then: September
MILKSHAKES
The first few weeks of school passed in a blur of reading, tutoring, and homework. And while Layla sang almost constantly to get ready for chorus auditions, I wrote and rewrote my statement of interest for the Shakespeare program in London. I asked Layla to read it, and Layla’s mom to read it, and my own parents to read it, while Layla demanded that all the same people listen to the three songs she couldn’t decide between for her audition, and then, once she’d narrowed it down to one, we had to help her pick which rendition would showcase her voice best. She also asked Sloane, and she took her advice over everyone else’s, but it didn’t bother me. We were both so close to getting everything we’d ever wanted. Whatever gave Layla the best chance at making chorus was what I thought she should do, even if that meant listening to Sloane Sorenson.
Before I knew it, Ms. Novak was standing behind me as I hit send on my application, and then I was rushing off to the auditorium to see Layla perform. After weeks of preparation, auditions for chorus were happening that afternoon, and I felt almost as prepared as I knew Layla was.
But Layla still looked nervous as she stepped out onto the stage. Her uniform shirt was a little wrinkled along the bottom from being tucked into her pants all day, which was how I knew she was really undone by this audition. Layla was normally meticulous about the way she looked because she had so little control, she told me once, over the way she sounded. She cleared her throat.
“Mmmmmy nnnname is Layla Hhhhhhhassssssan.”
Her speech stuttered and stuck much more than it usually did. I stood up and moved a few rows closer to the stage from where I had slipped into the back, hopeful that if Layla saw me, she’d feel a little less scared and maybe her speech would even out a bit. I wished I had thought to text her about using one of her accents, or practicing her smooth speech in this real-life situation, but it hadn’t even occurred to me.
“I know your name, Layla,” Mrs. Steele said with what sounded like a smile in her voice. “There’s no need to be nervous, hun. Can you match my pitch?” She sang out a note that was high and clear, and Layla took an audibly deep breath and followed suit. Her voice eclipsed Mrs. Steele’s instantly.
“Excellent,” Mrs. Steele said even as Layla held the note. I felt my chest swell with pride, as if I had anything at all to do with her talent. Sometimes it felt like everything about my friends belonged to me.
“Cadence, Sage,” Mrs. Steele said, and the girls stood and walked up the stairs to the stage. “Let’s try some harmonies.”
They did a few different scales with Layla, testing her range. She sailed through each one effortlessly, and though she stuttered as she introduced her solo song, once she sang the first line, it was impossible to look away.
Kids from the hallway poked their heads into the auditorium, and a few other students who were there for friends gave Layla their rapt attention. She sang with her eyes closed and her head lifted, and her voice was undeniably special. Her shiny black waves fanned around her head and looked like a halo backed by the stage lights. By the time she was done, everyone was murmuring about her being the kind of powerhouse soloist the chorus needed, and I had to hold myself back from standing up and clapping like it was a real performance.
“Great, great work, Layla. Really,” Mrs. Steele said after Layla’s big finish.
I waited for her in the hall next to the stage exit door. When it opened, I applauded, but it wasn’t just Layla who spilled into the hallway. Sloane was there, and the rest of the Chorus Girls were too (they had become a proper noun in my head). Plus a bunch of other girls who had just tried out.
“Cleo!” Layla said as soon as she saw me. She flung her arms around my neck and almost took me down. “That was t-t-terrifying. D-d-did you hear how mmmuch I stuttered on my own name?”
I laughed a little. “Yeah, but you did such an awesome job with the singing part of it! Should we go and get milkshakes to celebrate?”
Layla nodded and hooked her arm through mine. “Sloane invited me to hang out with them. Wanna c-c-c-come?”
“Sure, I guess,” I said. I kind of wished it could be just Layla and me, but it was her celebration, and she’d probably be spending lots of time with these girls if she was picked to be in chorus, which I knew she would be. “I just need to ask my dad first. Come to the library with me real quick? I bet he hasn’t left yet.”
“Sure,” Layla said. She glanced back at Sloane. “You g-g-g-guys mind waiting?”
Sloane was too busy laughing at something Sage had said to answer, but Valeria nodded. “There’s no rush. We’ll wait for you.”
But by the time we asked my dad, went to our lockers, and made it back to the bit of hallway right outside the auditorium, everyone was gone.
“They said they’d wait, and then they didn’t?” I said to Layla. I rolled my eyes a little. “Well, that speaks volumes.”
“Shut up,” Layla said. She jogged a little farther up the hall to peer around the corner. “You shhhouldn’t have taken so long, C-C-Cleo.” I gave her a look, but she didn’t notice. She hurried to pull out her phone.
“Don’t blame me for this. They’re the ones who said they would wait.”
Layla sighed and started down the long, empty hallway toward the front doors. “You d-d-d-didn’t really want to hang out with them, C-Cleo. I could t-tell. So you just took your time sssso we’d take t-t-too long and they’d g-g-g-give up on us and leave.”
“I swear I didn’t,” I said. “But shouldn’t you be a little more upset with them for leaving?”
Layla sighed. “You d-d-don’t get it, Cleo. It’s always b-been just me and you. When you’re like Sloane and you have a lot of friends, it’s harder to k-k-k-keep everyone happy.”
She was texting as she said this, so she wasn’t looking at me. I studied her face—the way she was saying this so matter-of-factly. It sounded rehearsed, not like she was speaking for herself.
“So like, if everyone w-w-was ready to go except us,” she continued, “I g-get why they’d leave.”
I guessed I didn’t get it.
She pocketed her phone and looked up at the door as we got closer to the end of the hall. “Sloane thinks that in addition to ch-ch-chorus, I should go out for the w-w-w-winter musical.”
“Really?” I asked.
Layla nodded. “She mentioned it right when I c-c-came off stage after my audition.”
I didn’t know how I felt about it—Layla with a speaking role—after what had just happened when all she had to say was her name. It unnerved me, which was probably ableist BS since I wasn’t a stutterer, but I couldn’t help it.