Disclaimer: The main characters don't belong to me, but the rest does.

Just a quick heads-up: I won't be able to update the story for the next week or so, but I'll take it up again as soon as I"m settled in. To make up for this, I'm pulling out the fireworks today!

Listening: if you didn't listen to yesterday's song, here is another version of it, with better sound quality: "Merryman maid glyndebourne 1987 I have a song". Do your homework! Also, feel free to look up any other songs referenced in this chapter (the John Reed versions for the two from "The Mikado").

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Dear Diary,

I don't know what to say - I'm in a state of shock. I guess I'll just go through all of it chronologically. (Great, my hand is shaking. This will probably all be illegible. )

So, tonight was the winter showcase, also known as "An Evening with Gilbert and Sullivan". I was nervous, because I'd never performed in front of a large audience before, except for choir.

Also, the winter showcase is kind of a big deal. Everyone is dressed really nicely, and seats are $10 each.

I'd decided to wear the same light blue dress I'd worn at the opera, and to wear my hair up. Mr. Destler wore a tuxedo and bow tie.

Since Mr. Salbury was the piano accompanist for the entire evening, Mr. Destler and I had had to work a little bit on acting since he would be standing next to me on the stage. I told him I was nervous, but he told me not to worry, that I would be "magnificent".

Our song was towards the end of the program, so we sat back and watched all of the beginning.

Mr. Moncharmin, the assistant principal, as usual opened with the Major-General's song. He's a big, red-faced man with a fluffy mustache, so he fits the role to a T. (Well, aside for his lack of muttonchops, but even all of Mr. Richard's charm couldn't persuade him to grow some.)

Then, Mr. Richard sang, as usual, "Tit Willow" from "The Mikado". He does it really well, - everyone was laughing their heads off.

Mr. Ahmadi, being the dean of students, is the closest thing we have to a Lord High Executioner, so he got to sing "I've got a little list" also from "The Mikado", changing some of the lyrics in the process to warn students about what could happen to them if they failed to serve their detentions.

After him, a dozen more staff members performed various selections, mostly from "The Pirates of Penzance" and "The Mikado".

Not all of them love performing, but all of them know that Mr. Richard can be somewhat capricious in how he funds the different departments, and that he is better inclined to be generous with teachers who indulge his passion for music and theater.

Then, all too soon, it was Mr. Destler's turn and mine.

People clapped as we walked onto the stage.

Mr. Salbury looked up at Mr. Destler, who nodded, and so he began to play the introduction.

Mr. Destler exclaimed in a booming voice: "I have a song to sing, O!"

I answered, my voice surprisingly strong: "Sing me your song, O!"

Mr. Destler took a deep breath. "It is sung to the moon by a love-lorn loon, who fled from the mocking throng, O!… It's a song of a merryman, moping mum, whose soul was sad, and his glance was glum, who sipped no sup, and who craved no crumb, as he sighed for the love of a lady!"

He turned to me, arms open to his sides.

"Heighdy! heighdy! Misery me - lack-a-day-dee! He sipped no sup, and he craved no crumb, as he sighed for the love of a lady!"

My turn now.

"I have a song to sing, O!"

"What is your song, O?"

"It is sung with the ring of the songs maids sing, who love with a love life-long, O! It's the song of a merrymaid, peerly proud -…"

The rest of the song passed in a blur, and next thing I knew, I had joined hands with Mr. Destler, and we were bowing to thunderous applause.

When we left the stage, Mr. Destler walked me to the music theory room. I was so happy and flushed and dizzy that it took me a minute to register the fact that that made no sense.

"Sir, why didn't we just go back to our seats?"

Mr. Destler was twisting his hands.

"I, um… thought about your offer, and I thought that maybe… I could show you my face?"

He looked worryingly nervous and vulnerable. I could see his hands were shaking.

"Thank you. That would mean a great deal to me."

"The-the offer still stands?"

Oh, the kiss. Why not. I couldn't see why he wanted it so badly, though.

"Yes."

Mr. Destler exhaled.

"Alright, I'm going to take my mask off…" he said, but he didn't move.

I looked at him expectantly.

And then he slowly began to peel his mask off. It looked like he was peeling off his skin.

I had to work very hard to keep my face blank, as I saw for the first time the horror that was his face.

It wasn't just ugly - it was disturbing. He looked like a rotting corpse. Most of his nose was missing, his mouth was a joke, and some parts of his mangled face I couldn't tell whether they were skin, or flesh, or bone. His left cheek looked like it was melting.

Despite my efforts, my dismay must have registered on my face, because Mr. Destler flinched under my gaze. He looked at me with wide, blue eyes that looked out of place in his dead face.

Then, his face started twitching, and he was blinking much too often, - and I saw he was crying.

That's when I remembered about the kiss.

Okay, I could do this. It was just a face, just Mr. Destler, and I'd promised.

I slowly walked up to him, made myself place my hands on his shoulders, got on my tiptoes, and leaned in to kiss his cheek. I placed a soft, lingering kiss there (lingering, so that he wouldn't think I was just trying to get it over with). Then, I was faced with the unpleasant prospect of pulling back and having to see his face again, and, worst of all, making eye-contact.

So, I pulled him into a hug, which made sense anyway since he was crying. He held onto me tightly, and I could feel how he shook.

It felt sad, and strange, and overwhelming to have this grown man - teacher! - sobbing in my arms. In the end, it was too much for me. I was torn between the stomach-churning pity I felt for him, and a quickly-growing sense of claustrophobia. I felt thoroughly uncomfortable and trapped in his arms.

Then, he whimpered "Christine", and he sounded so much like a little child that I tore myself from his arms, and ran as fast as I could.

When I found Dad, I forced myself to smile, only to find myself crying, but he assumed they were tears of joy and exhilaration.

What am I going to do?