Angela Morrison - Sing Me to Sleep

CD? We’re cutting a CD of our own?

“What do you say, girls?” She’s looking straight at me. “Are you up for it?”

Derek’s not online when I get home, so I call him. I don’t care what it costs. I use the landline, though. Maybe Mom won’t notice when it shows up on the bill. And she likes him. She still keeps bringing up Scott—but she likes Derek. Enough to spring for a few international long-distance phone calls. We need to get a cheap plan.

Derek doesn’t pick up. It’s way late. Practice went over. We sang through all our old favorites trying to decide what to put on the CD. “Take Me Home ” —for sure. Our other competition pieces. And all the new stuff Terri chose for me to sing this year.

“You know what would be cool,” Leah piped up. “If Beth could get Derek to come and sing that duet with her. We could do the backup.”

I turned at least red—probably purple.

Terri winked at me. “I’ll check into the licensing if you think he would?”

“I don’t know. He’s really busy. I’ll ask.” I’m such a liar. But what could I do?

Derek’s voice-mail comes on, and I hang up. Maybe he’s asleep. I thought he’d wait up—want to talk. I check my computer screen again. No Derek. I can’t do this in an email. No way.

That’s when I decide not to tell him until I see him. I’ll go Friday. Steal one more night in Amabile’s rarified air.

I get there late. He’s waiting outside the church. He kisses me too quick and hustles me to the door. “How did it go Tuesday?”

“I’ll tell you after.”

I can’t relax and get into the singing. I’m an intruder. What am I doing here? The wispy-beard director gets an alto and soprano to try the solo I sang last week. It works. They so don’t need me.

Derek leans over and whispers, “You were much better.”

I shake my head.

He rolls his eyes. “Not even close.”

His ex sings the next song with a solo. Her voice is delicate—not breathy like Meadow’s but feminine and pretty—fairies sing like that when they dance at midnight. I keep my eyes focused on the music. No way do I dare look at Derek. What if his eyes read regret?

He lost her for me? It doesn’t make any sense. He could get her back easy. Maybe, after tonight, he’ll want that.

After choir, he makes me hop on the back of his bike. “You aboard is the best way to ensure my safety.”

I can’t argue.

I press my face into his leather-jacketed back and enjoy hanging on to him. He rides over a bridge and then takes a narrow road down into a park. It’s full of old maple trees. When he shuts off his bike, I can hear moving water—close.

“I found us a new bench.” He leads me to a green wooden park bench beside the small river that splits London in two. “This is the Thames. Not Lake Geneva—but—”

“I love it.”

“Are you hungry?”

“Not for donuts.”

He sits down and pulls me beside him. We fall easily into our Lausanne make-out position. It feels so right. I comb his silky dark hair out of his eyes.

“So you’re okay? Tuesday wasn’t too traumatic?”

I get my mouth on his. I need this first. I need the assurance of his lips pressing harder and harder. I need his arms and his shoulders and his chest. I need to cling to him and kiss. I get hungrier and hungrier.

“Hey—hey. Slow it down.” He presses his cheek against mine. “We’ve got all the time you want tonight.”

I press my face into his shoulder.

“You’re not cold, are you?” His fingers slide through my hair.

I put a ton of conditioner on it, didn’t rinse it all out, and left it wavy. I wanted it soft for him. I can tell he likes it.

“Thanks, Beth. I told you this would work.” He shifts me so my head falls back on his arms and bends to kiss me again.

I put my fingers on his lips. “Tuesday. I tried, but—”

It all comes out in a rush. His body goes stiff, and his arms drop away from cradling me. At least he doesn’t dump me on the ground.

“I’m sorry. Terri wouldn’t have a CD if I left.” I wrap my arms around his neck. “Don’t hate me. Please.”

He’s quiet a long time. I don’t let go of him—keep my face pressed into his neck. I wait for him to shove me into the dirt, but it doesn’t happen.

“Why’d you come tonight?”

“To taste it again and tell you face-to-face.”

“You took your time about it.”

“I wanted to soften the blow.” I get my lips on his neck and chew on his salty sweetness. “If we can’t sing together, maybe—”

“Crap, Beth. Knock it off.” He pushes me away—stands up so I have to. He heads back to his bike. “Plan C isn’t going to be any fun.”

I run after him. “Don’t get mad. There was nothing I could do.”

“You made me look like a fool in front of the entire Amabile organization.”

“They don’t need me.”

He stops, turns on me. “You’re right. They let you in because I need you.”

“Why, Derek? She’s gorgeous. She still loves you; I can tell. Why are you with me?”

A flap of wings and honking sounds come from the direction of the river. He looks toward that instead of at me. “She knows me way too well.”

“And I’m special because I don’t?” I hate that. I hate it. I hate it.

“You see me in a way she never could.” He looks back at me. “I want to be the guy you think I am. When we’re together, I almost believe it’s true.”

I reach for his hand. “I want to be with the guy you are.”

“No, you don’t.” He squeezes my hand and drops it, heads up the path to his bike.

“Why not, Derek,” I yell after him. “I’ve been patient all this time. You have to tell me why not.”

He keeps walking away. “That wasn’t the deal.”

I run after him. “I’m the one who should be angry.” I catch up and grab his arm, pull him around to face me. “That’s the real me—an angry beast. Ask anyone.”

“That’s a load of bull you tell yourself so you don’t have to try.”

“I’m trying—trying so hard, but you have to try, too. I saw your arms, Derek. Back in Lausanne. Those pills you’re always swallowing. We both know they aren’t vitamins. What are they?”

“You wouldn’t understand.”

“Does it help you write? The high? Is that where the music comes from?”

“My music? You think I have to get high to write? That’s cold.”

“Then why do you do it?”

“Drugs?”

“Yeah. Drugs—whatever it is you snort, swallow, inhale, or inject.”

“I don’t do drugs.”

I want to believe Derek standing in front of me. I don’t want to hear Blake saying Derek has a drug habit. I don’t want to see him swallowing pills. I don’t want to touch the tracks on his arms. “I’m not blind.”

“Stop with this nonsense. Do I look like some kind of low-life user with a fried brain?”

“Looks?” I know how fake that can be—see it every time I pass a mirror. “You’re a genius, Derek. You could make me see anything you want.”

He flinches like I hit him in the gut, turns away from me, and gets on his bike. He kicks it to life like he wants to kill the thing. I climb behind him. He revs the engine and takes off. I hold on tighter than I should. He gets to my car way too fast. He stops—doesn’t get off to help me or kiss me good-bye.

I slide off the bike.

“I’ll call you.” He tears fast into the night.

I drive home super-slow and careful, imagining Derek’s body mangled under that stupid bike all the way.

chapter 25

REPRISE

He doesn’t call. Two weeks. Nothing. If we’re over he should at least tell me. I resist calling him. Total invitation to get dumped. He’s not online anymore. I think he’s blocking me. He’s with her again—I know it. They’re together talking about me. Laughing. That song I started gets another verse. Don’t take it away.