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The mood at school on Monday was somber, and Sawyer was tired of people averting their stares when she walked by. Third-period choir was her favorite escape, and when she slipped into the band room, she couldn’t help but grin when Chloe Coulter, seated on the piano with long legs kicking, caught her eye.
“Sawyer!” Chloe vaulted off the piano, her blond ponytail flailing behind her. She tackled Sawyer in an enthusiastic hug, not caring as students shoved past them.
“How are you?” Chloe’s eyes were a bright, clear blue, and today they were wide and sympathetic, framed by too-dark black lashes and heavy brows. “Are you okay?”
Sawyer nodded slowly, and her best friend squeezed her hand, then blew out a sigh. “Did you just get back in town?”
Chloe waved a pink late pass. “Yeah.” Her eyes searched Sawyer. “I’m so sorry, Sawyer. I wish I could have been there. Was it awful? It was awful, wasn’t it? I should have been there with you. God, I suck.”
Sawyer swallowed hard. “It was your grandmother’s ninetieth birthday. No one expected you to come back.”
“But I would have,” Chloe said, blond ponytail bobbing.
“I can’t believe he’s gone,” Maggie Gaines said, her ski-jump nose a heady red. She was flanked on either side by stricken onlookers who offered condolences and Kleenex as Maggie murmured to them in a voice just loud enough to be overheard. When she caught Sawyer staring, Maggie’s glossy eyes went immediately hard and sharp.
“Look at her,” Chloe spat. “Kevin was your boyfriend, but Maggie needs to be the inconsolable center of attention. That should be you.”
Sawyer shrunk back into her baggy sweatshirt. “Let her have her moment,” she mumbled. “They dated for a while too.”
Chloe snorted. “Like a hundred years ago.”
Mr. Rose kicked open the side door and shoved a costume rack into the choir room. The student chatter died down and kids leaned forward, eyes glued to the new choir uniforms.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Mr. Rose started, “I know you’ve all been waiting with bated breath to see what you’re wearing for this year’s regionals.”
The group groaned as a well-tuned whole.
The Hawthorne High Honeybee choir was known for only two things: being four-time back-to-back national champions and having the ugliest uniforms known to man. Sawyer’s freshman year featured an army green taffeta number with balloon sleeves and lace inlays for the girls, and equally unattractive green velvet blazers for the guys. Sophomore year the budget was cut, and the Honeybee choir showed up looking like an exceptionally well-tuned army of white-vested waiters. At the end of last year, the school had taken “pity” on the choir and offered up some leftover graduation gowns onto which the costume department had stitched fighting hornets and musical notes. That was what the group was expecting when Mr. Rose began his excited introduction.
“So, without further ado…” Mr. Rose pulled the black sheet off the costume bar and a collective “ah” sailed through the classroom. Maggie stopped sniffing into her Kleenex, Chloe gasped, and Sawyer sat up straighter.
“OMG!”
“They’re gorgeous!”
With one hand, Mr. Rose held up a simple black satin sheath dress, its waist cinched with a thick red satin sash. In the other hand, he offered a black blazer with a red tie. The Honeybees cheered.
Mr. Rose, apple cheeks pushed up into a full-face smile, beamed. “The school board heard your fashion protests and decided—finally—that the Singing Honeybees should look like five-time regional champions!”
Once the students had dropped back into some semblance of order, Mr. Rose handed out the plastic-wrapped garments. When he got to Sawyer he paused, giving her the sympathetic smile she was so quickly growing tired of seeing. He rested a soft hand on her shoulder, cocked his head. “Are you doing okay, Sawyer?”
Sawyer took her dress and offered him a small smile. “Yeah, I am. Thanks Mr. Rose.”
“You know, I’d like for the Honeybees to add a small tribute number to Kevin in our set list. He was such a big part of the Hornet community.”
Sawyer felt a lump growing in her throat and she nodded. “That sounds nice. Kevin would have liked that.”
“I’d like to feature you in a solo for that number.” Mr. Rose’s eyes were kind, his puffy gray eyebrows high, expectant. “Would that be okay with you?”
Sawyer nodded mutely, dread, excitement, sadness, and anxiety welling up inside her all at once. “Thank you, Mr. Rose,” she finally managed.
Mr. Rose passed Sawyer and Chloe, continuing his costume distribution to the other Honeybees. Chloe leaned in, excitement evident on her face.