Happy new year ladies and ladles and lads! Enjoy!
- Blaire -
"Sick costume," Julio says, dry as a bone, when I reach him at the bus stop.
"Thank you, Jules, I worked really hard on it," I say sweetly.
I've gotten really into sewing recently, which is rapidly expanding to crocheting and knitting, and I dusted off Mom's old sewing machine to turn an old blue blanket into a long mermaid tail. A few hours of cutting up pieces of reflective green plastic, trying and failing to glue them to the fabric, then forcing my needle through the plastic later, I had a damn good mermaid tail.
I think if I tried to wear a seashell bra to school, Mr. B would spin kick me so hard that my wheelchair would rocket down the street, so instead I go with a cute, turquoisey-green sequined shirt that I excavated from Belle's closet. I'm not really a thief, she just has so many clothes that it's becoming a fire hazard. And she doesn't even wear half of them; this shirt particularly is actually cut to fit a human woman, lying just off my shoulders and falling in layers over my collarbone, not the baggy swathes of fabric that she's favouring lately. I usually leave my hair in its au naturel afro, and today added a little blue headband with a couple of plastic starfish glued on.
Julio's stunning costume appears to be 'black hoodie with completely faded white graphic designs and dark skinny jeans,' which is to say, he didn't dress up. At least he looks dressed for the weather, if not for Hallowe'en. I've seen him sweat like a pig in those hoodies in July just because he refuses anything even slightly more form-fitting or short-sleeved.
The day is pretty much what you'd expect from high school teachers and Hallowe'en. Ms. Erikkson has a bag of jujubes that she hands out to the class for answering her as she quizzes us on the trenches and World War One, and Mr. A is wearing a truly atrocious acid-green tie patterned with candy corn and smiling pumpkins, but other than that, it's business as usual at St. Erin's.
Julio and I find our usual cafeteria table after second period, and I empty my lunch box across the table. Julio's ears practically perk up at the crinkle of cellophane as a couple of fun-sized pieces of chocolate drop out. I thought it prudent to add a handful from the candy bowl that my mom's been stocking for the past week to the lunch she made—Yes, she still packs my lunch for me. It's up to me to make sure I'm getting all the food groups, though; licorice, chocolate, caramel, and… gummy.
"Take the coffee crisps, I hate 'em," I announce, flicking the yellow-wrapped chocolate over to his side of the ever-so-slightly-sticky gray cafeteria table.
"Why do you pack them if you hate them?" he grumbles.
I roll my eyes. Why do you think, you giant dork? His sister's the one with the raging caffeine addiction, but I know he's got a taste for coffee in chocolate form. I snack on my twizzlers silently, then move onto the egg salad sandwich.
"Mom got a girlfriend," Julio comments. "Or at least, decided it was getting serious enough to tell us about her."
"Thought she'd be too busy at the hospital." It's not as weird as it sounds for us to be chatting about Julio's mom. Mrs. Cuerves is one of the single nicest people I've ever met, and when my spina bifida suddenly shut off all movement in my legs and Mom was first freaking out about my condition, the fact that my best friend's mom was an orthopaedic surgeon came in handy for calming her nerves. I wasn't complaining about Mom suddenly bringing me over to their house more often; I'd catapult Julio directly to whatever wolves downtown Toronto has to offer for some of Mrs. Cuerves's butterscotch brownies.
"She met her at the hospital," Julio answers, shaking his head. "So I don't think there's a chance in hell of us meeting her, just given the… scheduling."
Mrs. Cuerves is also one of the most overworked people I've met, and I can see it in Mel, Leandro, and Julio's relationship. Their mom is a saint, unquestionably, but a single parent working as a full-time surgeon means they practically raised themselves and each other. Trust me, I've heard plenty about Mel's overbearingly-mother-ish habits and how she treated Belle more like a little kid than her girlfriend during Belle's week-long ice cream depression last summer.
That was better than when she started sobbing about how Mel was the love of her life and Literally Perfect (despite the previously listed flaws). And look, I'm not unsympathetic to Belle's plight; she's not naturally dramatic so it was obvious enough she took the break up really hard, but once you're cleaning snot off your pillow because your sister insists your bed is more comfortable than hers, you can talk to me about not being sympathetic enough.
"Looking forward to rehearsal?" I ask as we start packing up our stuff.
Julio shrugs. Liar. I know he's having fun with the play.
"I don't think I'm even called for a scene," he huffs. "Just music."
"Ooh, yeah, we're starting stage combat, aren't we? D'you think Mr. A has any idea how to stage a fight for a wheelchair-user?"
"Hell if I know," Julio snorts, then adds, "Probably not."
We'll see.
"I'm not sure how to stage a fight for a wheelchair-user," Mr. A tells me as I arrive for rehearsal.
Welp.
"But once we've run through it with Bruno a couple times, we'll get you up there and see what you can do, okay?" I purse my lips, but then thank him anyway. At least I get to be Toby today. "Cool costume, Blaire."
I watch from the first row of chairs as Mr. A gets Moiz, Bruno, and Baru onstage and starts showing Baru how to stage-slap his older brother. I watch, chuckling to myself at the discrepancy between my brother and Moiz and Baru's heights. Neither of the Tandon brothers are more than five and half feet tall, and Bruno looms over them like a scowling tree. I'm probably going to be closer to their height onstage in my chair.
Finally, Mr. A finishes with Bruno and waves me up. I practically whiz to my spot between Moiz and Baru, rubbing my hands together to get them warmed up for slapping. Toby doesn't slap either of them, but… y'know. Gotta be ready for anything.
As Mr. A regards me onstage from his favourite spot, a power-stance in front of the stage with his fingers buried thoughtfully in his goatee, his eyes begin to twinkle. "Alright, Blaire, I have a bit of an idea. Let me know what you're okay with and what you're not, eh?"
I eye him somewhat warily.
"Sir Toby has a sword in this scene and Sebastian has a dagger," Mr. A begins, gesturing to Moiz. "So I'm thinking that if you end up taking over for Bruno for any of our shows, when you say…" He pauses and flips through his script. "'I must have an ounce or two of this malapert blood from you,' and you and Sebastian start to fight, I'm thinking you and Moiz cross 'blades' once—you'll be trying with wooden ones today but you'll have metal props for the show—and then Sebastian realizes he's out of his depth and starts running around the stage. Blaire, you chase him."
Then he grabs a wooden sword that's more like a big dowel stuck to a hilt and passes it up to me.
"Chase him?" I repeat, giving the sword a few practices whicks. "Hm… I think I could manage that."
Mr. A claps. "Then let's try it!"
Moiz swallows. I grin and brandish my new weapon.
- Leandro -
"There's still time to get a costume!" I exclaim as I check the time—4:29. Mr. A had us in the email as called for five o'clock, and Haze lives kind of far from St. Erin's so we just hung out for an hour. We still have a half hour to kill, and she is very resistant to my proposal that we use it to get her a costume.
We step out of the 7-Eleven and into the October chill, me with my peanuts and Haze with her green apple hard candies. She's had an addiction to them for longer than I can remember—always smells a bit like them, always has one in the pocket of her fleece sweater, and apparently prefers the overpriced sleeves of them to all the other discounted Hallowe'en candy. At least it makes gift-shopping easy. Christmas is coming! I suddenly remember. My favourite time of year. I've been saving up for months.
"You're worse than Julio," I sigh as Haze burrows deeper into her scarves.
"At least I'm not going around telling everyone I'm dressed up as a high school student," she groans, hopping along a little faster like she's getting colder. "I just didn't have time this year."
"All work and no play makes Haze a dull hermit crab."
An elbow shoots out of her scarf-fort and I dodge back, nearly tripping over the curb as we step into the parking lot.
I shake my head. "You gotta lighten up sometimes, man."
"I—" She freezes suddenly, tilting her head up. It's almost sunset, I realize; autumn's shortening days always creep up on me. The whites of her eyes are bright in the low light as they widen. "It's snowing."
"Huh?" I look up and catch a snowflake in the eye. "Hey. It is!" The sheets of white drift and spiral toward us, one of those nothing-and-then-suddenly-WHAM-blizzard snowfalls.
Haiza laughs. Snowflakes land on her hijab, lashes, and brown cheeks, then melt a moment later. The sound of her laugh is so warm and infectious that I find myself laughing too. Then I put on a deep voice and croon,
"I'm dreamiiiiing, of a white Hallowe'en." I grab her hands, outstretched to feel the snow even in the cold air, and spin her around in a waltz. She's giggling too hard to keep her balance as I wheel us in circles in the 7-Eleven parking lot. Her breath is a puff of white, green-apple-scented steam in the air between us.
"Glad I won't be trick-or-treating," she says as we slow to a sway. I should let go now, probably. Her hands are freezing, as I expected, each silvery ring like liquid nitrogen against my hands. The thick, ex-spoon ring I bought her last year for her birthday is almost heavy in my palm. I'd planned to give it to her on one knee as a joke and chickened out at the last second.
"So practical. You're allowed to have fun," I remind her.
Haze half-smiles, then notices how we're not even moving anymore, just huddling together and holding hands like nerds, and pulls away. I pretend to wipe my hands on my pants and laugh it off, trying not to think about how they're tingling a bit.
"Clammy," I joke.
"They are not!" She's outraged, then laughs. "I have cold hands, but they're dry, thank you very much." Her laughter fades, and she shakes her head at me. A snowflake lands on her nose and it's gone before I can wonder if I'd get away with brushing it off. "We're gonna be late."
"Oh gosh!" I check my phone and clutch my puffy-coat-covered-chest. "We might only get there twenty minutes early if we leave right now!"
She rolls her eyes at me and the moment's past. We set off down the slightly-snowier street toward St. Erin's and I stuff my hands in my pockets to avoid thinking about how they're still tingling, just a little.
Freddy's waiting for us when we stroll into rehearsal.
"The newlyweds!" he trills as we walk up the stairs of the stage.
"Alright, folks, I don't want to keep you guys too long but I really wanted to make sure we nail this scene," Mr. A announces, already holding up his hand to silence Freddy's joke about what else we'll be nailing. "Freddy, I recorded Ms. Cary's accompaniment so if you're comfortable, I'd really like for you to try singing."
That should settle him down, I think, and sure enough, his expression sobers like he's preparing for war. Haiza also looks grim. At least you don't have to sing. Which she should chill about, because she has a really good voice. As long as she's just singing something quietly to herself and not in front of anyone.
"Act two, scene four, right?" I ask, flipping through my loose pages. Damn, I forgot to reorder them last night.
"Leandro, do you know the lines?"
I jerk my head up. "What? Of course." The sites with memorization tips had enough of the same jokes about directors coming at you with a stick for not remembering your lines that I'm assuming violence is a well-known punishment for lazy line-learning.
"Then put down the script," Mr. A instructs, coming to the stage to take it from me.
I crouch and hand it over, but new anxiety flickers in my stomach. Even though I do know the lines, I found the script really useful to stare down meaningfully at it when Haze's voice does that little shake she gives it on her sad lines, or the look in her eye is a little too real. Now I've got no pages to fiddle with. I crack my knuckles. Okay, cool, we'll just make intense eye contact and I'll start crying in the middle of one of her monologues because I am a gigantic weenie and then…
"Alright, go for it," Mr. A says, and assumes his wide-legged stance and look of scrutiny.
"Give me some music, now," I begin. "Good morrow, friends. Now, good Cesario, but that piece of song—that old and antique song we heard last night. Methought it did relieve my passion much, more than light airs and recollected terms, of these most brisk and giddy-paced times: Come, but one verse."
"He is not here, so please your lordship, that should sing it," Mr. A reads.
Who's going to be playing Curio in the show? I mentally swat myself. Focus, Leandro. "Who was it?"
Mr. A answers me, then pretends to exit. I turn to Haze and gulp down my nerves. Now what am I supposed to do with my hands?
"Come hither, boy." I gesture grandly, feeling the same loosening of anxiety that I get once the scene really starts. Just me and the weird English. And Haiza, looking wide-eyed and uncertain as she moves toward me. Damn, she's a good actor. "If ever thou shalt love, in the sweet pangs of it, remember me. For such as I am, all true lovers are. Unstaid and skittish in all motions else save in the constant image of the creature that is beloved." I've mouthed the words enough times that the muscle memory is what carries me through the unfamiliar syntax. This time though, my voice is a little softer than it was when I practiced between classes. "How dost thou like this tune?"
Haiza does that thing where, like it's a new person is standing in her skin. She raises her chin a little and shrugs with one shoulder. "It gives a very echo to the seat where love is throned."
"Thou dost speak masterly," I rasp, then try to put that playful tone in my voice. "My life upon 't, young though thou art, thine eye hath stay'd upon some favor that it loves. Hath it not, boy?"
And as Haiza tilts her head with a shy smile, her silvery-blue scarf shifting and scattering the last un-melted snowflakes, I think, Yeah, my eye's stayed on a favour or something too, Cesario. Me too.
- Ivette -
"Uh… love child of Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn?"
"No, Shego, goddamnit! Didn't you watch Kim Possible as a kid?" I sigh and lean back against one of the tables, then pull out my phone and open it to the picture I've had to show half of everyone today.
Izzie squints. "Hmm. And what are you, Moiz?"
"Dr. Drakken, the other villain," Moiz groans, and pulls out his phone as well.
Apparently not everyone watched Kim Possible as a kid, but I still think we look dope. Moiz's little stitched black scar make-up got a bit smudged, and I've had to periodically fix my single black lip because I keep pressing my lips together and ruining it, but the best costumes require a little… maintenance, don't they?
We're kicking it in the tech booth because Mr. A wanted to see the tech crew after rehearsal and Moiz is driving himself and Haiza home. Baru's waiting for them too, but even when his brother invited him up to the tech booth, he stalked off on his own. I figured I'd stick around with Moiz and my tech friends too for the last half hour that rehearsal's running. Which makes us a group of Moiz, me, Izzie, the new girl Heloise and also…
"Bellona knows who I am, eh?" I've been trying to figure out a subtle way to include the girl in the corner in our conversations for the last fifteen minutes. Now is the time for giving up on subtlety.
"Belle," she corrects automatically, then looks up. Her dark gaze skitters off mine and lands on Moiz. "Cool costume, man."
"Thanks!" Moiz shoots me a meaningful look.
I smile innocently enough. "What, you don't like mine?"
Belle almost seems to be gritting her teeth and she very deliberately looks me over. I didn't intentionally do 'sexy Shego' but a stick-thin cartoon character in latex and the considerably heavier-me in latex give somewhat different vibes. I think I look hot, and maybe there's a little part of me that hopes Belle agrees. If she does, though, she doesn't say so.
"Yeah, it's good." Then she goes back to pointedly ignoring us.
"God, I feel like I should stage an intervention," Moiz comments as he drifts to watch the action onstage from the window-wall in the booth.
Freddy's mournful voice rings, muffled, in the auditorium, and even from my perch on the table on the other side of the booth, I can see that Haiza and Leandro are on either sides of the stage, staring at each other.
"Freddy said the same thing to me last week," Izzie says, peeling herself off the wall to join Moiz at the window. "You think they'll ever get it together?"
"Who?" Heloise, the new girl pipes up. She doesn't talk much, especially not when Mel's around, but I figure it's hard to adjust to a new high school in a new country. I'd probably be kind of shy too.
Izzie gestures to them. "The two that aren't singing. Mel's younger brother Leandro, and Moiz's younger sister. They've been best friends…" Izzie glances at Moiz.
"Forever, basically." Moiz's lips twitch into a wry grin. "Dunno why no one called him a queer in elementary school for being friends with girls."
"'Cause he could deck 'em," Heloise says wisely, eyeing Leandro's silhouette.
I burst out in laughter. "Leandro? Hell no, he's like a giant cuddly teddy bear."
"Himbo," Moiz volunteers. "Giant himbo. The definition of it. Yeah, he wouldn't hurt a fly. But no, him and my sister've been silently obsessed with each other for like, a decade, I think?"
Heloise looks around the tech booth to see us all nodding, and her blue eyes widen. "Why doesn't anyone…" She blushes and shrugs. "You know, give them a little push. Try to get them to figure it out."
Moiz holds up three fingers. "Grade seven, asked Leandro to the Hallowe'en dance on her behalf. They went as friends. Grade nine. Told Haze that Leandro was one hundred percent into her. She said I was teasing and didn't talk to me for a week. Yesterday, told her that if she didn't fess up to being in love with him by the last show, I'd do it myself."
Heloise is stunned.
I'm not surprised her suggestion provoked that little tirade from Moiz though; when his own romantic aspirations were tragically dashed by his impossibly high standards (no man alive is well groomed, into D&D, and as obsessed with the Arctic Monkeys as he is) he made it his goal in high school to get his sister and her best friend together. Also a fruitless endeavour.
Then Heloise shrugs. "Right, then I guess we've only gotta wait a couple of months."
I grin and hop off the table, moving over to lean against the wall next to Heloise. "How're you finding St. Erin's? Everyone nice?"
"Oh!" She blushes again. "Yeah, everyone's been… been great."
Belle looks up and frowns at me. I cock my head. Is she jealous? Ah, damn, does she have a thing for the new girl?
I size up Heloise suddenly. Her round cheeks are still faintly red, and she looks a little deer-in-the-headlights as I give her a once over. She's wearing a skirt and long socks like an anime girl or something. Cat girl, I guess, since she put on a little cat-ear-headband today for Hallowe'en. I wonder if Belle likes that. Well, fuck, I'm out of luck in that case. I'd prefer a firing squad. As my eyes travel up, I spot something on her hand. Is that a tattoo?
Before I can think that this is definitely going to give multiple people the wrong impression, I reach out and take her hand to inspect it more closely. "Huh. You write on your hand?"
She turns from flushed-pink to tomato-red and snatches her hand back. I open my hand instinctively, already apologizing. "Yeah. It's how I… how I remember stuff."
"What about that notebook?" I motion to the one halfway out of her pink backpack.
In a surprisingly swift motion, she crams it back into her bag and zips it tight like she thinks I'm going to make a grab for it. "Nothing!"
"Ooookay." I shrug and back up a little. "Sorry. How's tech crew?"
"Good," she squeaks.
"Uh… and how's Mel? I've heard she's scary…?" I do that little circular motion with my chin, trying to get her to chill a little. Daphne and Izzie immediately made it their mission to make her welcome, and I gotta support my girls or whatever, so I want to make her feel welcome too. Apparently I'm scaring the piss out of her, but it's the thought that counts.
"She's…" Heloise's throat bobs as she swallows. "Er, she's… very…"
Ah. I've seen that look before. I shoot a knowing look at Belle, who shrugs as if to say What can you do?
"Mel likes you," Izzie volunteers, apparently bored with studying Leandro and Haiza's snail-paced romance. "She told me. Says she thinks you're the most normal person on tech crew."
I think I detect a hint of indignation from Belle, but I grin at Heloise. "Ay! That's good news, eh?"
Heloise flames brighter.
Mmkay. I turn back to Moiz. "When's rehearsal over?"
He checks his watch. "We got another half hour of suffering."
I turn back to Belle. "How shall we entertain ourselves?"
"We shan't do anything," she answers, already engrossed in something on her phone. "Can't find a heart to break, ladykiller?"
The flippant question makes me wanna bare my teeth like an animal, but I manage to resist, and instead frown. "Don't call me that." Then to alleviate some of the tension, add, "Only for close friends." And I elbow Moiz.
But when I look back at her, Belle's looking back up at me, not uncomfortable, just silently contemplative. I freeze for a second, staring in a very not-obvious way, then clear my throat.
"Right, shall we start betting on how long it takes for Haizandro to sail?"
- Haiza -
I was actually starting to reconsider my assessment of 'turbofucked.' It seemed a little hyperbolic; I've been in love with Leandro for long enough that I've adjusted to moments of intense heartache, I love Twelfth Night, and I got a main role. If I should be both dreading it and ecstatic, they should cancel each other out, right?
Noooope. It's not a cancelled out feeling, more like shooting up both emotions in their purest forms. Like the feeling of getting up really early, or staying up really late, or speed-reading books for a day, or…
Or, I don't know, being in love with your best friend.
Plus he looks unfairly good as a pirate. Which isn't my main problem at the moment, but like, damn, he can rock the gold earring.
Nope, my main problem is actually Freddy's inexplicably heavenly voice and the four minutes of eye contact I'm apparently expected to hold.
"Alright, stop!" Mr. A calls, pausing his recording of Ms. Cary's piano and halting Freddy mid-lyric. "This is kind of a long time to go just standing around, eh?"
"Definitely," I say immediately, relieved. Will he cut it down a bit? Maybe we could do some cool staging where… we're not looking at each other. Or near each other.
"Would you guys feel comfortable dancing with each other?"
Well, fuck. "Uh… dancing?"
Mr. A raises an eyebrow. "Yes? No? What do you think?"
"Haze's hands are freezing cold," Leandro tells Mr. A, grinning. "But I can. I mean, we can. I mean, Haze, do you mind? A little waltzing between friends?"
And with that friggin glowing smile trained on me, I'm really not at fault for what comes out of my mouth. "Yeah, of course."
Which is how I end up waltzing with Lee for the second time in one day, my heart still thumping hard enough that he should be able to see the blood rushing through my cheeks, or at least hear it pounding away. I hope he thinks the way I glance down and duck my head when I step on his foot is because that's how I'm playing the character.
"You think Orsino's into Cesario by now?" I whisper to Leandro, just to do something other than alternate between staring at him and staring at my feet.
"Definitely," Leandro says, a hint of a laugh in his voice. Still, his face is almost serious as he looks down at me. Stupid tall handsome idiot pirate. "Man's the big gay. Bi. Well, attracted to you. I mean, you know, Cesario. Or Viola. Fuck, Shakespeare liked to mess with people's heads, didn't he?"
"He sure did." I smile, thinking of the As You Like It situation. Lee grins his crooked little grin as well.
I realize about a minute later that Freddy is fully done singing and we are now staring at each other in an almost-empty auditorium. Great. Whose line is it?
Hardly missing a beat, other than the several that we just did, Leandro mimes pulling out his wallet.
"There's for thy pains."
Freddy's shit-eating grin as he swoops past me to pretend to take Lee's offered bills makes me redder, if that's possible. "No pains, sir. I take pleasure in singing, sir."
Leandro glances back at me like he's making sure I'm still there, then looks at Freddy. "Right, um, I'll pay thy pleasure then."
"Truly, sir," Freddy sketches a bow, then adds with an altogether-too-knowing smirk, "and pleasure will be paid, one time or another."
I wonder if Baru got the insufferableness from him, I think faintly as Freddy moseys offstage.
"Okay guys, sorry to cut you short, but tech's expecting me to go update 'em," Mr. A announces. "Lee, Haiza, are you guys good with the dancing?"
I nod faintly.
"Right! Then that's everything. Run your lines if there was anything you were shaky on today, practice your music—it's sounding great, though, Freddy, just terrific—and I'll see you guys next week! Happy Hallowe'en," Mr. A says, waving to us as we hop down from the stage and collect our backpacks. "And here's your script, Leandro. By the way, that little starstruck stare after the song is a great touch. Really funny."
Leandro's mouth moves like he's not sure what to say, then just gives the theatre teacher a nod. "Yeah. Right. Thanks, Mr. A."
Moiz offers Leandro a lift to his block as we all pile into our parents' old Honda. Baru seems unusually quiet, and Moiz fills the air with a recap of everyone's reactions to his and Ivy's 'couple' costume. Lee hops out, and I watch him lope up to his porch, lit by the hazy light in darkness like an angel, as Moiz pulls away from the side of the road again, taking us back home.
"Given anymore thought to what I said?" Moiz glances at me in the rearview mirror.
"Huh?"
"About telling him."
"About telling…" I trail off and the faint memory of Moiz knocking down my bedroom door, insisting that I confess every stupid thought in my head to Lee resurfaces. Ah. "Hell, no. I'm fine with being friends with him, alright?"
"Chill, Mo," Baru says. I shoot him a surprised look; usually he'd be first in line to make fun of my embarrassingly obvious crush.
Moiz shrugs. "Mmkay. I'm serious though, I'll tell him."
I glower.
"Oookay, change of subject. Did you guys listen to that Twelfth Night musical that Daphne showed Mr. A?"
"Musical?" Baru wrinkles his nose. "Gay."
Moiz rolls his eyes.
"No," I answer, ignoring Baru. "Not yet."
Moiz shrugs again. "S'pretty good."
Half an hour later I'm lying on my bed, silently sobbing as Is This Not Love soars in my headphones.
I'm not really a musical person, not unless you count Shakespeare's more musically endowed plays. But after enjoying the accuracy to the source material of the first few songs on the soundtrack while washing dishes, I started to make an exception for this musical and then…
After just hearing the opening lyrics of I can tell you anything, my friend, except how I feel about you, I decided I might need to sit down and listen to this particular song uninterrupted.
Is this not love? Is this not love that I feel for you? I press my quivering lips together as more tears spill over. I find myself mouthing along as the woman on the soundtrack says My father had a daughter loved a man, and then start crying in earnest as the next chorus begins, the singer's voice heartbreakingly sweet and strong as she sings of love for a friend.
Will I risk it all, lay bare my heart, and say it, baby? Oh, I gotta say it, baby. Is this not love?
I'm still crying as the next song starts.
Thank you for reading! Please leave me a review, and have an awesome 2021!
~Akila
