“Come in, Ellery. Don’t be shy.”
My aunt has always been outgoing. Always picked first in everything. She married right out of college and my cousins are the most beautiful people on the planet. If karma had a lucky bucket, it would reside below Aunt Sue.
I flinch at her voice and take tentative steps toward the piano. I dare a glance up at Colter. He has his head cocked to the side and his confused, surprised gaze could pierce me.
“Guys, this is my niece. Be nice to her.” She turns to me. “You can take a seat over by the tenors and look on Joe’s sheet music.”
Everyone’s eyes are looking down on me like I’ve invaded their space and they need to protect it from outsiders. My breath is shallow as I maneuver my way past the chairs at the front and step up onto the highest landing. I try to avoid Colter as I near an empty spot two guys down from him. I glance over at who I think is Joe and look at the song we’re singing. I know the song—“Somewhere,” from West Side Story.
Aunt Sue doesn’t waste any more time on me, thankfully.
She looks up at the ceiling as if searching for some meaning she can physically grab while curling her hands into fists. “This time, I want you to imagine what it’s like for Tony and Maria while you sing this.” She centers her gaze on us. “Imagine the pain and anguish they feel with the knowledge that two people they both loved dearly are gone.” With emotion in her eyes, she lifts her hands up and we take a collective deep breath in.
I swallow the bile fighting to come up at the notion of hearing my voice, and push the air out of my lungs. The note vibrates in my throat. It’s scratchy and off, but I sing it and the other ones, losing myself in the music and letting it all wash over my body. As quick as the good feeling comes, it leaves and gets replaced by betrayal. Tate can’t hear my voice sing to her ever again. I stop singing and have to sit down so I don’t collapse. Thankfully no one notices but Joe, who looks concerned for about a second then returns to singing.
When class is over Aunt Sue gestures for me to come see her. She gets close and hugs me tight, just like Mom. “Thank you. I owe you. The soprano section lost so many graduating seniors, I needed one more to make it perfect.”
“It’s fine.”
She lets me go and nods her head toward the door. “Friend of yours?”
I crane my neck around and see Colter leaning against the doorway. “Not really.”
She gives me that same look Mom does. The teacher in her is trying hard to think of a lesson I can learn. The aunt in her wants to find out why a boy is waiting for me at the door.
“Be careful with that one,” she says. She grins and looks younger than her thirty-five years.
“I gotta go.”
I make my way to the door with sweaty palms and nerves bouncing around in my stomach. Why is he waiting for me?
He kicks off the doorframe. “I didn’t know you sang.”
“I could say the same for you,” I say, keeping pace with him as we walk down the hall.
“You assumed I was some jock.”
“You’re not?”
“Well, I play soccer.”
“Jocks play soccer.”
“Maybe, but that’s not all they do.” He grins and raises his eyebrows as if he knows something I don’t, like he knows me somehow.
I stop walking. “What do you want from me, Tom Sawyer?”
He scrunches up his hair and leans against a nearby locker. He’s always leaning on something. “I’m trying to figure you out, but I can’t.”
I clutch my calculus book that’s never far from me and rip at the edge. “Stop trying.” I glance down the hallway. “I gotta go.”
“Wait.”
I turn around and shrug. “What? Kirstyn isn’t interesting enough for you? Why are you talking to me?”
“You remind me of someone.”
I pause and readjust my fumbling feet. “So?”
“So, I’m curious.”
“I’m not a specimen in a jar for you to figure out. I have class and I’m sure you do too.”
He stares at me for a moment and his expression changes from fascination to frustration before he nods and takes off without saying another word.
I try to ignore the empty feeling that descends on me.
10
Dean isn’t in Sociology class today. He’s been gone all week. Normally I wouldn’t even have thought twice about it, but after what I know now, I have to see him. Mr. Fellows is talking about labeling theory and all I’m thinking about is whether Dean’s dead body is rotting somewhere. I clutch onto my notebook and take a deep breath. Images of Dean’s sixth-grade smile flash through my mind. I shake my head to get them out.