The Deal

I track down Jae and we hang out backstage until the show starts. After weeks of non-stop rehearsing, we’ve become friends, though Jae is still as shy as ever and afraid of his own shadow. But he’s only a freshman, so I’m hoping he comes out of his shell once he adapts to college life.

The freshman and sophomores are up first. Jae and I stand in the wings, stage left, watching as performer after performer takes the stage, but I have trouble concentrating on what I’m hearing and seeing.

I’m not in the mood to sing tonight. All I can think about is Garrett, and the agony in his eyes when I broke up with him, the slump of his shoulders when he left my dorm.

I have to remind myself that I did it for him, so that he can stay at Briar and play the game he loves without having to worry about money. If I had told him about his father’s threats, Garrett would have chosen our relationship over his future, but I don’t want him to work full-time, damn it. I don’t want him to drop out, or quit hockey, or stress about making rent or car payments. I want him to go to the pros and show everyone how talented he is. Prove to the world that he’s on the ice because he belongs there, and not because his father got him there.

I want him to be happy.

Even if that means I have to be miserable.

There’s a short intermission after the last sophomore performs, and backstage is hit with pandemonium again. Jae and I are nearly knocked off our feet as a never-ending stream of robe-clad students pour onto the stage. I realize they’re the members of Cass’s choir.

“That could’ve been us.” I grin at Jae as we watch the choir get in position on the dark stage. “Cass’s army of minions.”

His lips twitch. “I think we dodged a bullet.”

“Me too.”

When the show starts up again, this time I’m giving it my full attention, because the prodigy that is Cassidy Donovan has graced the stage. As the pianist plays the opening chords of MJ’s song, I experience a twinge of jealousy. Damn, it’s such a great song. I bite my lip, worried that my simple little ballad falls short compared to Mary Jane’s beautiful composition.

I can’t lie. Cass sings the hell out of the song. Every note, every run, every frickin’ pause, is absolute perfection. He looks great out there, sounds even better, and when the choir joins in and goes all Sister-Act on the place, the performance kicks into a whole new gear.

There’s only one thing missing—emotion. When MJ first played the song for me, I felt it. I felt her connection to the lyrics and the pain behind them. Tonight, I feel nothing, though I’m not sure if that’s because of a failure on Cass’s part, or if letting Garrett go robbed me of the ability to feel emotions.

But I sure as hell am feeling something when I settle behind the piano thirty minutes later. As the haunting strains of Jae’s cello fill the stage, it’s like a dam breaks inside me. Garrett is the first person I sang this song to, back when it was rough and choppy and nowhere close to polished. And Garrett is the one who listened to me rehearse it and hone it and perfect it.

When I open my mouth and start to sing, I’m singing it for Garrett. I’m transported to that peaceful place, my happy little bubble where nothing bad ever happens. Where girls don’t get raped and sex isn’t hard and people don’t break up because abusive assholes force them to. My fingers tremble on the ivory keys and my heart squeezes with every breath I take, every word I sing.

When I’m done, silence crashes over the auditorium.

And then I get a standing ovation.

I rise to my feet, and only because Jae walks over and forces me to so we can take a bow. The spotlight blinds me and the cheers deafen me. I know Allie and Stella and Meg are out there somewhere, on their feet and screaming their lungs out, but I can’t see their faces. Contrary to what movies and television shows lead you to believe, it’s impossible to make eye contact with a face in the crowd when a blast of light is hitting you in the eyes.

Jae and I leave the stage and head for the wings, and someone instantly swallows me in a bear hug. It’s Dexter, and his smile takes up his entire face as he congratulates me.

“Those better be happy tears!” he says.

I touch my cheek, surprised to feel moisture there. I hadn’t even realized I was crying.

“That was spectacular,” a voice bursts out, and I turn to see Fiona marching toward me. She sweeps me into her arms and hugs me. “You were breathtaking, Hannah. Best performance of the night.”

Her words don’t ease the tight ache in my chest. I manage a nod and mumble, “I need to use the ladies’ room. Excuse me.”

I leave Dex, Fiona and Jae staring after me in confusion, but I don’t care, and I don’t slow down. Fuck the ladies’ room. And fuck the rest of this showcase. I don’t want to stand around and watch the senior performances. I don’t want to wait for the scholarship ceremony. I just want to get the hell out of here and find a private place to cry.

I sprint toward the exit, my silver ballet flats slapping the hardwood floor in my desperate need to flee.