Author's Note: I wanted to take a brief moment to specifically thank a couple of people. First, I want to specifically thank the four people who have already reviewed chapter 5. Second, I'd like to dedicate this chapter to PHLover who faithfully reviews every chapter and corresponds with me on a regular basis in an encouraging and inspiring manner. To gray seal and wandering child, I am especially glad to see your sympathy for Alex since (as of this point in the story anyway) he's based on a real person. And to Erika, simply thank you. Third, I hereby promise to write every evening for the next three to four days and post as often as possible. I hope to hear from a few of those who have not previously reviewed if at all possible. I'd like to know what you like or what you dislike. And please, don't feel bad to say something you dislike. I know this is wildly different from how I usually write, and I am curious what everyone makes of it. Thanks in advance!
Disclaimer: I don't own the school auditorium or Christine's vocal coach. Or a Range Rover.
For the most part, I was able to forget Alex for short periods of time in between our encounters. I had enough going on without worrying about him, and certainly had enough to keep me busy without trying to read the Gaston Leroux book which, at that point, was someplace out of sight and out of mind.
Have I mentioned yet how stressed I was at that point? I honestly can't say why looking back, but as soon as I got the Christine part, it's like my entire ability to sing just disappeared entirely. I don't mean that the part was too challenging, even though it actually was. I don't mean that I thought I was good and then sang that part and found out I wasn't. No. I mean I was fair to moderate before I knew I had the part, and as soon as we officially started practicing, I got downright bad.
No, it was not all in my head. My vocal coach even mentioned it. Not right off, though I could tell she noticed. Maybe she figured I just had an off day. But after a couple of lessons that went worse than back when I first stared, she asked me what was troubling me and when I acted confused and told her I was fine, she took my mother into a room and spoke with her privately for some time.
Yup. It was true. I sucked. But she told my mother something in private. It must mean there was something serious wrong with me. My mother would schedule an appointment with some doctor or something to determine what was wrong with me, probably. But she didn't and then I had more to worry about. Had Mom forgotten? Was she too busy? Was it so hopeless that there was no point in evening bothering with medical attention?
It made thinking of anything else difficult and concentrating in class almost impossible. I started getting passes to the auditorium during first period when I could and ditching class when I couldn't, so that I could torture myself in private by singing on stage when no one else was there.
Usually I crept into the auditorium, flipped a switch to turn on a single light, stood in the center of the stage, warmed up, sang Think of Me about half way through and then lost my confidence, my train of thought and my memory of the words. Carrying the music with me didn't help a bit because I'd get distracted while I remembered the words, look out over the empty seats, and then not be able to find my place on the page when I looked back at it. Then it would occur to me how stupid I was going to look when it was my turn to perform, and things would get worse. Then I'd sit down and begin rehearsing in my head my I-quit speech to Mr. Akers and Mr. Becavac. I'd get part way through that and begin imagining what their reactions would be and couldn't finish. Usually I ended up sitting cross-legged in the single spot-light and crying into my lap. Stupid, I know, when it would have been so simple to just remind my mother that I was dying or something and ought to be able to get a doctor's note so I wouldn't have to make my quitting speech and watch the looks of disappointment on my teacher's faces. As a matter of fact, maybe they could just hospitalize me right off. That way, I wouldn't have to answer all those why-aren't-you-in-the-musical-anymore-Chrissy questions. I'd even let them put an IV tube in my arm if they'd check me in right away.
And then the light went out. Right then. Right as I was thinking about going to the nurse and telling her that I was really sick and maybe even dying but my parents don't think I know, so can we call them please and tell them that it's okay to tell me, we don't need to wait until after the musical or anything because I don't want to mess it all up for everyone else, so can the ambulance just come get me, please? Yeah. The lights went out. And stupidly, I screamed.
First, I just yelped a little because the light went out all the sudden leaving me in a completely dark theatre. A second later I yelled some actual words but they weren't particularly polite, so I won't say them again here. For those who are especially curious, I'll say that if I remember right it started with "What the" and ending with a word that my mother would slap me in the mouth for if she knew I ever used it. This was uttered at my top volume. When that did not result in the lights coming back on, I tried, "Hey, I'm practicing here!" No response.
And then I swear I heard someone whisper my name.
I couldn't say anything back at first. It came from behind me and to the left and spooked me half to death. Your mind is playing tricks on you, I told myself through the pounding of my pulse in my throat. A chill ran down my back while my antiperspirant quit working and my heart became audible. But I heard it again, spoken softly behind me. "What?" I somehow managed to whisper back. Having answered, I got more, not less frightened. I realized that I couldn't see the edge of the stage and I couldn't see the steps. If I got up and tried to run, I could blunder directly into the orchestra pit. If I ran towards backstage I got further from the place where I could turn the lights back on and would have to run through the curtain, behind which someone might be standing to grab me.
But who could possibly be there? It had to be a stupid drama prank, after all. We were putting on Phantom, for crying out loud. Of course someone had to put up the lights and call out, "Christine, Christine." Dumbasses.
"Okay, that's real flipping mature," I yelled into the darkness. "Someone could get hurt. That'd be real freaking funny, wouldn't it?"
No response.
Assholes. Probably just turned off the lights and ran without sticking around to see what happened. I stood and moved back. Then I remembered that they hadn't run—they had hung around and whispered my name.
"Who's there?" I yelled again.
No response.
I wasn't scared anymore but pissed. I turned and stomped past where the curtain should be and into the wings to grope around on the wall for a light switch. After accidentally lowering the projection screen and putting it back up, I finally found a switch that turned on the overhead florescent lights that you see in the rest of the school. It was enough to get back to where I'd left my books and find my way out the door.
I stomped halfway to the band hall to tell when I remembered that I wasn't officially in the auditorium at all. And then I was stuck. I couldn't report to first period this late without a pass, but if I hung around in the hall I'd surely be caught skipping. I slipped into a practice room and sat on the floor where I wouldn't be noticed and felt like an idiot until the bell released me to go suffer through second period.
A desperate plea for reviews: Hey folks. I know I've been a very bad writer and have not posted enough to deserve lots of reviews, so I promise to try harder in the future. I'm on a short three-day vacation and should be able to write each evening while the rest of my family watches TV, so please consider posting a review and I will do my absolute best to get another chapter out to you today or tomorrow.