The Accidentals(41)

If all the musical groups are this good, I’m screwed.

The jazz band is followed by the glee club, all forty members. They sing the school fight song in four-part harmony, their voices blending expertly. They finish to wild applause.

“Wow,” I say, clapping.

Jake just smiles at me, like I’ve done something cute.

Next up is the Belle Choir, so I sit up straighter in my chair. There are a dozen of them. They link arms at center stage, making a horseshoe formation. Then a woman with short blond hair hums a note. “She’s called the ‘pitch,’” Jake whispers in my ear.

The pitch raises her hands, and a dozen girls launch simultaneously into the most accomplished version of “Fly Me to the Moon” that I have ever heard.

I have goosebumps.

“Nice,” Aurora says when they finish. But their performance was so much better than nice. As they exit stage left, I itch to follow them.

The jam closes with the Senior Songsters, the boys’ a cappella group. “I’ll give you ten seconds to pick out Asshat,” Jake whispers just as they walk on. “One, two, three…”

“There!” Aurora says, pointing at the fifth guy in line. Even from the back of the auditorium, it’s obvious. Jake’s brother looks like a bigger, more angular version of Jake, without glasses. And he carries himself like a prince.

“That’s the one.” Jake sighs. “Consider yourselves warned.”





I register for the Belle Choir auditions the next day without telling anyone, so that if I’m eliminated in the first round, it won’t be so embarrassing. Signing up is as simple as writing my name down for a fifteen-minute time slot, and checking a box for “alto.”

When I show up to sing the next afternoon, I find all the girls waiting in their horseshoe formation.

“Welcome, Rachel!” says the blond pitch. “I’m Jessica. We’re going to do some arpeggios to warm you up. And then—are you familiar with ‘Scarborough Fair?’”

“Sure—the melody,” I reply. Would they ask me to sight-read a harmony part? That would be nerve-wracking, but I can manage if I have to.

“The melody is all you need—our arrangement has an alto melody line. That’s why we use it as an audition piece.”

“Okay.”

“We’re all going to sing it twice. The first time through, don’t worry about blending. We want to hear your voice. The second time through, that’s when you blend.”

“Got it.” It’s baby stuff. My shoulders relax during the warmup. And I carry “Scarborough Fair” without even trying.

“We’ll be in touch,” the pitch says afterward.

I hope it’s true.





They don’t call me the next day. And they don’t call the day after that.

Frederick departs for L.A., and I spend a massive amount of time on homework. Since Aurora and I chat too much when we’re both home, I pick out a corner of the massive CPrep library to work.

Like everything else at Claiborne, the library is gorgeous, with vaulted ceilings and paneled walls. At night, the main reading room is lit by old chandeliers. But I prefer to work in the stacks, which are less glamorous. There are four floors of shelved books, punctuated with the occasional study carrel.

I sit with my books and listen to the hush. These are the moments when I can feel my mother with me. I know she never lived in a dorm. She was a “townie” as she once called it. But when I’m trotting over the ancient slate flagstones it’s as if she’s watching from above. When I open my textbook in the library, I feel her beside me, breathing in the smell of old books.

She may have sat in this very corner of the library once. She would have been almost exactly my age.

At Claiborne, I find I’m able to think of her without too much pain. In Orlando I had to squeeze her out of my mind, because I was so scared all the time that thoughts of her might break me. Here, I miss her in a way that isn’t quite so gut-wrenching. Coming to Claiborne alone had been our plan. I was supposed to miss her here, in this little world of bricks and leaded-glass windows.

Get that assignment done, Rachel, she whispers to me when I get too lost in my daydreams.





Two weeks after my Belle Choir audition, I finally get an email from them. And it sends me running all the way back to Habernacker to find Jake. In our entryway, I keep climbing past my own door until I get to Jake’s. Pausing there to get my panting under control, I eventually knock.

There’s nobody home.

Defeated, I skip down two flights, only to find him in my own common room, studying with Aurora.

“Help me, Jake,” I say, flinging myself onto the fluffy rug Aurora bought for our room.

“He would love to,” Aurora says from the window seat.

Jake’s color deepens. “Do you come seeking nerd wisdom?” His T-shirt reads Math Ninja and pictures a warrior about to karate chop the symbol for Pi.

“I need to know what a rush meal is. I’ve just been invited to one.”

“For the Belle Choir?” He puts down his book.

“Yes.”

“Nice,” he says. “You’ll still talk to us little people after they tap you, right?”

“Only if you tell her what a rush meal is,” Aurora puts in.