End Me a Tenor by Joelle Charbonneau

confidence. In doing so, it also built mine. While watching the kids twist and twirl and sound fabulous through the numbers, I felt a kick of pleasure. While I was often proud of my own performances, this was different. These kids were good when we started. They were better now. Whether I’d wanted this job or not, I’d made a difference. That meant something.
    “Okay. Time for the new number. We’re going to run through it first, then make adjustments for the soloists as needed. Remember—your singing matters just as much as the dancing. I want to be impressed by your volume and your feet.”
    The dancing was better than yesterday. The opening was solid. The first lift went off without a hitch. Then things started to fall apart. Two of the girls zigged when they should have zagged, and one of the guys tripped trying to avoid bumping into them and took two other singers down in the process.
    Crap. Crap. Crap.
    “Okay, let’s try it again.”
    I made them dance through the number again. And again. By the time I worked with my two soloists, Megan and Trevor, and added them into the mix, Devlyn and Larry had arrived. Devlyn and I worked through the glitches while Larry did his best not to get in the way. The choir ran the entire song again, and the number looked good. Maybe better than good. Despite Chessie’s angry scowl, by the time the first bell rang I was optimistic at my group’s chances of impressing tomorrow night’s crowd.
    “Don’t worry,” Devlyn said as the last teen walked out the door. “They’ll be ready. We’ll have the dress rehearsal after school today, and you’ll be able to go off and sing tonight without a care in the world.”
    “I’m glad to hear the Messiah hasn’t been canceled. I was worried it was going to be.” Larry dumped a load of papers on the piano and gave me a red-faced smile. “Then again, knowing the cops are close to making an arrest will probably make the audience feel like it’s safe to attend the show.”
    “Close to an arrest?” My legs went limp. If I hadn’t grabbed onto the piano, my backside would have hit the floor. “Where did you hear that?”
    “I heard it on the news report this morning.”
    I swallowed hard. “Did they say who?”
    “I don’t think so, but . . .” Several folders of music slid off the piano. Larry tried to catch them, but while Yoga had improved his breathing, it had done nothing for his reflexes. Within seconds, the folders hit the ground and burst open, sending music skittering across the floor and under chairs. With his ears turning the same vibrant shade of red as his sweater, Larry crawled around the floor, collecting papers. Devlyn and I leaned down to help, but Larry waved us off. “Y . . . y . . . you guys have other w . . . work to do. I can take c . . . c . . . care of this. Please.”
    Normally, I would have insisted on helping, but the stuttering told me Larry’s embarrassment was at an all-time high. Sticking around would just make it worse.
    Since I didn’t have voice lessons until after lunch, I grabbed my stuff and headed for the door. Devlyn looked up and down the empty hall before giving me a kiss on the cheek as we parted ways—him for his office, me on a mission to discover whether Magdalena had been locked up and the show was on its way to being canceled.
    First, I checked to see whether Bill had left a message. Nothing. Stepping into the cold air, I debated calling him. Theater people weren’t known for being early risers. Then again, if Magdalena had been arrested, Bill was probably long awake and dealing with the fallout.
    With my conscience cleared, I pushed send and waited for an answer. Voice mail. Drat. I’d try again later. Shoving my phone in my pocket, I walked to my car and smiled as I spotted a brightly wrapped gift resting on the hood of my car. The show choir kids had been doing the Secret Santa thing for the last week or so. I’d even helped a couple of kids slip cards or silly little