And Everything Nice by Kim Moritsugu Page B

interesting ? Not much on the nights you don’t see me.”
    I fake-swung at him and he ducked. “Yeah, well, I’ll think about trying the choir. And thanks for ganging up on me with Joanne about it. Thanks a lot.”
    He turned on the tv with the remote and put his arm around me. “I’m not ganging up. I’m on your side. I want you to enjoy yourself on the nights I’m working. And I know you’ve been feeling a bit same-old, same-old lately. So why not change it up? Do something new and exciting?”
    â€œThe choir would be new, yeah,” I said. “But exciting? I don’t think so.”
    It was like I was asking to be proved wrong.

CHAPTER THREE
    J oanne and I drove to the next choir practice together in her car, me at the wheel. On the way, she said, “So you know, the choir is big. A hundred and ten people this season, someone said last week. Everyone from teachers, lawyers and media types to young moms, cab drivers and students.”
    â€œSounds like I’ll fit right in.”
    â€œAre you being sarcastic?”
    â€œDuh.”
    â€œYou’ll be fine. As long as you’re prepared for warm-up exercises at the beginning, when we sing scales. And at the end, everyone stands up, joins hands, forms a huge circle inside the church and sings a circle song. It’s corny, but it’s nice.”
    â€œA circle song? Like in preschool?”
    â€œI said it was corny.”
    â€œHow about if I drop you off right now and drive away? Fast.”
    â€œOh, Stephanie.”
    â€œI’m kidding.”
    â€œWell, ha-ha. And that’s all I wanted to warn you about.”
    I said, “Why are there so many people in the choir? What do they get out of it?”
    â€œSome people just love to perform. And some are wannabe rock stars, I suppose. Or failed rock stars.”
    â€œBut not you. Those aren’t your reasons. Are they?”
    â€œNo. I get to perform every day for the surly teenagers in my classes at school. And I never wanted to be in a band.” She didn’t say anything else for a minute. Then, “There’s something about making music in a group that’s more fulfilling than singing alone can ever be. The whole really is greater than the sum of its parts. If you know what I mean.”
    I didn’t, but I was about to find out.

CHAPTER FOUR
    T he nave of the church buzzed with the voices of a hundred-plus people talking when I walked in. A middle-aged woman greeted me at the door. She had me fill out a form and a name-tag sticker, and she handed me a file folder full of sheet music. She said, “You’re welcome to try us out tonight for free and see what you think. If you like it, you can come back next week and pay the hundred-and-fifty-dollar fee!”
    Yeah, yeah.
    â€œNow smile,” she said and took my picture with a digital camera. “For the choir list.”
    I took a seat in the tenor section that started five rows back from the front. Around me, assorted tenors—male and female, older and younger—stood and sat, talking to each other like old friends. A woman with wild, curly gray hair, wearing a long hippie-ish dress, hugged a younger woman in jeans and a flannel shirt. Down the aisle, a skinny guy in his late twenties, wearing a white silk scarf around his neck, was talking to another guy his age. I heard him say something about a musical he’d seen onstage. Or was it a musical he’d been in?
    In front of the tenors were four rows of women—the altos. Next to them and across the aisle: more women. They had to be the sopranos. Joanne and Wendy were over there, chatting away.
    Behind the sopranos sat about twenty men, mostly gray-haired, who made up the bass section. They weren’t talking as much as the women. They weren’t hugging either. Though at least one man laughed way too loudly at something another said.
    I checked my phone. The practice was supposed to