Face the Curtain with a Bow

Six - Fallout

Scott approached the choir room door, stopping to take a deep breath before opening the door and going in.

There were only about ten other students in the room, four of them being Kevin, Kirstie, Avi, and Mitch huddled on the risers and talking. They glanced up to see who had entered, and upon taking a look at Scott’s face, they all exclaimed in nearly perfect unison: “Oh, my God!”

Yeah, he looked like a total mess. After he came home and told his parents about the “mugging” the previous night, they had helped him tend to his major wounds: a black eye, a set of deep scratch marks on his left cheek and neck, and a giant bruise on the lower right side of his stomach that he couldn’t really do much about. He had gotten more than his fair share of stares in his classes and in the hallway, and a fair share of smirks from the people who knew the real story and were siding with the guys. Fuck the people at this school. And his face looked like a Picasso painting.

“Scott! Are you okay?” Kirstie shrieked, jumping up and running over to him quick as a flash, and the others stood to join her. She took his face in her hands with motherly concern. “What happened?”

He just shook his head slightly, and she moved her hands away. “It’s okay, guys, I’m totally fine. I got mugged on the way home from work last night.”

Kirstie gasped, and the boys gave him pitiful looks. “They beat you up pretty bad, huh?” Kevin noted. “How much did you have in your wallet?”

“Not a lot. Maybe $15. They didn’t even take my phone, but they took my license. The state’s sending me a new one next week,” he replied, reciting the lies he’d rehearsed about the event. This version of the lie wasn’t the one he initially told his parents; since it would be a waste to replace a license he never lost, he just told them he (conveniently) left his wallet at home that night.

“They ripped you a new one and they didn’t even take your phone?” Avi asked in disbelief, and Scott shook his head. “Well, hey, could’ve been worse. Glad you’re okay, man,” he said, clapping Scott on the shoulder reassuringly.

The bell rang, and the five of them took their places on the risers as Mr. Kalter came into the room carrying a stack of folders. “Happy Friday, folks! Let’s stand and warm up in concert formation,” he announced, putting the folders on top of the piano and pushing it a little closer to the center of the room. He played a chord and held it, scanning the students’ faces. “Anyone absent?”

“Todrick’s not here,” said a girl in the soprano section. Todrick was a tenor, but Scott hadn’t talked to him before.

“Thanks, Tori,” Mr. Kalter said, and his eyes fell on Scott and his screwed-up face. He raised a concerned eyebrow.

“You okay?” he mouthed silently to him.

Scott nodded, forcing a slight smile. He didn’t need to know all the shit that was happening.

Mr. Kalter didn’t look too convinced but carried on anyway, playing the chord again and taking the class through vocal warm-ups like normal. Scott’s voice sounded better than normal today, and he just focused on the technique tips he’d been given the past week: stand up straight, breathe deep, lift the soft palate (whatever that meant), and use the core. Who knew singing was so complicated?

They started on a couple new songs that period, a really cool South Indian song called “Balleilakka” and a slow, pretty song called “I Am Not Yours.” Although it wasn’t the style of music he was used to, Scott loved it and he immersed himself in it. His music-reading skills weren’t that great, but he could manage it. Kevin helped him out a lot with their voice part, and once he’d explain it to Scott, he’d have it down almost right away. He reassured him that he’d improve with time.