"Uh, not really," I said. "Except for on the Sci-Fi Channel. Do you know anyone who can do that?"
Luke's voice dipped. "I'd ask them to do a few miracles for me if I did."
20
We pushed our way backstage; the previous duet, two trumpets, was still playing for the judges.
They were revoltingly good.
Luke persisted. "What gets me is you could walk right by someone like that on the street. That you'd never know if you were like that unless you tried."
"This is about the improvising on the tune, isn't it?" I scanned heads for someone in charge. I was starting to get that light-headed, too-warm feeling that meant I was going to either hurl or fall down soon. "I get it. I wouldn't have ever known I could improvise like that if you hadn't made me."
"Deirdre Monaghan and Luke Dillohm?" It was another lady with a clipboard, horribly mispronouncing Luke's last name. "Good. You're up next. Wait until these guys get offstage, and they'll introduce you. You can say something brief about your piece if you like. Brief." With a harassed expression, she turned to the musicians behind us and began repeating the speech.
"I just think you don't push yourself enough," Luke said, continuing exactly where he'd left off.
"You settle for ordinary."
This struck a chord with me, and I turned to look at him. I will call the tune. "I don't want ordinary."
Luke smiled at me, or at something behind me, his expression unreadable. Then he pulled a small, unmarked bottle of eyedrops from his pocket.
"Dry eyes?"
"I have strange eyes. I'd like to be able to see everything tonight." He blinked, his eyes shiny with the drops and his
21
lower lashes filled with small tears. A swipe of his arm and his eyes and lashes were dry, though no less bright. Something about them made me want to see the everything he was going to see.
"Deirdre? Ah, I thought that was you." Mr. Hill, the school's music teacher and band director, touched my elbow. He had acted as my musical mentor since I began high school; I knew he thought I was destined for greatness. "How are you doing?"
I contemplated the question. "Actually, not as bad as I expected."
Mr. Hill's eyes smiled behind his wire frames. "Great. I wanted to wish you good luck. Not that you need it, of course. Just remember to avoid pinching the high notes when you're singing."
I smiled back. "Thanks. Hey--I'm playing in duets. Did you know?"
Mr. Hill looked at Luke and his smile vanished. Frowning, he asked, "Do I know you?"
Luke said, "Nobody knows me."
I looked at him. I will.
"Deirdre? Lucas? You're on." The clipboard-woman took my elbow firmly and pointed me in the direction of the stage. "Good luck."
Together we walked into the too-bright lights of the stage. Luke's hair was lit to white. I looked out, off the stage, trying to see where my family was, but the audience was cast in shadow. It was better that way--I wouldn't see Delia's invariably smug expression. I gave the darkened faces one 22
last glance before sitting on the folding chair; it was unpleasantly warm from the last nervous performer.
Setting down the harp, Luke crossed behind me and whispered, "Don't be ordinary."
I shivered and gathered my harp to me. Something told me "ordinary" wasn't possible when Luke was involved, and that thought was more exciting and terrifying that anything the competition could offer.
"Deirdre Monaghan and Luke DeLong on lever harp and wooden flute."
I leaned to Luke and whispered, "They all say your name wrong."
Luke's teeth made a thin smile. "Everyone does."
"I didn't, did I?"
The stage lights reflected off his eyes like the glow off a lake; I was dazzled in spite of myself.
"No, you didn't."
He adjusted the microphone and addressed the crowd, his eyes running over the people's faces as if he expected to see someone he knew. "Excited to be here, folks?"
There was some mild clapping and calling from some of the louder dads.
"You don't sound excited. This is the biggest musical event for students in a six-hundred-mile radius. We're playing for great prizes. These are your children and the peers of your children, playing their hearts out, folks! Now, are you excited, or not?"
The audience clapped and hooted, distinctly louder. Luke gave a wild smile. "Now, Dee and I will be playing an old Irish song called 'The Faerie Girl's Lament.' I hope you like it. Let us know!"
23
This was where I would normally either throw up or fall down, but I didn't feel like doing either.
I felt like grinning as big as Luke. I felt like kicking some music-geek ass. It was the best feeling I'd ever had. Where had the real me gone? Because I didn't want her back.
"Ready, Dee?" Luke asked softly.
His smile was infectious and for the first time in my life, being on stage felt right. I smiled hugely at him and began to play. The strings were still buttery-soft from the heat outside, and the acoustics of the stage made the harp sound twenty feet tall. Luke chipped in and began to play, and the flute was low and breathy like his singing voice, full of expression and barely suppressed emotions. Together, we sounded like an orchestra, albeit it an ancient, untamed one, and when I began to sing, the auditorium became as still as a winter night.
Did I really have the voice of an angel? The voice that filled the room didn't sound like mine--it sounded grownup, complex, as agonized as the Faerie Girl in the lyrics.
The first verse ended and I felt the flute hesitate for the barest of moments, waiting. I began to play a counter-melody, something that had never been heard before. Only this time, I'd done it before and I knew I could wander from the melody without getting lost.
