Lisa Desrochers: A Little Too Much

“Off-Broadway,” I clarify.

“Which one?” she asks.

“It’s called Don’t Look Back and it opens in a few weeks.”

“What’s it about?”

It’s about two sisters who go through a bunch of sh—” Damn, I have to be careful. “ . . . who go through a really hard time with some things that happen to them.”

Her gaze grows more skeptical. “Are you one of the sisters?”

“I am,” I say as a shivery rush courses through me. I still have to pinch myself sometimes.

Working in the theater is different than I thought it would be—which really means it’s no different at all. It wasn’t some big transformation, like the caterpillar turning into the butterfly or anything. I guess when it happened to Brett, I was just so in awe that it looked that way to me. But I’m no different. I’m just me . . . except maybe stronger.

The girls file into the room and head for the karaoke machine as another boy and girl arrive. They join the others at the machine and, as I move to the door to close it so no one will feel embarrassed, I look out into the gym and see Alessandro just emerging from the locker room in a snug gray T-shirt and black athletic shorts, with a towel slung over his shoulder. He loops the towel over the ropes of the boxing ring and takes a jogging lap around the gym before stopping at the ring again and stretching.

“Are we gonna use the mic?” the blond girl asks from behind me, shaking me out of my I-can’t-believe-that-gorgeous-hunk-of-man-flesh-is-mine daze.

I suck the drool off my bottom lip and close the door, then turn back to find the group staring at me. “This is a small room, so you can use it if you want, but I don’t think we need it.”

The kids start choosing their songs and the three girls who came together decide to sing a Taylor Swift song I recognize but don’t really know. One of them, the Latina girl, has potential. The others are just sort of screeching.

Through the window beyond them, Alessandro has boxing gloves on and he’s working a punching bag. He’s pulled off his shirt, and the sight of his rippling muscles sends the muscles in my groin rippling. I force my eyes back to the girls as they finish and work really hard not to stare out the window as Alessandro climbs into the ring with Alex.

The girls each do something solo, then the other girl, who showed up with the boy who it turns out is her brother, takes her turn. They all pick the more current hop-hop stuff that’s on the machine. Her brother comes up next and raps something I’ve never heard before. Then Tony gets his turn. When the music he chose starts and the first piano chords of “Suddenly” from the Les Misérables movie flow from the karaoke machine, I’m sure he must have pushed the wrong button. But then he begins singing . . . and my jaw hits the table. His voice is rich and pure and nothing like I would have expected from a wiry, shy sixteen-year-old kid. Just listening to him sends goose bumps rippling over my skin.

The other kids are whispering to each other and snickering, and I so want to yell at them to shut up, but instead, I lift my palm in warning when the blond girl looks at me, and she shushes the others. Tony, thankfully, isn’t looking at them. His head is tipped down slightly and his eyes are closed. When he finishes, he opens them and goes back to his chair and sits as if he didn’t just rock my world.

“That was amazing, Tony,” I tell him and Rapper Boy snickers again. I look at the group. “How many of you are in junior high?”

The three Taylor Swift girls raise their hands.

“Excellent. And high school?”

The others either raise their hands or, in Tony’s case, I get a shrug and a glance.

“Are you guys involved in music programs at your schools?”

I get a few mumbled yeahs.

“Great. Most schools still have at least a choral program, and many have drama, so if you wanted to do musicals, that’s a good place to start,” I say, looking straight at Tony. “There are also community drama programs outside of school.”

That catches Tony’s interest and he glances up at me, but then drops his gaze again when he sees me looking.

“If you’re thinking you want a career in music, there are lots of options,” I continue. “You could always try to find a job teaching music, or if you wanted to sing in the theater, there’s Broadway here, but there are also theater communities all over the country if you wanted to live somewhere other than New York. There are a hundred ways to make music a part of your life. You can write music or perform it, you can sing in open mics, community groups, or churches,” I say, gesturing out the window at the gym . . . not that this is a church, really. “Or you can . . .” but I trail off as my eyes catch on Alessandro again, in the ring. He’s sparring with Alex and the sheen of sweat over his chest and abs, the ripple of his taut muscles, the way he moves . . . it’s just so . . . yummy. “ . . . you can sing in the subway,” I mutter mindlessly.

There’s a snicker. I pull my eyes away from Alessandro and find the group grinning at me. I clear my throat. “So . . . how many of you think you might want a career in music?”

All four girls raise their hands while Rapper Boy sneers and jabs his sister and Tony fidgets in his chair. He glances up at me and I give him a tiny nod.

“If you guys want to choose another song, go for it,” I tell them, and the three girls leap out of their seats and pounce on the machine. For the next hour, I listen and give whatever pointers I picked up while training for Idol . I can’t help my eyes flicking toward Alessandro, though, and something kicks in my gut when I see Marie standing at the side of the ring, watching. The dance girls in their tights and leotards are starting to set up the half court, carrying the dance bar onto the court from against the wall. Alessandro and Alex finish up in the ring and Alessandro pulls off his headgear and gloves, then towels off all that sweat that I really wanted to lick. Once his shirt is on, he combs a hand through his gorgeous hair and ducks between the ropes to where Marie is waiting. She presses up onto her tiptoes, and he smiles as he leans down and kisses her.

IT’S ONLY A peck on the cheek, but it makes me want to do things to her, even though Alessandro insists they were never serious, and he broke it off with her the first night we were together. They talk for a few minutes, then Alessandro says something with a gesture at the window of my room. They both turn to look, and that’s when I realize I’m standing with my palms pressed against the glass, watching, as if I’m trapped in some giant terrarium or something.

I spin quickly away as Rapper Boy finishes whatever it was that he was doing and force myself to relax. Just because they dated doesn’t mean there’s anything between them still. And, as I think it, a wave of calm hits me and I realize I trust him. I trust Alessandro. I trusted him once before and he broke my heart. Even though I think I’ve always known it wasn’t his fault, I’ve still blamed him. But I don’t anymore. I’ve forgiven him.

“Great. That was great,” I tell Rapper Boy. I swallow and look at Tony. “Are you going to take another turn?”

He shakes his head without looking up.

“Okay.” My eyes scan the group. “Well, thanks for coming, I guess. I hope you guys had fun.”

“Are you going to do this again?” the blond girl asks.

I shrug. “If Alessandro sets it up.”

“Alessandro?” the Latina girl asks.

“Padre,” I say, glancing out to where he’s working with the boys at the free weights.

The three girls bolt out the door to where he is, while the brother-sister leave without a word.