Chapter 8: Twisted
(Wow, it's been a while! Here you go!)

I could barely concentrate in school that whole next week. I was constantly getting yelled at for spacing out in classes, and during P.E., I didn’t even notice volleyballs banging against my skull. My P.E. teacher sent me to the nurse, but the nurse couldn’t find anything wrong with me. Justine and Tom both begged me to tell them what was wrong, but I refused.

My new voice was, thankfully, not discovered in jazz choir on Wednesday. I had refused to sing because of a “sore throat” the past two days, but Mrs. Lankscoff surprised us with a quiz. Everyone else in the group just had to sing a scat solo. Justine and I were the exceptions; Mrs. Lankscoff wanted us to sing something from Phantom of the Opera, just a short excerpt. She was delighted with the fact that Justine was Christine, and she had yet to realize what had happened with my newly transformed vocal cords.

“I’m just tech,” I protested. “I don’t sing anything.”

“I’m making Hannah try out for my understudy,” Justine persisted.

“Please, Mrs. Lankscoff, don’t make me do this,” I pleaded.

“Why not?” Mrs. Lankscoff asked.

I heard several of my jazz choir companions echo the same question. I felt sick and faint, and I just shook my head. Mrs. Lankscoff sighed but let me off the hook, saying she wanted to hear me sing later. I was relieved. I wouldn’t have known how to explain if I had sang in front of the entire jazz choir with my strange, new voice. I carried on with my “sore throat” excuse for the rest of that week.

Every night that week, I heard singing in my head while I slept. It was beautiful but haunting, and I would continuously wake up scared and sweating. On Thursday night, I had the dream where I was dressed in a wedding dress again, and this time, I saw what was beyond the mirror: a figure in the shadows. So cliché…but at the same time, I wanted to know what came next.

On Friday, I could tell Tom had had enough. Justine was not around for lunch due to her Art Club meeting, so I sat alone. Well, I was alone until I saw Tom coming towards me. He was wearing a pair of glasses; he apparently had decided not to wear contacts lenses. He had gelled his light brown hair a little, I noticed. He watched me poking at my Caesar chicken salad, and when I looked up, his eyes were studying my face intently.

“Hannah.” His voice was soothing. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong,” I hastily replied, stabbing my fork into a lettuce leaf but not lifting it to my mouth.

“Hannah, there is something wrong!” Tom exclaimed, sounding furious.

“No, there isn’t!” I insisted, lying as carefully as I could.

I saw Tom’s fingers clenched into a tight fist, and I knew he wasn’t angrywith me. He was angry because of something else…

“You understand that I’m worried about you?” Tom asked.

“Yeah…?”

“You understand that I’ll kill whatever bastard dares to hurt you?”

In any normal circumstance, I would’ve laughed at this and cheered up, thinking he was joking, but this wasn’t a normal circumstance. I knew he was serious. I hung my head slightly, not caring that strands of my hair were getting into the salad dressing. At that moment, the bell rang, and I stood up, grabbing my backpack. I suddenly felt a hand on my wrist, but this time the hand was warm, not icy like Peter’s, and I relaxed. I turned to look up into Tom’s face.

“Meet me after school?” It was a request this time, not a command.

I nodded. He released my wrist and looked at me in concern before heading to his biology class. As he left, I was reminded of what the Phantom said after Raoul had met with Christine and sang “Little Lotte.” I laughed softly. Tom certainly wasn’t my suitor. Besides, there was no Phantom to be mad at him.

And yet, why was I hearing singing in my dreams? How did my voice get better? Was I going insane? I desperately tried to ignore these questions and walked to my next class, the buzz of mystery refusing to leave me alone.

I managed to stay alive during Algebra 2 and History, making sure that I wasn’t yelled at. As History let out, Justine, who was in my class, stopped me at the door. I smiled and walked with her.

“Rehearsal tomorrow,” Justine giggled. “I can’t wait.”

“Yeah, me neither,” I agreed half-heartedly.

“Are you trying out for my understudy or not?” Justine demanded.

“Um…”

“Yes.”

I stopped walking and looked around.

“Say yes.”

The voice kept whispering, telling me to say yes. I kept walking with Justine, trying my best to look like I was thinking instead of looking like I was going mad.

“Yeah, I’m trying out,” I eventually gave in.

“Yay!” Justine squealed, hugging me tightly and almost making me trip.

“Heh, yeah,” I choked out. “Look, Tom wants me to meet him after school. I’ll call you about the ride to rehearsal.”

“Awesome. Okay, I’ll see you.”

We went our separate ways, and I hurried towards the front of the school; our school was an inside school, with corridors and classes indoors, so it was nice to go into the courtyard and get a breath of fresh air. Tom was sitting on one of the benches, daydreaming, and I walked towards him. I grinned as I sat down, hoping to snap him out of it. Sure enough, he turned and looked at me.

“Hannah.”

“Tom.”

We both smiled, and Tom put his arm around my shoulders. I stared; he had never done that before. I moved closer to him, enjoying the feeling of his embrace. We sat there for a minute, and I became accustomed to Tom’s arm, like it had always been there. Soon, however, Tom was looking at me, his eyes filled with wonder and anxiety.

“Hannah, what’s been up lately? You’ve been really, um, strange,” Tom said.

I smiled. Tom didn’t have the best way with words sometimes.

“Nothing’s been happening, Tom,” I lied. “I’ve just been kind of out of it.”

“ ‘Out of it’ is a huge understatement in your case,” Tom argued, moving his arm away from my shoulders. “Something’s going on, and you’re not telling anyone.”

“Tom, please,” I begged, “I don’t even know what’s happening. Things are weird!”

“You don’t know what’s happening?” Tom repeated in disbelief.

“I need to go,” I stammered, standing up and grabbing my backpack.

“Hannah!”

“I’ll see you on Saturday,” I said hurriedly.

Before Tom could catch me, I ran to my car, got in, and drove away as fast as I could without killing anyone. I didn’t want Tom questioning me any longer; he’d have to wait until Saturday when he heard my newly extravagant singing. Then he could ask me. For now, I wanted to get home and try my best to forget my nightmare and the singing I heard in my sleep.

When I got home, I managed a quick hello to my mom before dashing upstairs. I shut the door after taping up a sign that said, “Do Not Disturb” and collapsed onto my bed. I stared up at the ceiling and concentrated on my breathing. I bit my lip several times; I didn’t even feel well, and my head was throbbing with slight pain.

I don’t know how long I lay there, but soon I fell asleep, and the singing went on. I woke up in a cold sweat, and when I checked the clock, it was 6:30 PM. Mom was probably making dinner right now; I almost wished she had woken me up earlier, but Mom never disturbed me when I slept. I sighed and got up from the bed. I brushed my tousled hair and grimaced at my reflection, glad that the wedding dress image was not in the mirror.

I went downstairs, walking slowly. Mom was humming and making a salad. That’s when I stared. A salad. Not any microwave dinner but a salad. Pasta was boiling in a pot, and tomato sauce was already in a bowl. I grinned and walked over.

“You found someone, Mom?” I asked.

Mom laughed and tossed the salad. She turned and kissed me on the forehead.

“You’ll really like him,” she said. “His name is Nathaniel, or Nate, and he’s taking me to dinner tomorrow.” She grinned. “I’m that predictable when it comes to men, huh?”

“Well, you weren’t defrosting a casserole,” I pointed out.

“True,” Mom smiled. “Can you be a darling and set the table?”

“Sure thing, Mom.” In no way was I going to spoil her mood. “Move a little so I can get to the silverware.”

As we ate, I tried to forget my worries and talked with my mom happily. The spaghetti was delicious, and I had three helpings (high metabolism helps). Mom then headed off to watch a little TV, and I started on my weekend homework. As I worked on math, thoughts of the dreams, singing, and the play filled my mind, so I tried my hardest to concentrate on x67.8 rounded to the nearest tenth.

The next morning, I dreaded the rehearsal. I took as long as I possibly could getting dressed, doing my hair, and putting on jewelry. I then slowly ate my breakfast and slowly went through the morning. But before I knew it, my mom was driving Justine and me to rehearsal after lunch. Justine was very excited about the understudy tryouts; I wasn’t. Strange, seeing how I was the one trying out, not Justine.

Justine said, “You are gonna be so awesome! I know you had a sore throat and all, but you’ll still be great.”

Mom looked at me from the driver’s seat. “You had a sore throat?”

“Um, yeah, a little,” I lied quickly. “It hurt when I stressed my vocal chords. I’m better now.”

I heard Mom cluck her tongue. “Honestly…you girls need to learn that tea is the best thing for sore throats. I could’ve made you some, Hannah.”

I sighed and pressed my forehead to the window, trying hard to keep my heart in my chest instead of my mouth. Everyone was going to wonder about my voice and how it changed. What was I going to say? As Justine chattered away happily with my mom about some pop singer, I tried to come up with some excuses.

Voice lessons? Nah, I’d never thought of taking them. Even Justine knew that.

Practice? Maybe. I did sing in front of the mirror a lot. Maybe I could say it just happened while I sang; it was kind of like finding your vibrato on a stringed instrument.

Mom dropped us off at the front of the theater, and Justine and I climbed out. Justine hurried ahead, but I shoved my hands in my jean pockets and looked around. The theater, which usually felt like a mother welcoming a small child home, now had a forbidding shadow, a voice saying “Do Not Enter”. The smile of the theater walls had become a frown; the brown paint seemed darker. I shuddered and hustled after Justine, hoping that this was all in my head and that I was purely afraid of everything because I was so nervous.

When I went in, the shadows disappeared in the light of the smiles and laughter of the cast. Anna and Kyle were busy cuddling, and I hoped they wouldn’t start making out. Justine was already chattering to Lindsey, who appeared to hanging on to every word Justine was saying. As I spotted the other cast members, my eyes lit on the stage, and goose-bumps rose along my arms. Peter, surrounded by chorus girls, was sitting on the edge of the stage, talking and gesturing gallantly. The girls occasionally giggled and whispered to each other. Tom and the other techs watched them, and Tom’s expression was unreadable, except for his scowl. I could guess that he did not like Peter or his popularity.

Peter’s eyes suddenly locked with mine, and he finished up what he was saying. He then leaped off the stage and walked towards me. He smiled, and I suddenly felt cold. For some reason, this wasn’t an uncomfortable cold; I actually enjoyed the chill this time, and I smiled back timidly. To my surprise, he ran a few fingers through my hair, his smile widening as his cold fingers brushed my cheek.

“My Angel of Music,” he said, loudly enough for the chorus girls and tech crewmembers to hear. I didn’t bother to listen to the grumbles from the girls. Peter then asked me. “Are you ready?”

“Of course,” I replied with as much courage as I could muster.

The clock showed five minutes to starting time. The cast was starting to sit on the edge of the stage. Peter, to my surprise, put his arm around my waist and escorted me there; we sat near Anna, Kyle, Justine, Tom, and a few others. Jeff, one of the others, smirked at Peter.

“Good thing you have that scar, Petey,” he sneered, “so we don’t have to apply as much makeup.”

Some chorus girls overheard and gasped. Anna’s lips pressed together and turned pale; Justine looked worried. Peter, however, merely hugged me somewhat tighter to him, and he smiled cheerfully at Jeff. Jeff’s smirk was beginning to thin, and he resembled a cat about to be denied a meal.

“It is considerably an advantage, of course,” he replied, laughing. His eyes sparkled with something that seemed malicious. “Oh, and by the way, Andre…” He cleared his throat and mimicked Jeff’s voice mockingly. “‘But the dancing was a lamentable mess!’”

I giggled loudly as Jeff’s face became confused; his smirk was definitely gone for good. As we laughed a little at Jeff’s face and grinned at Peter, Kendra stepped forward and clapped her hands. We all fell silent, and Peter’s arm did not move from its possessive position on my waist.

“Those who would like to try out for understudies,” she announced, “come down.”