I fall apart. No way can I go back to pizza. And calm, cool, beautiful Derek.
There are yellow stripes on the road in front of me. Crosswalk. Good. I step into it. A car slams on its brakes. I jump. I’d be dead in Detroit, but the Swiss stop. I look up at the leathered face of an old Swiss man, raise my hand to thank him. He smiles and waves back. A lump grows in my throat.
Now traffic is stopped for me, going both ways. I hurry across, pass paddleboats and a place selling ice-cream cones and soda, walk down to the lake. There’s a ferry terminal on my right. Big trees. Benches. I find one that’s mostly hidden behind a fat tree trunk and bushes.
I sit down, try to get a grip. The lake is a mirror today. Really blue. The sky, too. A few fluffy clouds and sunshine. Mountains, blue in the distance with white jagged peaks, rise up on the other side. It’s so serene. I can’t look at it. I need clouds. Driving rain. Crashing waves. The beauty of this place mocks me, screams Da-amn ugly back in my face.