Angela Morrison - Sing Me to Sleep

“Okay. Thanks. We should.” I try to start telling her about the AYS, but she’s way ahead of me.

“Have you heard from Derek? Since Lausanne?”

“Yes.”

“How’s that going?”

“He’s intense.” Why do I make him sound like that? I should say that he’s amazing, says he loves me, wants to look out for me.

“Smooth?”

“Very.”

“Be careful, Beth. I know you’re new to guys wanting your attention. You shouldn’t do anything you’re not comfortable with.”

“Really?” I know she’s talking physical, but maybe her advice applies to more.

“Of course.”

“Thanks.”

“You’re sure you’re safe?”

“Very. Bye.”

I hit Derek’s number.

“You talk to Terri yet?”

I grit my teeth. “Uh-huh. Just.”

“How’d she take it?”

My face screws up tight. “She hasn’t got the pill yet.” I don’t say it very loud.

“What?”

I sink onto a stool and tip my head forward so my hair falls around my face. “I couldn’t do it.”

“You can’t just not show on Tuesday. Call her back. She deserves that much.”

“I can’t quit over the phone. Never see them again.” I sound defeated. “They’re all going to hate me.”

“Who cares? They’re using you.”

His confidence makes me sit up straight. “Amabile won’t be using me?” My voice has an abrupt edge to it.

“No.” Unyielding. Harsh. Commanding. All in one solid negative.

That gets me up on my feet. “And you’re not using me?”

I’m glad I can’t see his face. “What does that mean?”

“Terri asked about you—about us. She said I shouldn’t agree to anything that makes me uncomfortable.”

“That’s rich.”

Mom’s head pops around the corner. “You okay?” Guess I’m getting screechy.

I wave her off and run up the stairs hissing into the phone. “Maybe I’m not comfortable with quitting my choir. Maybe I’m not comfortable singing with all those nice AYS girls. Maybe I’m not comfortable with you planning my life.”

Silence. He starts saying something and stops. Clears his throat. Twice. “Comfort is highly overrated. Joining the AYS won’t be comfortable. It’ll be loads of hard work. I didn’t think you’d be afraid of work. I thought you’d eat it up.”

“It’s not the work.” I make it to my room, shut the door, and lean back against it.

He’s saying, “Are you afraid of spending more time with me? Does that make you uncomfortable?”

Does it? I don’t know. I thought that’s what I wanted. All I wanted. “Sometimes I am afraid.” I sink slowly to the floor. “Not of you— for you.”

“Don’t worry about me.” His tone cuts.

Crap. He’s angry. But I keep pushing. “Back in Lausanne—Blake said—”

“Blake’s an idiot.”

“It’s eating me up. When we’re together, you’re overpowering. I can’t think. But when I’m alone—that’s all I do.” I’m talking too loud again.

“Then we need to be together more.” I’m on the verge of dissolving into the sexy, coaxing thick in his voice.

I bang my head back against the door to clear it. “You’re sidestepping me again.”

“You’ve got a lot of music to learn. That should keep you busy until Tuesday. No more worrying.”

His bossy tactic gives me backbone. “I’m not coming Tuesday.”

“You have to.”

“No. I don’t.”

He heats up. “You’ll be way behind. It’s tough to miss even one week of practice. They started this week. If you don’t go Tuesday, you’ll be two weeks behind. You’ll miss solo auditions.”

“If they want me to solo, they know how I sing.” I get on my feet and glance around my cluttered room for that folder of music.

“But you have to compete for it.”

I laugh. “Are you saying there are claws under the nice?”

“Hardly. They give everyone a shot.”

“So I don’t solo on those ten pieces.” I uncover the folder on my dresser and flip through the pieces. Some of them look really good.

“I vouched for you. My rep’s on the line here. Get over yourself and call Terri.”

I slam the folder shut. “I don’t like being told what to do. I didn’t ask you to risk your precious name for me.” My room is too hot. I go over to my window and open it. Muggy out. I pull it closed, stand staring out at the overcast afternoon and the cars going by on the cracked asphalt.

“Please, Beth. I miss you.” His voice is slinky again. “Let’s not fight over this.”

Crap. We’re fighting. The defiance drips out of me. I don’t want to fight with him. “Isn’t there a Plan C out there?”

“Amabile will be so good for you. Please. Come sing with me.”

“It’s going to break Terri’s heart.”

“If she cares about you, she’ll be pleased.” He’s right. Again.

“I can’t tell her over the phone.”

He exhales. “Go Tuesday, then. I’ll email the AYS directors and tell them you’re winding up your commitment with Bliss.”

“Thank you.” Relief washes through me. “I’m sorry. I guess I’m scared.”

“Don’t be.” That’s easy for him to say. He’s never been scared in his life. “I’ll see you Friday then.”

Friday? That’s way too long. “How about I drive over to your place tomorrow afternoon? You’re not busy on Sunday are you? Can’t I meet your parents?”

Too fast, he says, “Sorry. No can do.”

“You met my mom. You blew her away.”

“Good to know. The way you’re talking tonight I may need an ally in this. What does she think about you joining Amabile?”

I turn away from my window. “I haven’t told her. I didn’t know it was all so definite until last night. No sense getting her hopes up for nothing.” Is that the truth? I don’t know.

Derek doesn’t believe me. “The only one undecided here is you. Let me talk to her.”

“No way.”

“You are quitting Tuesday?”

“Of course.”

“Then commit. Tell your mum or I will.”

“You’d make a good Central American dictator.”

“Not big enough for me.”

“Total global domination?”

“Now she’s talking.”

I sit cross-legged in the middle of my bed. He’s got me smiling again. “Are you sure there’s no Plan C churning in the maniacal recesses of your genius?”

“Talk online. Text. Get an international calling plan. I got my cell bill. The calls to you wiped out my entire college savings account.”

“But you’re not going.”

“This year. I didn’t say I was never going.”

My smile fades. “You mean I sacrifice my choir and join Amabile so I can be with you, and you’re going to take off on me?”

“You’re more likely to take off on me.”

An exasperated huff escapes me. “I don’t have the bucks for that.”

“And I do? School or no school—I have to live at home. Right now, I just want to make it through this fall.”

“You keep saying that. I don’t get it. What’s so tough? All you’re doing is sitting around composing, singing with your choir, and pulling my puppet strings.”

“I don’t want to get into it on the phone.”

“You never do.”

“I need to go.”

“Wait a minute.”

“Really, Beth.”

“Stop.” It hits me that I finally have bargaining power on my side. “Let’s make a deal. I quit my choir Tuesday, and you tell me everything on Friday.”

“Please, Beth. Don’t put me in a corner like that. Trust me.”

My phone goes dead.

I scream words Derek’s nice ex-girlfriend doesn’t know and pitch my cell across the room. It hits the wall next to my bed and disappears down the crack.