Sexy Singing

by aliciameade

That was the summer of 2011 when everybody called me "Red" and it didn't occur to me to mind. That was before The Fappening happened, before ZAYN was a thing, when I couldn't wait to join the Bellas, and I thought I'd never find a person as great as my dad. That was the summer we went to The Lodge at Fallen Leaves. AKA the Dirty Dancing AU no one asked for.

1. The Lodge

It was hot in the backseat of the family Range Rover, thanks to my dad failing to get the A/C fixed before this road trip. The air pouring in from his open window served better to drive me crazy by ruffling the pages of my book than keep us cool. Most amusingly, it repeatedly messed up Stacie's perfect hair, and she spent the better part of the trip with a mirror and comb in front of her face.

That was the summer of 2011 when everybody called me "Red" and it didn't occur to me to mind.

That was before The Fappening happened, before ZAYN was a thing, when I couldn't wait to join the Bellas, and I thought I'd never find a person as great as my dad.

That was the summer we went to The Lodge at Fallen Leaves.

The Lodge was something else - it sprawled for acres upon acres, rolling hills of greenery teeming with life, children running, couples strolling, hipsters on hoverboards which apparently weren't illegal here like they were on the city, you realized with annoyance.

"Air hockey in the west arcade, softball in the east diamond. All you Derek Jeters, get out there! Complimentary voice lessons in the gazebo." I recognized that voice over the loudspeaker - the same enthusiasm that came over the radio when we were on the highway; Benji, if I recalled.

It was bustling as Dad parked at the main entrance, members of the staff scurrying about, helping other guests unpack their luggage onto carts. Stacie didn't miss the stack of Louis Vuitton suitcases coming out of the car in front of ours.

"Oh, my God. Look at that! Mom, I should've brought the Jimmy Choos. You said I was taking too much."

"Well, Stacie, you brought ten pairs."

"But the Jimmy Choos matched that dress."

My sister was something else. You'd think a misplaced hair or a hangnail could ruin her life. Absolutely no concept of a world outside her pretty little head.

Our dad loved her, despite it. "This is not a tragedy. A tragedy is that Rebecca Black song, or Carly Rae Jepsen."

"Avenue Q winning the Tony over Wicked," was my witty addition.

"Butt out, Red." Love you, too, sis.

"Doc!"

"John!"

Based on the man's expensive suit and grotesquely fake smile, I assumed this John to be the owner of the Lodge. He and my father clearly knew each other well. A blonde woman with an equally fake smile appeared from seemingly nowhere a moment later.

"Doc, after all these years I finally got you up on my mountain. You remember my business partner, Gail Abernathy-McKadden-Feinberger."

Dad shook his hand vigorously. "How are the ol' cords, John?" He shook Gail's hand as well, but she was distracted, whispering pointedly at the boy she'd beckoned to our spot.

"I want you girls to know if it were not for this man, I'd be standing here silent. Donald, get the bags," John barked at the boy. "I kept the best cabin for you and your beautiful girls."

"Right away!" The boy hopped-to, grabbing the keys from my dad to pop open the rear door with the remote and I followed him, not interested in whatever pleasantries my dad was exchanging with one of his ENT patients, and helped him unload. "Hey, thanks a lot. You want a job here?"

I blushed but smiled, not used to boys being nice to me - at least, not nice boys like this one seemed to be. I busied myself, but couldn't help overhearing that blonde woman, Gail, when she started speaking - you'd think she was a professional commentator, the flair she used in her speech.

"There's an introductory singing class in the gazebo in the next few minutes. The greatest teacher. Was on Broadway last year, when she was just 17."

"It's his first real vacation in six years, Gail. Take it easy," my mom admonished.

"Marjorie, three weeks here, it'll feel like a year."

"Do, Re, Mi, Fa, So, La, Ti, Do! Let's go, warm up those voices - the voice is a muscle, you must treat it as though you are an athlete!"

I loved to sing, I truly did. But I liked to sing my way, wild and without ridiculous scales, but when the blonde halted in her pacing right in front of me, noticing I was only half-singing, she clapped right in my face until I joined in properly.

"That's better! Now, I know we all know this one - and we can put that scale to good use! Let's start at the very beginning - a very good place to start. When you read you begin with…"

She looked at me pointedly, so I finished, "A-B-C."

She nodded, apparently satisfied. "When you sing you begin with do-re-mi. Do-re-mi, do-re-mi

The first three notes just happen to be do-re-mi..." She held up her hand as though ready to conduct.

I smiled; I loved The Sound of Music. The group, a mix ranging from the very young to the very old, repeated. "Do-re-mi."

"Great! Everybody now - Do, a deer, a female deer…"

We were a mess of a chorus, but it wasn't a concert; just a bunch of vacationers having a good time, and I could tell the teacher was as amused as she was annoyed by our lack of both skill and technique. She was intimidatingly pretty, too, with her shiny golden hair and flirty summer dress that I would have chosen to wear on a date rather than to a singing lesson (if you could even call it a lesson). I looked down at my denim cutoffs and worn out black Converse and my blue button-down, feeling terribly underdressed.

"Now, choreography! Very simple - left, right, left." I watched - it was easy enough. Boring, almost. Stacie seemed super focused on the teacher's feet, trying to memorize it. "Okay ladies, when I say 'go,' you're going to find the man of your dreams!"

Oh my gosh, we were going to have to pair up to dance? I did not...no, I did not dance with strangers. The moment the teacher yelled, "Go!" Stacie was gone like a flash, and I tried to grab my dad, nice safe Dad, but the teacher cut me off, almost pushing me out of the way! To take his hand and lead him into the easy step.

"May I have this dance?" I looked back from where I was glaring with disappointment, surprised by the Australian accent, and the fact that it was a blonde - a different blonde - girl, taking my hands before I even responded.

Must be my lucky day.

I needed to get out.

It wasn't that I needed to escape my family - I didn't, not at all. But there was so much to do at the Lodge; the place was ginormous. And besides - I'd been cooped up with my family for hours, and the weather was perfect, that early summer kind of night where it was warm, but the breeze could bring on a shiver. And you know...I wasn't opposed to making new friends! I didn't want to look sloppy if I did, so I showered and changed into my white sundress, and remember that shiver I mentioned? I didn't forget either. I grabbed my cardigan on the way out the door.

"I'm going to the main house to look around!"

It was nice being alone, I decided, as I strolled down the path. Alone, but not lonely. It was quiet in the twilight of the evening, families with the noisy children having retired, leaving the only folks out and about of the peaceful variety.

The main house was massive - truly, it was impressive. At the top of a hill, all brick and windows and with a patio that circled nearly the entire thing, offering views of the entire resort. I could see my family's cabin, not too far, straight down the main path. Volleyball nets and horseshoe pits dotted the expanse between the the buildings, and there was a maze of pathways that extended like a spider's web, the main house at the hub.

The sunset in the west was perfect, and I was fumbling for my phone in the pocket of my sweater when I overheard that colorful, overly dramatic voice again: Gail.

"There are two kinds of help here. You waiters are all college guys. I went to Harvard -"

"And I went to Yale," the voice I recognized as John's added.

"To hire you. And why did I do that? Why?"

I knew I shouldn't do it, but I had to; I loved gossip and I loved to eavesdrop. I kept my stroll steady, nonchalant until I could peer through an open door. I was right, John and Gail were there, holding court in front of the wait staff, a dozen or so boys dressed in burgundy blazers and black trousers.

"I shouldn't have to remind you. This is a family means you keep your fingers out of the water, hair out of the soup."

"And show the goddamn daughters a good time. All the daughters. Even the dogs."

"Really, John?"

I bit my tongue. What a prick!

"Schlepp 'em out to the terrace, show 'em the stars," Gail said with a flare and a flourish of her well-manicured hands. "Romance 'em any way you want."

"Got that, guys?"

That was a new voice, a difference voice. A girl's voice. I tracked movement in the back of the room and found its source: a girl, petite, really. Brunette. She was wearing Wayfarers despite it being indoors, and dark outside. Her brown leather jacket was slung over her shoulder and her white tank top was half-tucked into her jeans. She definitely, definitely had more than just her earlobes pierced, but it was hard to tell at a distance - there was more than one sparkle along the edge of her right ear.

Oh, and she was trailed by half a dozen others, none of which were dressed in the fancy getups the waiters wore.

"Hey, hold it!" John called, chasing until the girl stopped and turned. "Hold it. Well, if it isn't the entertainment staff." The girl didn't seem too pleased to see John, and she crossed her arms over her chest, not actually acknowledging him with words. "Listen, wise ass, you got your own rules. Sing and dance with the sons and daughters. Teach them how to harmonize, vibrato; anything they pay for. That's it. That's where it ends." Despite the sunglasses, I could tell she was rolling her eyes.

Gail interjected, both physically and verbally. "No funny business, no conversations, and keep your hands off!"

"It's the same at all these places," a boy who inexplicably carried a unicycle said, once John and Gail turned to leave. "Some ass in the woods, but no conversation."

"Watch it, Unicycle."

"Can you keep that straight, Beca?" It came from a tall blonde boy with an English accent, one of the waitstaff. He looked cocky, despite his 'important' task of setting the table. "What you can and can't lay your hands on?"

I didn't understand what that meant.

The girl - Beca, I assumed now - clenched her jaw, as though mulling over her response, catching herself after taking a quick step toward the table he was setting. "Just put your pickle on everybody's plate, and leave the hard stuff to me." She flicked a just-set fork off the table and walked away, her crew following. I ducked away before anyone spotted me.

I waited at the main house until dinner - it was so late, it was already dark, and I was starving. But I assumed that, on a regular, full day here, we probably ate all we wanted, all day, so having a formal sit-down dinner well after sunset wouldn't feel so odd.

John and Gail doted on my parents like they were Beyonce and Jay-Z, John escorting my mother to her seat, Gail holding my father's elbow as if his presence made her a queen herself. I didn't understand it, but it put us at a lovely table, and it earned us the 'best cabin,' so I guess I couldn't complain.

"This is Dr. and Mrs. Beale," John said to the waiter that followed us to our table - the same waiter who had made that rude comment to the brunette girl earlier. "Red, Stacie, this is your waiter, Luke Lancaster. Yale Medical School." My dad was instantly impressed. Of course.

Gail took up John's arm. "Luke, these people are my special guests. Get them anything they want. Enjoy."

"Thanks, Gail," my dad said, still glowing at Med Student Luke.

Dinner was amazing, to say the least. I'd never been served so many courses; despite being starving, I was certain I'd pop if I took one more bite of the creme brulee that I so very much wanted to finish.

"Look at all this leftover food," my mom said, seeming sad. "Are there still starving children in Southeast Asia?"

"Try right here at home, Ma."

"Right."

"Luke, Red wants to send her leftover brulee back down to Florida, so anything you don't finish, you wrap up." My dad thought he was so funny. And as though my dad making a request had rung a silent bell, John and Gail descended on our table again.

"Gail, our Red is going to change the world!"

"And what are you going to do, missy?" Gail asked my sister, looking at her expectantly.

It was too good to pass up. "Stacie's going to decorate it."

"She already does," Luke said, not quite under his breath, as he picked up a few dishes from our table and disappeared. Stacie was smirking.

John snapped his fingers and gestured, a young man appearing by his side a moment later. He was cute, kind of short. Not much taller than me, really. But cute. "Doc, I want you to meet someone. My son, Jesse. Goes to Cornell School of Hotel Management."

"Red's starting Barden University in the Fall." Oh Dad; no one cared.

"Oh, great." Awkward. Jesse was awkward.

Because the world hated me, for some reason I found myself awkwardly dancing with awkward Jesse. It felt like my dad was weirdly set on finding Stacie and me husbands this summer, and he wasn't wasting time.

"Are you going to major in English?"

Why would he even assume that? What part of me looked like an English major? "No, music education in underprivileged communities. I'm going tour the world when I join my college a cappella group and do volunteer work."

"After the final show, I'm going to Vegas with a couple of busboys. Bachelor party, only no one's getting married." A keeper, that one, truly. And he couldn't dance worth a crap, so stiff, and he kept stepping on my toes. Not that I was much better, but at least I had rhythm. I worked on my skill on my own for years, honing it for when I'd need it when I auditioned for the Bellas in a few months.

A dancing couple bumped into me, and I glanced to apologize, noticing it was the Australian girl from the gazebo, now dancing with a sandy-haired boy, to a completely different rhythm than everyone else as they twirled and bumbled their way through the dance floor. They made me laugh.

The terrible foxtrot music finally ended and the dance floor fell quiet. A moment later, harmonious oohing broke the silence. It came from the stage and I saw the girl from earlier, Beca, and the voice teacher from the gazebo, backed by another dozen girls, all dressed like flight attendants, complete with pencil skirts and dainty scarves around their necks. They were singing...a cappella! I was immediately enthused, and though Beca seemed a touch bored with their routine, she put on a good show - as good a show one could put on singing Ace of Base, anyway.

"Who's that?" I asked dumbly.

"Oh, them. They're the music people," Jesse explained. "They're here to keep the guests happy. But they shouldn't show off so much. That's not going to sell lessons."

I was enthralled - their simple, perfect harmonies and easy choreography that fit the lyrics to the song almost too well. I wanted to be a part of that. And there was something in the way Beca held her head as she spotted for a turn that made it impossible for me to look away. It was a medley apparently, moving through "Eternal Flame" and into "Turn the Beat Around," and they were having so much fun together.

Too much fun, it would seem, because I spotted Gail opposite me, also watching them, and she gave them a strong cut it signal, abruptly stopping their choreography. The blonde smiled and trotted down the stairs off the stage to the dance floor and Beca kept singing solo, circling her hand in the air a couple times until music started up again, and then she was off the stage and into the crowd, pulling a man at least three times her age into a two-step as the rest of us fell back into dancing as well.

"Hi, kids. Having fun?" My parents had shown up next to Jesse and me, their dancing not nearly as uncomfortable as mine.

"Yeah." Thanks for answering for me, Jesse. "Actually, I have to excuse myself. I'm in charge of the games tonight. Say, would you like to help me get things started?"

I don't know why I didn't tell him no. Actually, I think I did, but my dad said yes? Sometimes I hated my life. That's not true, I never hated it. But right then, I was seriously questioning it, as I stared out sideways into the audience, crammed into a box on a platform, on a stage, with the "magician" I recognized as the activities announcer Benji, now sawing me in half.

"This will only hurt for a minute. You've got Obamacare, right?"

The joke landed about as flat as the act, several people groaning. I just waited for it to be over.

To add insult to injury, they shoved a live chicken into my arms like it's a door prize. A live chicken! Who even has live chickens just...around? I had to get out of there. This time, I really did need to get away from my family and just...all those stuffy, drab, boring people. I shoved the chicken into someone's arms, hoping it wouldn't be the chicken I had for dinner tomorrow, and escaped through a rear exit.

I made for the path back to our cabin, but something caught my eye. Namely, the giant sign that read STAFF QUARTERS. NO GUESTS PLEASE. I mean, who could resist that temptation? Plus, maybe like...Beca, or some of those other fun-seeming young people would be back there. And no one was around, sooooo...why not mosey on back there?

I could hear music, and not that boring throwback stuff I'd been subjected to all night. No, I definitely heard "Super Bass" blasting from the big house at the top of the path, top floor lit up with pulsing multi-colored strobe lights like a dance club. It drew me like a moth to a flame; I needed to see more, but I couldn't get in trouble. I found a seat on a big rock in the shadows to think.

And just as I sat and thought, Donald, the boy who'd helped us move in, hustled past, arms full, somehow managing to hold three - three - watermelons. "Hey!" I called. And startled him, whoops.

"How'd you get here?"

"What, like it's hard? There's literally just a sign. It's not like you need a code or something. There's not even a chain."

"Go back."

"Let me help you." I reach for the watermelon that's about to squirt out of his grip, catching it just in time.

"No, I'm good."

"What's up there?" I asked, glancing at the party upstairs.

"No guests allowed. House rules. Why don't you go back to the playhouse? I saw you dancing with little boss man." He rocked his two melons side to side, humming suggestively. I nearly gagged, and shoved the watermelon back into his failing arms to walk away. "Can you keep a secret?"

That's more like it. I reclaimed my watermelon and nodded.

"Your parents would kill you. Gail would kill me."

He started walking and I hurried after him, climbing the dozens of stairs up the side of the hill, the music growing louder, my excitement getting higher with every step. I could feel the bass in my chest by the time Donald stopped us in front of a set of double doors as he turned and shoved his backside into them to throw them open, nearly dropping his watermelons in the process.

The doors opened straight onto a dance floor, all the waitstaff and the groundskeepers and...and yeah I definitely recognized everyone who had rolled in with Beca that evening. They were all dancing, grinding, thrusting, laughing, drinking. The Nicki Minaj song had ended before we'd made it to the house, but it had mixed into into "Lady Marmalade" seamlessly. And did I mention what they were wearing? Hoooo boy...if I was caught wearing dresses as short as those girls, I'd be grounded for at least two weeks. I didn't see Beca anywhere through.

And...and wow, okay, there were definitely two girls dancing very intimately, without a care in the world. I was so...out of my element. I loved it. Then I heard the scratch of vinyl and immediate silence, followed by a whistle, and a stomp. And another stomp. Until the entire room was stomping, and the girl who'd been dancing very close to the other girl tossed her hands up and sang, "Who run the world!" and the room answered, "Squirrels!"

"Where'd they learn to do that?" I asked, dumbfounded. They were better than any a cappella group I'd ever seen on YouTube.

"Where? I don't know. It's all the rage back home. Something to do with that 'Glee' show I guess." Donald wiggled his watermelons again. "Wanna try it?"

I didn't answer, overwhelmed, excited, terrified. It must have read on my face, because he laughed.

"Come on, Red."

I followed him through the party, through the dozens of people singing and dancing, every one of them in perfect unison. My eyes scanned the room as we walked; I really wanted to see that one person, that one girl. She had to be here, right? I twisted to get past that girl-girl dancer/first singer, and she grinned at me, flicking the brim of her fedora up at me in greeting. We made it to the back, finally, and I was happy to get rid of the watermelon. It was seriously heavy.

"Can you imagine performing like this on the main floor?" Donald asked, shouting to be heard. "Home of the family foxtrot and 90s covers? John and Gail would close the place down first."

A commotion by the front door caught my attention, a some of the people breaking out of their singing and choreography to whistle and greet the newcomers.

And there she was, Beca, running in, the gray blazer she'd worn earlier gone, her white blouse unbuttoned to the middle of her chest, the french twist out of her hair to let it flow down her shoulders freely. Her blonde partner followed hand-in-hand, stripping from her uniform similarly, shaking her curls down. I couldn't take my eyes off Beca, the way she walked in and owned the room, the way she walked up to the boy by the door and literally took the beer out of his mouth and chugged it, shaking her head and whooping before pushing her way through the dance floor.

The routine officially fell apart, everyone seeming to opt to freestyle instead, and the music picked back up - a remix of Rihanna's "Cheers" - just in time for Beca to grab the blonde's hand and spin her out and back in, immediately dancing up on her, both of them wearing wide smiles. They definitely weren't the same prim and proper entertainers from the post dinner entertainment. And the way they moved...the way Beca moved...and the way her hands were just...everywhere…

"Cheers to the freakin' weekend!" the floor sang in unison.

"That's my cousin, Beca Mitchell," Donald shouted in my ear. I blushed hard, caught staring. "She got me the job here."

I watched Beca spin her partner again, this time catching her to dance against her from behind, grinding. "They look great together."

"Yeah. You'd think they were a couple, wouldn't you?"

"Well...aren't they?" I hoped my voice didn't sound too hopeful, but I'm pretty sure it did.

"Nah, not since we were kids."

They really could have fooled me, the way the blonde turned back to Beca and wrapped her arms around her neck, smiling down at her as their hips worked in tandem. I felt my own hips trying to move. I loved this song, too. I wanted to dance but not...I didn't dance like that.

But the song ended, so I didn't have to worry about it anymore. Everyone cheered, and I watched Beca celebrate, high fiving the girls around her, and then some dance mix of Jessie J's "Price Tag" spun up, and she was right back in the blonde's arms, grinding again. And I was entranced again.

And then for some reason, Beca dropped her dance partner and started working her way...towards me? Surely not towards me. Towards the food, which is where I happened to be. But then she...stopped dancing and kind of looked at me, and then at Donald, who wasn't paying attention when she jumped up and shoulder checked him.

"Yo, cuz. What's she doing here?" She nodded at me, sending my eyes to the ground.

"She came with me," Donald tried. "She's with me." Yeah, I wasn't with you buddy.

"I carried a watermelon." Facepalm. So much facepalm.

Beca seemed unimpressed, giving Donald a death glare before turning back to the dance floor.

"I carried a watermelon?"

Beca was back a minute later, the blonde on her arm, laughing as they danced, but Beca was looking...at me? Yes, she was actually looking at me this time. And walking up to me. Kind of smiling at me, oh God. She crooked her index finger at me, beckoning me to her with a smile. All I could do was...take her hand and let her pull me onto the dance floor.

She put her hand up, rotating it in a circle like I saw her do after dinner, and the music cut again. "Price Tag, our way," she called out, and the room erupted and then fell silent. She snapped four times quietly, and a chorus of oohs rang out, and her blonde partner led the verse, but her eyes were on mine and mine on hers, having no idea what was supposed to be happening. I could do dancing, mostly. But this was just...staring. After a quiet verse, it grew silent like the bass was going to drop - not that there was bass to drop, and then a girl sprang into the air from a crouch to start beatboxing, the rest of the room falling right into the next verse, now faster and rhythmic.

"Like this," Beca said, pointing at her own mouth as she beatboxed a simple rhythm that matched the song. Then her hands were on my hips, nodding at me to try it. And I tried it, and was terrible at it, surely spitting on her every time, but if she noticed, she didn't react to it. "Good."

Instead she kept her own beatbox going and started swaying her hips a little, stepping closer to me until we were flush and I forgot I was, I guess, supposed to be beatboxing or whatever, because instead I was all about the fact that her hips were against mine and her arms were around my waist as she pulled me to move with her to the beat of the song created by nothing more than the dozens of people surrounding us. "That's better," she said, lifting my arms to wrap around her neck.

It was magic. It was heaven. It was an a capella dreamland I never knew could exist, plus that amazing, attractive, hot girl who wiggled her hips against mine and then spun me and disappeared, leaving me clapping like an idiot seal alone on the dance floor.