School served as a decent distraction from all these events-- Miss Lazerth was obsessed with the upcoming teaser. Jessica Klein's costume was not yet ready, and she complained in a loud voice about it every day at rehearsal. She was truly turning into the definition of a diva. She would only drink certain types of bottled water-- Evian, usually-- and she expected the water to be ready for her use at the snap of a finger. She, like Amy May, had a small group of admirers who were willing to do just about anything to please her. This group only encouraged Jessica in the idea that she was a goddess to be waited upon, and she spent little time in developing the largest ego in the cast. It was very possible that she even rivaled Sean Winters in self-confidence those days. The two swollen egos seemed to not have enough room in one auditorium, and the couple were often seen bickering in hot voices. Once, Jessica Klein leaned over and slapped Sean hard over the head. Even Miss Lazerth could not allow this type of violence, and gave Jessica a "talking to" after rehearsal that day. Sean looked increasingly unhappy, but I suspected it would be difficult for him to give up the limelight of being the star's boyfriend. Though the Opera Ghost had occupied most of my thoughts lately, I couldn't help but notice that I still felt a twinge of jealousy everytime the two divas kissed.
Erik and I generally went about our business as usual, despite the fact that he was obviously in love with me. I didn't want to return to his underground lair, nor did he request that I do so. Mostly we met backstage after hours where we would sing, act out scenes from various musicals and operas, and occasionally play piano. My fingers were clumsy after a couple of years of neglect, but under Erik's guidance, they were becoming as lithe as they'd once been. If we became too exhausted, we would sit and talk about things. He told me little of his past life, but he would listen about mine. I didn't tell him everything, though. He still frightened me a bit. Still, I couldn't help that notice that our relationship was progressing. Once, he put his arm around my shoulders. Another time, I leaned my tired head into his chest. He often touched my hair, but not much else. It seems crazy, but I was beginning not to notice the deathly smell so much anymore.
The countdown to the schoolwide teaser clip of the musical was two days, and I still didn't have a costume. Fortunately, Jessica Klein had gotten hers, so no one had to listen to her complaining at rehearsal anymore. I was beginning to think that the costume crew had forgotten about me. I voiced my concerns to Amy one day over lunch.
"Have you got your costume?" I asked her.
"Yeah, of course. I got mine three weeks ago," she replied, chewing her cheeseburger thoughtfully. "It makes me look like a total whore."
"Well, no offense, but your..." I glanced involuntarily down at her chest.
"Thank you for staring freely at my breasts, Elizabeth Mayers," she said in a very loud voice, so that several startled freshmen moved further down the table away from the strange juniors.
Amy had been blessed in a way that I hadn't: she was short and very lean, probably a result from the gymnastics and dance lessons her parents had been forcing upon her since the age of four. However, despite the fact that her thighs were probably seven inches less in circumfrence than mine, she had unusually large, shapely breasts for someone so thin. She often complained about how she couldn't wear anything remotely tight or revealing, lest she look like a "total whore."
"If they weren't so huge, maybe I wouldn't stare." I glared at her momentarily before continuing the costume discussion. "So do you think I should say something to the costume director? Do you think they forgot me? Everyone seems to make a habit of forgetting me," I said in a gloomy voice, picking unhappily at my salad. I was on a diet kick that week. Taking 1500 calories a day is a lot harder than it seems in magazines.
"So just say something. It's not so hard."
I moaned miserably. "I hate talking to adults. It makes me so nervous. What if they actually are completely finished with my costume, but are just holding onto it because it is just THAT amazing?"
"Please don't act stupid, it's very unbecoming," Amy sighed. She squinted across the room at the freshman boy who was playing Sky. "Damn you, Nick Breyers, for having a girlfriend. He's so cute, isn't he?"
"I know, aren't I?"
We both whirled around at top speed. Larry was standing over us, holding a wrapped sandwich in one hand and a can of Yoo-Hoo in another. I hated boys. How was it that they drank sugary, pseudo-chocolate products and yet remained as thin as a rail? In freshman year, I drank a Yoo-Hoo every day for lunch. By the time I reached sophomore year, I was 145 pounds. Needless to say, I only drink Diet Coke nowadays. I may be developing ulcers, but at least I'm somewhat thin.
"How's everything going?" Larry swung his long, lanky legs over the bench of the table and looked at both of us in a seemingly friendly way. "How's my... uh... how's my girl?"
I giggled nervously. "She's... I mean, I'm... okay." I didn't understand what was causing this sudden initiative on Larry's part. I wasn't sure I was happy about it.
"I think I'll just... Nip over there and have a chat with Nick," sniggered Amy, brushing the crumbs away from her place and standing up.
"No!" I yelled. Larry jumped, giving me an alarmed look. "I mean... Amy... I need your advice... About this whole... costume thing..."
"I told you what I think. Go up to Mrs. Mias and say, 'Yo, beotch, where's my costume?'" She shrugged indifferently. "I'm sure she'll understand. Bye." She smiled widely. I felt like strangling her a little.
"So... Elizabeth." Larry put his hand on my knee-- A surprisingly bold mood, even for him. Too bold, apparently, because after two seconds he blushed and put his hand back in his own lap.
"So... Larry."
We sat in silence. Was it possible that two people who were supposedly boyfriend and girlfriend really had NOTHING to say to each other? Not even, "Hey, I like the shirt you're wearing" or "Does it bother you that Sean Winters regularly reaches for my butt?" What kind of relationship could this be? How could I have been so stupid?
"Er... I like the shirt you're wearing," I finally choked out.
"Really?" Larry looked as if he were swelling with pride. "My mom picked it out."
Okay, definitely not the right thing to say there, I thought, not bothering to hide my disdain. "Your mom?"
"I know, I know, sounds corny, right? But I really hate shopping, so..." He shrugged.
"So do I," I admitted. "Sorry, but I guess I'm not a real girl."
"Please." He rolled his eyes. "If you liked shopping, then you might force me to come with you sometime."
"No I wouldn't!" I giggled madly. "I don't believe in unusual torture."
Then we were both laughing as if it were the most natural thing in the world. He was actually sitting pretty close to me by this point. A ray of sunlight caught his eyes and suddenly there they were, illuminated gems bolted into his pink, boyish face. They were so turquoise... Sky blue, with flecks of yellow, but a touch of green as well... My heart leapt into my throat just as it had the first time we met...
We were in the same Calculus class junior year. He had never spoken to me before, but apparently he'd noticed me before I'd noticed him-- I left my $98 calculator behind in class and was already on my way outside to the bus without realizing it was missing. I heard a high-pitched voice squeak my name: "Elizabeth! Elizabeth Mayers!" and then there he stood, tall and thin and very awkward. He had a very young-looking face; it didn't even occur to me that he was in my grade. There was a certain moment when he turned to face me when the sun shone directly into his eyes, just as it was doing now, and made his turquoise eyes practically glow within his head. A leaf blew into my hair, but I didn't even notice it. I was too transfixed by his eyes.
"Oh... Um... A leaf." He pointed shyly at my head.
"Damnit," I muttered. Smooth, I mentally snapped at myself.
"I'm Larry... Larry Minelli. I'm in your Calc class. You forgot your calculator." He handed it to me. I noticed his hand was a little shaky.
"Oh. Oh. I didn't realize. Thank you. I'm Elizabeth Mayers." I took the calculator from his hand and shoved it hastily into a pocket in my backpack.
"I know who you are," he breathed. "You sing, don't you?"
"Yeah," I replied. "Yeah. I sing."
He walked me to my bus that day, and every day after that.
After we finished laughing, Larry brushed my hand and wouldn't look me in the eye. "I really hope we can... You know... see each other more."
"Maybe... maybe when the musical's over. I just..." I broke off. I didn't even know what I wanted. I didn't want to hurt him, but despite his eyes, there was someone else who held my heart. While I still had Erik, I couldn't really give myself to anyone else. I didn't even know for sure how I felt about him-- I was still getting over the whole strange odor thing-- but I knew that I cared for him more than I could ever care for any boy in my school. Anyway, Erik loved me more than Larry could ever possibly love me. Getting too involved with Larry would be like choosing frozen yogurt instead of ice cream. All I had to do was get rid of Erik's strange obsession with his mask and douse him with some cologne and he might actually be able to take me to the masked ball benefit that was being held by the school choir in a month or so.
"THANK GOD!" yelled a voice behind me. "Elizabeth, I need you right now. NOW."
"What?" I exclaimed, startled. Larry had moved about a mile down the bench of the table by now.
It was Annie Chang, the musical's chief pianist. Her eyes were practically bulging out of her head as she reached over and tugged on my arm. I had no idea what she could want with me... We had barely ever spoken except for the day we were given our dressing room box assignments.
"What did I do?" I asked anxiously.
"The teaser is in two days and you didn't get measured for a costume yet. Doesn't that seem a little strange to you?" She began to forcefully tug at my arm. So to avoid a shoulder dislocation, I smiled and bid Larry goodbye and then stood up to follow her.
"I don't know... I was going to say something today about it," I replied, feeling suddenly ashamed at my own shyness. "Is it too late to make a costume for me?"
"Well, no, you're just a missonary, after all," Annie said, a little too candidly for my liking.
"Thanks," I muttered.
"Oh, don't cry, Mayers," she snapped, shoving me into the theater arts studio across the hall. "I'm not going to sugarcoat it for you."
"Since when do you do costumes, anyway?" I grumbled, stumbling into the room.
"Since Miss Lazerth decided that being pianist wasn't enough work. Believe me, it is," she added irritably. "I have to be at every rehearsal and every single band practice, because without the pianist, well, our rehearsal wouldn't be worth having, would it? She even makes me go to acting rehearsals!"
"Sorry, that sucks," I said unconvincingly.
"Yeah, well, whatever, a girl will do crazy things for love," she said, her face suddenly soft and moony, as she beckoned over the rest of the costume crew.
"Oh, is your boyfriend in the show?" I asked naively.
She stared at me for a moment, then burst into laughter. "God, no. I'm talking about college. I need to do this show if I ever want to get into Columbia."
"Ah. College. Right." I didn't tell her that the only time I'd stopped to think about college was when my father yelled at me about how with bad grades I'd never get into a good college. I knew that Juilliard was the best music school in the world-- or at least it was in my opinion. Otherwise, I generally knew nothing about college.
"Okay, girls... and guys," Annie added hastily, noticing the token short, flamboyantly gay sophomore on the costume crew. "Get her measurements, and I mean all of them. We're going to have to work our butts off to get this one done."
"Can't we just ask Mrs. Mias to do it?" squeaked one foolish freshman.
"No, we can't, because then I could get in trouble," she snarled. The freshman squeaked incoherently and practically fell over backwards. "Okay, Mayers. Off with the shirt."
"Wha-- What?" I exclaimed.
"You heard me, take your shirt off. I need to get waist and bust measurements, and that shirt is not exactly ideal for measuring." She eyed my faded "Madison Girls Soccer" sweatshirt with disdain.
My heart began to race uncomfortably. "Annie, I'd really rather not. I don't think..."
"Elizabeth, no one cares if you have a little extra pudge!" she laughed, leaning over and giving my side a seemingly affectionate pat. "It's not soccer season anymore. I know how it is, I play tennis, and during those off seasons, I get as fat as a house."
Annie was Chinese-American and about a size two, both in-season and out, but I decided not to comment on that. All I knew was that I could not take my shirt off. I should have thought about this situation before acting rashly the night before, but it was too late for regrets. I had to make sure that, no matter what, I kept my sweatshirt on.
"It's not that, I'm just not comfortable," I mumbled, stepping away from the overzealous horde of costumers. They were impatiently snapping their yellow measuring tapes like executioners waiting for their turn to beat a prisoner.
"I really don't have time for this," Annie said in a dead serious voice.
I reluctantly-- and carefully-- slipped the sweatshirt over my head. I kept my left arm pinned to my side. When the group insisted on measuring my waist, I lifted my arm so that it lied flat across my chest. I thought I had escaped scrutiny unscathed when Annie announced, "Okay. Now for arm span."
"Wait-- what?" I stammered. "Arm span?"
"Spread your arms out like this--" she demonstrated-- "And we'll measure from fingertip to fingertip. Okay?"
"Can I put my sweatshirt back on, then?" I asked almost pleadingly, my arms still pinned to my sides.
"No, we have to still get the bust." When I didn't move, she grabbed my arms and said, exasperated, "Stop being such a prude! No one cares what you look like! It's not--" She stopped speaking suddenly, and then I knew she had seen.
"What happened?" she demanded, holding my arm up in front of my face.
"It's... I don't want to talk about it," I replied weakly, pulling my arm from her grasp.
She stared at me for a moment, then shook her head in disbelief. "Okay... Arm span, people. Then bust." She looked at me, almost angrily. "Then put your shirt back on before I'm sick."
I felt as if I'd been socked in the stomach. Annie was always known for being almost cruelly honest, but this was a little too much. The rest of the costume crew kept sneaking glances at both of us, but I don't think they fully realized what was going on. I let them measure me as quickly as possible, then slipped my sweatshirt back on. They did the rest of the work-- measuring my hips, my legs, etc. in silence. Annie wouldn't even look at me as I left the room. I was slightly angry-- Was it really her place to get so angry or disgusted with me over something that wasn't her business anyway? It's not like I could help it-- I mean, okay, maybe I could, but not really-- it was an urge as addictive as smoking, and it was all I could do from exploding sometimes.
"Oh, God," I moaned to myself as I left the room.
"You okay?"
"Larry... You scared me..." My right hand flew to my forehead and fidgeted with a small scar I had above my right eyebrow, as it often did when I was under great stress. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting for you," he said, attemping to be charming.
"Oh." I turned away. I suddenly was as disinterested in him as I had been before. He was nothing more than a pretty-faced boy with newly-acquired stalking habits.
"Do you want me to talk you to your next class?" he asked eagerly, his eyes suddenly seeming as dull as they had before the ray of sunlight in the cafeteria.
"I can walk myself," I said. I felt cruel, but I didn't really care. He was just yet another person to add to the list "will never understand why." He and Annie Chang would keep each other good company.
"You are very quiet tonight, my ingenue."
It was just another lesson with Erik as usual when I made the mistake of opening up a little too far. I should have known; until then, I had only shared personal trials regarding my family, but none concerning my personal ambitions. We rarely spoke about the musical itself, except to occasionally laugh over Jessica Klein's antics. We did not discuss my talent in relation to hers, nor did I express the torment it was to have to sit at rehearsal and watch Jessica take the limelight again and again. I felt as if she were stealing my role anew practically everytime she stepped onstage. I did not tell this to Erik, because it seemed too petty for the likes of an opera ghost. Tonight, though, I was feeling indulgent.
"Oh... I don't know. I guess I am." I self-consciously pulled my left sleeve further over my hand so that my entire left hand was engulfed in shirt.
I considered telling him about what had happened with Annie Chang, but I didn't want to disgust him in the way I'd disgusted Annie. I didn't know what his mask was hiding, but I was sure it was nothing so disgusting as my secret. I was too afraid of him abandoning me out of fear of my emotional instability, and to be abandoned by him now would be a heartwrenching blow. I could barely imagine life without him now. He wasn't really my boyfriend, but he wasn't just my friend, either; we didn't kiss, but we still touched each other affectionately. I guess above all, he was my teacher, and I was his pupil. I couldn't help but notice with amazement what strides my vocal development was taking. It seemed as if my voice had grown more in the past six weeks than it had in years of my previous vocal training. Not to mention, my acting talent was really beginning to bloom. I could read from a script without sounding stilted or unrealistic, and when I sang, I really poured my heart into it. I tried to understand what the character was singing about... I had stopped singing like an automaton.
Erik stopped playing the piano. "Let us rest."
I liked when he said this. It meant that I could sit next to him at the piano and feel him close to me. I would watch the knee of his black dress pants and wonder, what would happen if I just grabbed his bony knee? I sometimes severely longed for his body, or, at the very least, his kiss, but I felt as if I would be acting too presumptuous if I ever tried to obtain it. I was afraid I might seem like the type of girl who wanted more than just a kiss, and since I assumed Erik was a bit older than myself, I knew that he might be eager to take whatever he could from my body. I trusted him not to hurt me in that way, but sometimes, when I drew close to him, I barely understood myself. I felt something like butterflies and breathlessness at once, and when Erik brushed my neck with his hand, my lower body ached with a feeling unfamiliar to me. It was something I both liked and feared at the same time.
"Are you all right? You seem unhappy," Erik said quietly, his hands still tracing the piano keys. "You can tell me if something is wrong."
"It's silly," I replied, watching his hands. "It's not important."
"But if it bothers you..." Erik outlined a mute triad.
I decided to half-lie. "It's just... I hate watching Jessica Klein sing that part. I wanted that part so badly, and I feel like I deserve it-- especially now. I know there's nothing I can do, and I'm probably just being conceited and self-absorbed, but I really wanted to sing that part." I sucked in my breath quickly, hoping he didn't find me as egocentric as Jessica herself.
He was quiet for a moment, and then, he turned to me, smiling. "I would do anything to make you happy, you know."
"I know," I replied, even though I had not really known this before he explicitly said so.
"I will make you happy, my ingenue," he whispered, his large lips seeming more kissable than ever.
"I am happy." I couldn't stop watching his lips. The ache was too much to bear. I had to at least try to say something. "Erik... can I... would you...?"
He understood my meaning. His hands tangled themselves in my hair, and he pressed his face against mine. The kiss was not so bad this time. In fact, it was a little... I don't know, stirring, I guess. I don't know how to describe it. But I guess the best way to put it is that it felt as if something inside me was stirring. It was a while before he withdrew from my face.
"You taste like strawberries," Erik said. He smiled.
The following day, I was called into the guidance office. My heart was pounding all the way down to the front end of school-- I was positive they were calling me in for a psychological evaluation. Next thing I knew, I'd be in the hospital with a bunch of people who ran arounding screaming that the world was ending. I stared at the glass door with trepidation before entering, but unfortunately, I couldn't wait long, because at that moment, Sean Winters burst through it. He was red in the face and his hair was even more disheveled than usual.
"Er... you okay?" I asked, raising my eyebrows.
"Shut up," he snapped. "Get out of my way." I noticed with cruel amusement that he looked as if he were about to cry.
I figured there was no going back now, so I pulled the door back open before it could fully close and entered the guidance office. To my surprise, Amy was sitting in the waiting area with another girl in my Calc class, giggling up a storm.
"Did you see Sean?" she asked, still hiccupping a little from laughing so hard.
"Yeah, he looked like he was about to have an aneurysm," I said, taking a seat beside her.
"Mrs. Prescott practically laughed in his face when he said he wanted to go to Yale," she said, practically swooning from the effort of laughing so hard. "She said with his grades, she suggested he look into going to a conservatory instead."
"Why was he here?" I asked, not finding Sean's being shot down quite as funny as Amy apparently did.
"College conferences, duh," she snorted. "Why do you think you're here?"
"Oh," I breathed. "College." My heart suddenly slowed back down to its normal rate. I could talk about college. My problems? My father? My encounter with Annie Chang? Nope. But college I could talk about, even if I didn't know anything about it.
"Don't say anything too stupid," Amy warned. "They keep the door open when you go in."
"Poor Sean," laughed the girl next to her.
Amy ended up with the guidance counselor a few doors down, but I ended up with the seemingly-harsh Mrs. Prescott. She was a woman with very fake-looking blonde hair and teeth that were too big for her mouth, but she looked as if she might have been pretty when she was young. She had very green, almost cat-like eyes. When she got excited, they narrowed dangerously and made her whole face very angular. Like Scarlett O'Hara, I remember once thinking.
"Come in, sweetheart," she called when it was my turn. "Sit down. There are too many of you for you to speak with your regular guidance counselor, so we thought we'd all share the load." She tittered at what was apparently some sort of joke. I smiled weakly.
"So... What have you been thinking about in terms of college? Any ideas? Have your heart set on anywhere yet?" she asked, reaching into her filing cabinet.
"Um..." I stared at her blankly. I could always say Juilliard, but I wasn't even sure I wanted to go there. "I don't know yet, actually."
"Well what kind of school are you looking for? Large, medium, or small? Artistic or science-y? Close to home, far from home, somewhere in between? A commuter school?" She pursed her lips and resumed digging through the filing cabinet.
"Uh... Medium. Artistic. Far from home. Definitely not a commuter school." I spat the answers at her as quickly as the questions had been dealt.
"Wait a second... Aren't you a singer? You have such a lovely voice, sweetheart!" Mrs. Prescott beamed upon remembering this information, as if it were a key to my college experience. "Are you interested in a music school?"
I paused, considering this. If I had it my way, I would spend the next four years studying nothing but music. I was so done with things like Biology. But knowing my father, he'd never pay for it. So why even think about it? I shook my head. "Not just a music school, but maybe a school good with music anyway."
"Well, let's look at your file." She skimmed the contents of my previous transcripts, extracurricular activities, and general student record. "A freshman on varsity soccer... captain in your junior year... singing, orchestra, piano... This is all great, sweetheart. Let's take a look at your grades."
I almost wanted to pipe up and defend them, but I decided just to keep quiet.
"Your freshman year is a little weak, but your sophomore year is phenomenal," she said, her smile widening. "How are you doing this year?"
"Okay, I guess. I have a B in Biology." I shrugged.
She chuckled to herself lightheartedly. "Just okay? High standards, hmm?"
My father has high standards, I wanted to say, but I refrained.
"Your PSATs are great, too... This, young lady, is a great package. You have excellent extracurriculars, the test scores, and the grades. I'm going to suggest a few schools for you that, from my experience, would fit someone like you." She leaned over and began to scribble furiously on a pad of paper. When she had finished, she tore off the top page and handed it to me. "Tell me what you think, sweetheart."
At the top of the list were the words "Reaches: Yale, Brown." Underneath those were the words "Matches: NYU, Northwestern." And finally: "Safeties: SUNY Purchase, Rutgers."
"Yale?" I croaked weakly.
"What's wrong with Yale?" Mrs. Prescott asked in a syrupy voice. "The president went there."
"That just proves MY point," I said, expecting her to laugh. She didn't. "Not to be rude, Mrs. Prescott, but I don't think I'm really Yale material."
"Sweetheart, no one really knows until they apply. We'll expand upon this list, of course, and you have to start visiting schools right away-- Have you visited any yet? Most people start late sophomore year, you know." She wagged a finger at me reprovingly.
"I've visited Juilliard a dozen times, but that's because it's next to the opera," I said, clutching the paper list in my hand.
"Take some time over spring break to visit," she suggested, beginning to gather and put away my file. "Get to know your colleges, Elizabeth. You're a bright young lady with a bright future ahead of you." She reached out to shake my hand. I felt as if I'd just been given a sales pitch for the past fifteen minutes. I shook her hand, unable to meet her eyes. They were just too green to look at.
As I walked out, I saw Sean Winters had returned. He was slumped in a chair, and the guidance office secretary was staring at him disdainfully. His blue eyes were glued on me as I walked out of Mrs. Prescott's office.
"Back, are you?" I asked dryly.
"I need a second opinion," he snapped. He nodded towards Mrs. Prescott's door. "Where did the bitch tell YOU to apply?"
"Yale," I said nonchalantly.
"Don't talk to me. Just... don't talk to me," he choked.
I did what he said. I walked straight past him to the door without speaking. Unfortunately, my self-restraint wasn't great enough for me to resist sneaking a smile.
