“Let’s just eat, okay?”
To my relief, the conversation turns away from my love life and toward everyone’s favorite Allerdale memories. My family tells me which ice cream place is better, which coffee shop I should avoid, and—because my mother is who she is—which nooks and crannies of the theaters are best for illicit sex. (She was horrified when she offered to have her doctor prescribe me birth control pills last month and I told her I was a virgin.) Mom raves about how brilliant Marcus Spooner is, and Desi reminisces about Pandemonium, the legendary party that happens midfestival. Skye tells us about her friend who was so exhausted, she fell asleep in the catwalks while running a follow-spot, and Jermaine screams with laughter and says the same thing happened to him.
“Third rotation?” guesses Skye.
“Exactly!”
She nods in sympathy, and I feel a stab of annoyance. This girl has known us all of thirty minutes, but she already has a mysterious, exclusive shorthand with my family, and I’m the one on the outside. I suddenly wish it were nine weeks from now, when I’ll be back on this couch with firsthand experience of what “third rotation” is like. I almost want to have been to Allerdale more than I want to actually go.
When everyone’s finished with their food, my mom claps once like she always does when we’re about to transition into the performance part of the evening, and my stomach does a Pavlovian nervous twist. “Do you want to start us off tonight, Brookie?” she asks.
Being asked to perform first is an honor, and if I were the right kind of Shepard, I’d jump at the chance. But instead I say, “Why don’t we let our newest guest start? I’m happy to play for her.” I put my empty plate on the coffee table and slide onto the piano bench, where I always take refuge during Family Nights. Since eighth grade, when I realized I didn’t have my parents’ superstar performance genes, I’ve become a master of dodging the spotlight, and acting as accompanist is a way I can participate without anyone scrutinizing me. Late in the evening, when everyone’s drunker and more forgiving, I always agree to sing an easy duet with someone. It gets me off the hook until the following week, and it hides the fact that my voice doesn’t stand on its own.
Strategizing like this is exhausting, but tonight is the last time I’ll ever have to do it. Things will be totally different once Allerdale has worked its magic on me and shaped me into the performer I’m supposed to be. It’ll be such a relief to finally feel joy when I sing, like the rest of my family does. I can’t wait to slough off this sticky web of anxiety and shame that forces me to hide behind the piano.
I wonder if my mom will insist I get up and sing, but her eyes slide right off me and onto Skye. I almost wish she’d put up a fight. “Would you like to go first?” she asks.
Skye’s eyes go all wide and innocent, like she’s surprised to be singled out, but she’s on her feet almost before my mom finishes asking. “Oh, um, okay.” She turns to me. “Do you know ‘Out Tonight’ from Rent?”
Of course she’d pick that—it’s a big, flashy, cliché number with lots of impressive high notes. I want to glance up and exchange a Look-with-a-capital-L with Uncle Harrison, but I already know he’s on the same page as me. “Sure,” I say. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
She nods, and I launch into the opening bars from memory; I’ve played this song enough times that I don’t need the music. Skye knows everyone’s watching her, sizing her up, but she bites her lower lip, closes her eyes, and moves to the music like she’s alone in her bedroom. It seems impossible that I could ever be that un–self-conscious. Sutton gets up and dances along, and Twyla giggles as Desi bounces her to the beat.
The minute Skye starts to sing, I see why my mom took her on as a student. Her voice is flawless, warm and playful and caramel-rich. She doesn’t even seem like she’s trying, but every note is spot-on, even the really high ones. Like me, she has obviously listened to the original cast recording countless times—she mimics everything Daphne Rubin-Vega did when she played Mimi, including all the ad-libs. It doesn’t seem like there’s much of anything for my mom to teach her, aside from how to make the music her own. She seems like she’s having such a good time, like she never wants the song to end, and I envy that passion so much that it hurts.
When Skye finishes, everyone claps and cheers, and she grins and does a stupid little curtsy. “Girl, you are freaking amazing,” Desi tells her. “Where has that voice been all my life?”