A/N: I realize that the last chappy didn't really go anywhere, because everyone already knows who Christine is. Oh, and The Poet Sings actually exists. I had to sing it for All-State year before last (I didn't get in, sigh sigh). I'm sorry if I screwed up the lyrics, but I couldn't find it online and don't have my sheet music with me.
Ok, you think you've done something weird?
Ever roasted marshmallows over an open flame when it's raining?
Not just ordinary rain, but Alabama Rain, where you can look up and drown.
It's slightly warm,
It's slightly soggy,
It's the new hit reality show, ROASTING MARSHMALLOWS IN THE RAIN!
Disclaimer: I ain't makin' no money offa this here piece o' werk. (Yeah, I'm a redneck. Deal with it, eh.)
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Christine was getting ready for school, wishing she could be back in the pool like she'd been two days before. She sang to herself as she brushed her hair. She came in in the middle of the song, but she didn't care.
She's somewhere and I hear her sing,
Her words, in timeless memory.
Stay the course,
Light a star,
Change the world where ever you are.
She remained silent where she was supposed to be singing 'ah.' Being an alto required a lot of 'ah'ing or 'ooh'ing, but as Christine didn't know the melody on this part and didn't want to 'ah,' she just didn't sing.
She came in a few measures later.
Moriah!
Moriah!
She winced as her voice cracked on the high notes, which really weren't that high. The sour notes reverberating around her bathroom broke the spell. Christine was especially glad that Deanne wasn't up. She should've been the one named Christine. She already had a beautiful soprano voice, even though she was only four.
"If you want to sing," she told herself, "pick something with a low range and stop pretending to be a soprano." She sighed. She was racking her brain for a good song, but found none. Christine looked at herself in the mirror. Today was Green Themed Day. She was wearing a lime green long sleeved shirt with a short sleeved darker green shirt that said 'Camp Skyline Ranch Troopers' on the front over it. She had been too old for Skyline for the past two years, but kept the shirts. She was also wearing a pair of military style cargo pants. Everything she was wearing was green, including her makeup. And it all clashed, but Christine didn't care.
She rushed down the stairs pausing only to grab a Pop-Tart™, before running out and getting into her best friend Meg's car.
As Meg chattered about this hot party, who'd broken up with who, who'd woken up with who, and all the other weekend gossip, Christine let her mind wander and ate her breakfast.
"Christine!" said Meg. "Did you not hear me?"
"Umm… no… I was…thinking."
"Fine. I should've never shown you that movie. But," and her voice grew excited, "there's gonna be a musical at school!"
"Big whoop." Christine said glumly. "Charlotté will get the lead."
"You didn't let me finish," Meg said, sounding a little peeved. "There's gonna be a musical at school…with an alto lead!"
Christine blinked. It took a while for it to sink in. Then she began to squeal excitedly, just like her best friend. "No way! No way! Musicals never have alto leads! Aah! Are you trying out?"
Meg laughed. "For the lead? Never. That's your territory. I am trying out, though. Prima ballerina, at your service."
"It's got ballet? No way."
"Way. And a good ballet part, even."
"A ballet and an alto lead. What musical is this, exactly?"
"Some random thing that a kid at one of the other schools wrote."
"It could've been written specifically for us."
"Ooh, we've got a stalker," Meg teased.
"You do know that Charlotté will try out for both our parts and then kill us if she doesn't get in."
"Yep."
They high-fived each other, then continued talking about what a fun time they were gonna have, if, that is, they got the parts they wanted.
At a pause, Christine asked, "So, who exactly is this kid, anyway."
"Some real freak, I've heard."
"What's his name?"
"Eric, I think." (A/N: Eric just doesn't look right. I can't even type Eric, I always type Erik, and have to go back and change it if I wanted Eric.)
"Erik," Christine whispered faintly, then pitched forward onto the door of the glove compartment, unconscious.
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A/N: Yay! Another chappy that goes next to nowhere! Tell me what you think of my chappy. Don't review to thank me for reviewing, or to tell me whom I reviewed. I know whom I reviewed. If you want to thank me, email me. And if you review just 'cause you're bored, have the decency not to tell me. And if you review, please read the chappy first. I know I sound picky, but I am picky about things like that.
