Lorna doesn’t understand what “this” is. “But you’re not going to do drugs or anything, are you?” she asks.
“Are you kidding? And risk going back to that hell pit known as treatment? I’m not going to use, Lorna. Or drink. Or steal Nana’s pills. Trust me.”
Lorna is relieved to hear this. She doesn’t think she can survive another year like the one before Kristen went. “Do you promise?”
“Of course I promise,” Kristen says, and hugs her. “Besides, you need me. Who else is going to listen to you practice your songs?”
Lorna has been spending as much time as she can at school.She made choir this year, and they are preparing for the all-state spring choir contests. She is not the best singer, but she tries harder than anyone. That’s what her choir teacher, Mr. Sanders, says. He tells the entire choir that if they had even half the work ethic Lorna has, their group would be in first place. The kids look at Lorna like she’s trying to make their lives miserable. Mr. Sanders tells her to ignore them. He works with her after school, trying to help her find her voice and use her diaphragm to support her breath. Lorna goes home and practices with Kristen, who tells her when she is sharp or when she is flat, even though she says the songs are dumb.
One month before the contest, Mr. Sanders hands out solos and duet assignments. He tells the choir that Mr. Collins, his college buddy and chief rival, who is now the choir director at another local high school, has beat Mr. Sanders and his choirs four years in a row. He rouses the choir into believing this will be the year they win—and they will do it with Jamie McCorkle, the best singer in the choir. Everyone cheers when he points to Jamie.
Mr. Sanders asks Lorna to come to all the rehearsals for soloists, duets, and ensembles to help. She remains in the chorus, but she is thrilled to be part of the more intense rehearsals. She hands out music, then picks it up after rehearsal. All the singers work hard. Kristen says it’s a waste of time, it’s only a dumb high school choir contest. But she is there to pick up Lorna every day.
A week before the contests are to begin, something terrible happens. Jamie McCorkle comes down with bacterial meningitis after a volleyball tournament. Mr. Sanders looks slightly sick when he calls Lorna into his office and tells her she will be doing one of Jamie’s solos.
“What?” Lorna says, unable to absorb the news. It makes her frantic. But excited.
“You’re the only other person who knows that solo. We’ll work every day, make sure you’re ready,” Mr. Sanders says. He takes her by the shoulders. “You can do this, Lorna.”
“I can do this,” Lorna repeats.
When Lorna comes home with her news, Kristen is on the couch, eating from a bag of chips. She’s been working at a fast-food burger joint. She talks about how fat she is getting, how she hates the job, how the place is bogus.
Lorna suggests she go back to school and get a degree. “You always loved art,” she reminds her.
Kristen laughs. “Did I?” She laughs again. “I don’t want to do art. I want to direct movies. Maybe even star in them.” She suddenly leaps up from the couch and does what Lorna thinks is supposed to be a pirouette, but she stumbles and falls back on the couch. She laughs uproariously.
It’s odd.
But Lorna is bursting with her own news and ignores that tiny little alarm. She tells Kristen what happened at school, how she is now a soloist with only one week to prepare. “There is no time to waste,” Kristen says. “You need to practice. I’ll help.” And she does. She tries to coach Lorna on pitch, although hers is no better. But she is helpful when it comes to presentation.
As the weekend and the contest approach, Lorna’s nerves begin to take on a life of their own. In full rehearsals, she feels strange to be the one to step forward. She imagines a Jewish golem taking a giant step, and the audience and choir staring at her in shock and dismay. She tugs on her shirt, tries to smooth her hair. Mr. Sanders tells her not to fidget.
Two days before the contest, Kristen doesn’t come home from her shift.
“Here we go again,” her mother says wearily.
“What?” Lorna asks.
Her mother grimaces. She glances at Nana, who is asleep in her chair. “You know what that means,” she says ominously.
Maybe Lorna knows, but she doesn’t want to hear her mother say it.
Her mother does anyway. “She’s at it again.”
“Don’t say that,” Lorna snaps as they head to the car. “She’s not, Mom. She promised me. She’s been helping me with my solo.”
Her mother stops and looks at Lorna. Then she laughs. But it’s not a pleasant laugh; it’s dark, and it makes Lorna feel stupid. “Why are you laughing?”
“Let me tell you something, honey. Addicts never tell the truth. Never. They will lie to your face till the day they die.”
Lorna is shocked. “That’s not true. You always say she’s trying.”
“But I’m not a fool,” her mother says.
Lorna is furious with her mother’s lack of faith in Kristen. She pushes aside any niggling doubts and refuses to argue. She goes to practice and works with Mr. Sanders. He tries so hard to look happy when she does the solo, but Lorna can tell he wishes Jamie McCorkle was well.
Saturday morning, Lorna is so nervous she feels sick. She refuses breakfast. “You have practiced and practiced,” her mother says. “You will do fine. I wish I could be there to see it, but I have to work.” Her mother recently took a job at a dress shop to help make ends meet.
