Her mouth opens, and the single opening word of the song escapes, then the music dies, and her voice squeaks off.
My brows knit.
“Do we have a problem up there?” Mr. D’plume doesn’t miss a beat.
I turn, trying to see past the blinding lights up into the sound booth. It’s impossible.
“Something’s not working,” a female voice calls.
Mr. D’plume lets his head fall back against the seat. “Well, get it working.” He cracks his neck.
Moments pass, each longer than the last. Calypso fidgets, her face and stance displaying heaps of embarrassment. Finding me leaning against the stage, her narrow gaze seems to recognize who I am and ease, if slightly.
“We can’t get it. I think maybe the system is updating? Maybe she could try a cappella?”
Something lethal snaps through Calypso’s gaze, and her hands drop to her sides.
“Is that all right, Ms. Kole?” D’plume asks, a touch of unexpected care lacing the question. “We can come back to the songs after the other acts, once the system is updated.”
Calypso lifts her chin, something tooHarrietabout her in the moment. Then, simply, she states, “No. None of that is all right.” Her attention sweeps over the stage, past the curtains, toward the back, and she summons me, like we’ve known each other for years. “Lex.”
Without hesitation, I push myself up onto the stage and catch up to her as she marches toward a piano tucked off-stage.
She isn’t serious.
And yet the moment I glance at her, I know she’s never beenmore serious in her life. The anger rippling off her is tangible, and I can’t, for the life of me, discern where it’s come from only that I never want to be on the receiving end.
I help her wheel the piano to center stage, then I linger beside the sleek black instrument as she sits, throws back her braids, and stretches her fingers. For the first time since I joined her on stage, she shoots me a look, then a dastardly smile curls her lips.
Her fingers lay over the keys, and the pounding start of “Daring” hammers out of them. The quick pace of the song consumes the whole of the auditorium, flooding my head as she dances across the ivory.
Folding my arms, I lean against the piano, watching her go.
Her cue hits, and her voice comes strong and determined.
Dare I say,daring.
She hits every note, flawlessly, sweeping me and the rest of our class up in a storm.
Instead of completing a mere portion like all the others were asked to, she doesn’t stop until the final booming tones echo into the space. A deep breath pours from her, and she looks at me before silence rings and realization trembles through her eyes.
Terror strikes, and her gaze freezes on me.
Shaking my head, I laugh, passing her and flicking a braid on my way to the stairs.
“Well, I don’t think I need to see any more Harriets,” Mr. D’plume notes at long last. “Unless anyone wants to try and change my mind, I think we’ve all known our leads since Monday.”
“What?” Agatha Armont strides from across the auditorium, finding me as I come down off the stage. She latches onto my arm, and I stiffen, fixing the brunette with a glare. She ignores me completely. “Um,yes, I would like to change your mind. What kind of twisted bias is this?”
Mr. D’plume checks his watch. “There’s still a little class timeleft, I guess. Mr. Hawthorn, did you want to—”
“No.”
Agatha’s attention snaps up to me; I keep my focus on Mr. D’plume.
He stretches out of his seat, clamping his clipboard to his side. “Well, that’s that, then. Calypso Kole and Lex Hawthorn will be our leads forThe Magpie Girlthis year. I’ll review the rest of the characters and have the cast sheet ready next Monday. Good work, everyone.” Before the tall man turns down the aisle, he sends a glance behind me, then reveals a rare smile and shakes his head on his way out.
Turning when Agatha stomps her foot and finally gets off me, I find Calypso collapsed against the piano, her forehead pressed to the fall board while she stares, stupefied, at the keys.
