Sing Me To Sleep Part 15

Please, sing me to sleep-

Tonight.

If Derek knew the pre-dyed, pre-manicured, pre-made-up, pre-lasered Beth, the Beast, would he have been so happy to meet me? That's what I was when I recorded. He could be just like Colby, only smoother. A star singer instead of a star jock. Colby could be nice when he wanted to be. He managed to get all the beautiful girls at school that he wanted. If his performance at the prom is any kind of clue, maybe his brand of nice is mostly arrogance. Derek didn't seem like that. How do I know, though?

So he listened to me sing, walked us home, and touched my arm. Does that mean he isn't just as nasty as every other guy in the universe? Except Scott. But Derek isn't a short, nerdy sweetheart who's been bullied all his life. He's gorgeous, oozes talent, experience, confidence. He isn't anything like Scott. Could Derek be for real as nice as he seems-despite the drug habit? I close my eyes and find something new in my heart. A small spark of something I don't recognize.

Awake tonight,

I give up

And embrace the glow you lit

When your eyes captured mine

And I heard you whisper,

*Sing, sing me to sleep.

You can sing,

Please, sing me to sleep-

Tonight.'

All of my life

I wait for

A touch like wings brus.h.i.+ng my heart.

Is this blush on my face

All you have to give me?

Sing, sing me to sleep.

You can sing,

Please, sing me to sleep-

Tonight.

I wake up too early. My head is pounding, and I feel like I'm going to puke. Breakfast and a couple of Advils help. Warm-ups and a run through help more. We pile on our tour bus and ride uptown to the ancient church where we'll perform.

Then I have to deal with getting ready. My face is a routine by now. Meadow's mom winds my hair up and fastens it to my head with the sharpest hairpins on earth. She sh.e.l.lacs it all in place. Then I'm stepping into my ruby gown. I get nervous again-hide out in the bathroom singing my solo over and over until we're called.

We file onto the risers in our swishy ruby gowns. Eighty elegant girls. I feel okay, almost confident. I know my voice won't let me down. The venue helps my nerves. No cold auditorium. A warm chapel full of wood like we sing in back home. Should be good acoustics.

I look at the audience. The benches behind the judges' table are filled with guys in white golf s.h.i.+rts with a fancy red "A" embroidered on the pocket. Their whole choir came to hear us. Derek is looking at me. Our eyes lock, and he smiles. At that moment I'm grateful I look so dang perfect. Drug habit or not, he's impossible to resist. I smile back at him. He gives me a thumbs-up. I take a deep breath, let it out slowly while Terri walks into the room. Polite applause. We sing the test piece. Totally nail it. More applause. We sing our technical second piece. The applause is louder for that one.

The piano starts "Take Me Home." I close my eyes. The music transports me back to the church in Ann Arbor. It's just the girls and me. No pressure. Derek's there, too, though, waiting for me to sing, wanting to fall in love with my song. I open my eyes at the cue. My voice pours out. I look away from Terri, find Derek watching me, hanging on every note, mesmerized. It sends a thrill through me. Somehow I keep singing, but he's stolen me. Every note, every quiet throb of pa.s.sion is for him. Take me home, take me home, take me home. I'm not sure how he's doing this, but even though I'm up here on stage with eighty girls, singing for the judges and an audience, it's way intimate between Derek and me. The intensity of it mounts when I sing, The dark boy who said he loved me / And fills my dreams at night.

He's the dark boy who filled my dreams last night. I want him there again, tonight and every night.

He is the first one on his feet when the last note fades. His choir joins him. The rest of the audience rises. No cheering. Decorum reigns at the Choral Olympics during the judging. But the clapping doesn't stop. We march out, our dresses swirling dramatically around our feet, with the audience still applauding. They don't stop until one of the judges makes them.

The chaperone moms herd us into our dressing area. We can't scream like we want. Or even hug. We make do with high-fiving and cheek-kissing.

Meadow's mom directs the others as they unzip us and help us out of our gowns. We all change into off-white capris and ballet pink blouses with puffy short sleeves and eyelet-lace accents. We even wear matching sandals. I dress automatically, thrilled by that ovation and the pleased look on the judges' faces and the way Derek's mouth trembled at the song's close. I wish I could take my hair down, but we're supposed to leave it up.

I wipe off the heavy lipstick they made me wear to perform and smooth on Watermelon Ice. Reminds me of Scott. Poor Scott. He's so far away from me here and now. So different from Derek. Steady. Loyal. Sweet. Friend.

Derek doesn't seem like any of those things. Especially the friend angle. But sweet? For sure. Last night showed sweet. And singing for him just now was extreme sweet. But that was in me. How did he feel? What could he possibly see in me? Maybe it is all an act. Those guys have been around. He's had a lot of chances to perfect picking up a girl to pa.s.s the time with at a festival. I never imagined something like that happening here, but, heck, I'll play along. Why not? He doesn't know who I really am. I am free here. He thinks I'm beautiful.

We meet Derek and Blake at the pizza place across the road from our hotel. The pizzas are all named for movie stars-mostly American. The guys got us a table outside on the sidewalk. Kind of loud with cars going by but way European.

"Great job." Derek shakes my hand in both of his-holds onto it while he says, "Beautiful, Beth. Exquisite. How do you do that?"

I draw my hand back. "I heard you sing. You know how to do it."

"Not like that. I can't sing like that."

Blake leans over his shoulder and looks me up and down. "Maybe you just need the right inspiration."

He gets another elbow in the gut and, "Shut up," from Derek.

We order pizza to celebrate. Blake cheats again with the dairy, but Derek gets pasta with meat sauce. When his order comes, he takes out a handful of capsules and swallows them-notices my stare, shrugs. "Vitamins. My mom is way into macrobiotics."

I believe him. Every word. Honest.

This place serves authentic Italian pizzas-thin crust, wood fired. I stuff a slice melting with mozzarella into my mouth. It's so different from home. Fresh and chewy. And the tomatoes are sweet. I close my eyes to savor it better-can't believe I'm actually eating with him. I'm learning this guy stuff as fast as I can.

"You don't eat it like that." Derek watches me swallow from across the narrow table. He picks up a slice of my pizza, folds it over. "Here." He slides it into my mouth. Obedient as always, I bite and manage to chew without turning too pink. He's staring-looks like he's starving.

"You want a piece? This is way too much for me." Everyone gets their own small pizza here, not giant ones that will serve a table like back home, but it's too much.

He shakes his head. "Cheese."

"You guys sing tomorrow, right?"

"I hope you'll come." He looks at me the way he did while I sang.

"Wouldn't miss it." I gaze back at him and hope I'm sending the right message.

I'm lost somewhere deep in his velvet-brown stare when my cell phone rings in my bag. I'm carrying it today. Mom said she'd call to see how our performance went. She warned me that calls from Europe cost a fortune in roaming and long-distance charges, so we've made due with emails, but today actually talking will be worth it.

I find it before she hangs up. "Mom?"

"Beth?" She says something I don't hear.

I shout, "Hang on a minute," and get up, walk up the sidewalk. "I think this is better."

"How did it go, honey?"

"Great, Mom. I sang like I never have before." I glance back at Derek sitting at the table, leaning back in his chair, staring at me. He holds my eyes, makes my face hot. "We met some nice guys from Amabile-over the border in London."

"Good, dear. I'm glad you're having a nice time." She sounds down.

"You okay?" I worry about her alone.

"Sure." Her voice breaks.

"What's going on Mom?"

"Nothing that can't wait until you're home next week."

I close my eyes. No, not today. Agree with her. Hang up. Wait. You don't want to know. "Is it that test?"