Page 15 of Disharmony

five

Ash

The sun slipping through the thin curtains wakes me instantly. Wait, what? It takes a few seconds to remember where I am. Across the cabin, Cookie is snoring under a pile of bright blankets, which blend perfectly with her hair. Out of all the people I could have been paired with, I’ve struck gold to be sharing with someone so down-to-earth. I’d never survive living in a small space with someone as high maintenance as Tiffany or one of her simpering cronies.

I tiptoe into our adjoining bathroom as quietly as I can. Our cabin isn’t like the luxury models across the lake, but the shower still beats the one back home. It’s also fully stocked with amazing peach-smelling shampoo as an added bonus. I let out a small sigh as I step under the hot water and process what happened yesterday.

It passed in a whirlwind, and I crashed early because of pure exhaustion. After Jacqueline’s big reveal about the Lionhearts being mentors, the first person I wanted to call and tell was Brick. He’d never admit it, but he’s a secret fan of theirs. He’ll lose his shit when he finds out I might be able to get him an autograph. But I can’t call him. Not yet.

My stomach churns when I think about Brick telling me he loved me. Damn it, I care about him more than anyone. As much as I want to be able to flick a switch in my head to make me feel the same, I can’t. Where can we go from here?

“Get a move on.” Cookie knocks on the bathroom door to pull me back to the present. “We got our schedules!”

I grab a towel and wrap it around me, yelling back, “I’ll be right out.”

When I return, she passes over an envelope that someone had pushed underneath our door. As everyone has different specialties and areas of focus, every camper has their own personalized program. Unluckily for me as a vocalist, that means I’ll spend the majority of my classes with Tiffany and the Lockets.

“How is yours looking?” Cookie peers over my shoulder at the paper. “Ouch! Singing with McCallister at nine a.m.”

“Who’s McCallister?” I ask. Compared to the dance classes scheduled for the afternoon, singing sounds more appealing.

“McCallister is the singing coach. He is tough. His workshops have a reputation for being like a drill practice, plus he’s not a morning person,” Cookie explains. “If I were you, I’d get over to the mess hall to eat and make sure you’re not late. Breakfast is served everyday between six and ten, but McCallister always shows up early.”

“Thanks for the heads-up,” I say, already quickly pulling on my clothes and scraping my wet hair into a ponytail. I have to make a good impression. “Don’t you have a class to get to?”

“Me?” Cookie yawns and climbs back into bed. “I have creative reflection scheduled this morning.”

“Sounds like BS to me,” I grumble.

“Oh, it is.” She tucks her hands behind her head and grins smugly. “Sleep really fires up my muse, what can I say?”

“Wish me luck,” I grimace. “Sounds like I’ll need it.”

“You’ll do great,” she insists. “We’ve all heard you sing, remember? Go out there and rock it.”

Everyone may have heard me sing, but they don’t know that it’s not my preferred style. If I’m singing metal, I can belt out a song any hour of the day, but pop? That’s a whole other story.

* * *

After eating, I instantly regret approaching it like an Olympic sport. Shoveling down every delicious morsel would give me less control of my diaphragm. Hopefully, I’ll be able to get through the class.

I set off and am relieved that Cookie gave me a warning about McCallister. Even though I’m at the studio ten minutes before class starts, there’s already a line, and I’m last to arrive.

Tiffany stands with two of her bandmates at the front of the line. They are all wearing T-shirts emblazoned with the wordLocketsand a golden foiled lock logo. Original. All of them are carrying designer purses and have a full face of makeup. Maybe throwing on the first clothes I laid my hands on and running straight from the shower hadn’t been the best idea. Clearly, this isn’t the same as a normal high school class. Does everyone have to look ready for a photoshoot at a moment’s notice?

“Morning, Ashley.” Tiffany wiggles her fingers. Her tone is anything but friendly. She whispers to someone else, and they burst out laughing while eying the battered pair of Vans on my feet. “Why don’t you join the back of the line?”

I roll my eyes and mutter, “Gladly.”

“You have no competition, Tiffany,” one of the Lockets says. “As she’s the only other final year in our class, you’ll get your solo.”

A few seconds later, the studio door bursts open. A fat, bald man with thick, tortoise-shell glasses and a seventies paisley shirt struts out. His outfit looks like it’s been collected from different periods of history and thrown together.

“Line up!” The man barks, and from the fearful expressions surrounding me, I assume this is our singing coach. “All of you, line up. One at a time. Let me see what I am working with.”

Cookie’s right about feeling like a soldier in a training drill. McCallister paces back and forth, scrutinizing each of us like specimens under a microscope. Cogs turn in his mind about how he can shape and mold us into creations of his own making like a mad professor.

“For those of you that don’t know me,” he begins a well-rehearsed introduction. “I am McCallister Holiday, and I will be your vocal coach this summer. I don’t expect a lot from you. I expect everything from you. Do not take a step into my studio if you aren’t ready to bring your best every single time. Are you ready?”

---