Dear Julianna Ramirez,
Thank you for your songwriting submission, “Me When There Is No You,” to the Sounds of the Future songwriting contest. We were impressed by the thousands of entries we received and the talent that lent their song ideas and voices to our contest. Unfortunately, your song, “Me When There Is No You,” was not a winner. We hope you’ll consider entering the contest again next year. Keep writing!
—the Sounds of the Future songwriting judges
Her song had lost.
Again.
Julianna breathed heavily and blinked back tears. “Me When There Is No You” was the best song she’d written, but Sounds of the Future wasn’t impressed. This was the third songwriting contest she’d entered this year and she’d lost all of them. She pressed delete and erased the picture from existence but not from memory. She was a failure. She obviously couldn’t write and she couldn’t sing. She wasn’t going to make the Nightingales. A single tear fell down her cheek.
MOM: I’m sorry, Ju-Ju. Are you okay?
“Would Ms. Julianna Ramirez take the stage?”
“That’s you!” Gabby cheered. She and Viola pushed her toward the stage. “Good luck!”
Between the tears and the darkened stage, Julianna had no clue where she was going. A few smoky, bright-white spotlights were all that was leading the way to the stage. Her pulse was so fast she felt like she had just run four laps around the track.
“Do you have your own music?” the piano player whispered.
Julianna didn’t answer her. She closed her eyes for a second to avoid the hot lights and felt like she was back in Miami again. She was at her Tonal Teens audition and Amy, Naya, and the others were cheering her on. Julianna thought she had nailed her audition until Amy called her that night with the bad news.
She didn’t belong on this hot, dusty stage and she obviously couldn’t write music either. It was time to let her music career fade to black.
“Whenever you’re ready, Julianna,” Mr. Wickey said.
“Ju-Ju-Julie-ANNA!” she heard one of the boys sing. Someone else started to laugh.
“Isn’t that the girl from this morning?” she heard someone say.
“She’s the one who fell in the lobby!”
“Sing!” Gabby whispered from the side of the stage.
You didn’t make the cut.
Unfortunately, your song was not a winner.
Julianna’s mouth tasted like metal. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She was going to bomb this audition too. She clutched her chest. She couldn’t breathe.
“Julianna?” Mr. Wickey tried again.
Someone laughed louder.
“I’m sorry. I forgot my sheet music. I’ll just run back and get it. Let the next person go instead. Sorry!”
Julianna didn’t wait to find out if this was okay with the judges. She just rushed offstage, blowing past Gabby and Viola, and kept going. She had taken one bit of advice from Viola—know where your exits are. She ran toward the glowing red exit sign that signified her freedom.
Sydney could not believe how badly auditions were going. They were only thirty minutes into the process, and other than a few rays of hope, Sydney knew this session was a complete and utter disaster. How could this have happened? She’d had so much hope when she’d walked into the auditorium that afternoon.
Lidia was already there, which had made Sydney breathe a sigh of relief. If Lidia was still mad, she probably wouldn’t have shown up. Actually, she would. Lidia was a class act. Either way, Sydney assumed she had gotten through to her: They needed to put the Nightingales first. Mr. Wickey had spotted Sydney walking toward him and smiled.
“Now that everyone is here, I’d love to get started,” he’d told them both. “I just want to make one announcement first.”
Sydney had taken a seat in the front row and Lidia had sat beside her, which was another good sign.
“As many of you know, I’m the Kingfishers’ and Nightingales’ club advisor,” Mr. Wickey had told the auditorium. “If you are chosen for one of these groups, you’ll be making a huge commitment. Both a cappella groups practice a few days a week, compete in various competitions throughout the year, and perform on campus, starting with the Bradley Academy Open House next month.” He gave all the captains a stern look. “And while both groups like to have fun with each other, everyone takes their a cappella commitments seriously.”
Sydney guessed Mr. Wickey had learned about the anchovy pizzas and the maple syrup flood.
“Sometimes, members are asked to perform outside their groups,” Mr. Wickey had added. “I’m pleased to announce that two of our members have been asked to perform at the Naples Center’s Fall Music Festival together.”
Sydney had sat up straighter in her chair. Being asked to perform at the music festival was a big deal.
“Thanks to their stellar work in the Naples Community Theater production of In the Heights, Griffin Mancini and Sydney Marino have been asked to be openers at the Friday night kickoff, which includes a concert by Flo Rida,” Mr. Wickey had said.
She and Griffin? People had started clapping and whistling. Sydney had felt like the blood was draining from her face. This couldn’t be happening. “No!” she had stood up and shouted. Griffin had looked at her oddly.
So had Mr. Wickey. “I thought you’d be thrilled to be chosen to open up the music festival. Do you have another commitment that weekend?”
Normally, she would have been thrilled. A chance to perform for the public? That was right up her alley! She had looked straight at Lidia to see her reaction. Lidia’s face was buried in her notebook. Sydney knew she was probably upset. Here she was telling her how she wanted nothing to do with Griffin, and now the two of them were going to have to spend even more time together practicing for that performance. Alone. A chill went down her spine at the thought. Lidia would be crushed.
“Do you want me to ask if you can be replaced?” Mr. Wickey had said.
Then it was Griffin’s turn to have an outburst. “Why? They asked for Sydney.”
“I’ll do it!” Whitney had volunteered.
Whitney and Griffin? That was not happening either!
“No,” Sydney had said quickly. “I mean, I just need to check with my dad first.”
Mr. Wickey had smiled. “Okay. If he says you’re free, I’ll let the festival know. I’ll let you two work out the practice details.” He had closed his notebook. “On to the auditions.”
Sydney was so upset, she had gotten lost in her own thoughts. She didn’t hear him talk about how each group would have between ten and twelve members or how there was an emphasis on filling available slots for the group (like sopranos, altos, bass and baritones, and beatboxers). She had tuned out when he had talked about how important stage presence was and had given them an example of the scales they’d each be asked to run. Sydney had even missed Mr. Wickey talking about how each auditioner would need to follow his lead with a series of notes, matching him for tone and harmony. After that, he’d said they’d have three minutes to perform a tune of their choosing, accompanied by the piano player on the stage or set to music on their phones.
All Sydney could think about was herself, Lidia, and Griffin. She knew Lidia was never going to fully forgive her if she had to watch Sydney and Griffin together all the time. Things would be awkward at Nightingales practices too. If there even were Nightingales practices. Sydney had seen the number of girls in the room. The turnout was pitiful. What if there wasn’t a beatboxer or two altos to replace the graduating seniors?
“All right, everyone, let’s begin.” Mr. Wickey had said. People began taking their seats in the auditorium or heading backstage. Lidia and Sydney were already seated side-by-side, not speaking, in the front row next to Dave and Pasqual, who were the Kingfishers’ co-captains.
Sydney was an eternal optimist, but her confidence was rattled. All she could think about was the worst-case scenario. What if the Nightingales folded before she and Lidia had a chance to
bring them back to their former glory days? What if she and Lidia never made up? What if this was the end of Sydney’s singing career? What if, what if, what if?
“Sydney?” Mr. Wickey had asked again. “Are you ready?”
No! Sydney felt hot. All eyes were on her, but she found herself only looking for one person’s reaction: Griffin’s. As soon as they locked eyes, the strangest thing happened. Suddenly, she felt calm. Things were going to be okay.
But as she sat in the auditorium listening to auditions, she realized that wasn’t the case. Where were Julie and her friends? Where was that girl who came to Pinocchio’s, who she knew could nail a Beatles tune? Why did Pearl, who hadn’t made the cut last year, show up sounding as terrible as ever? Gabby and Viola were good, but Mercedes yelled instead of sang.
A cappella no-no!
Donna, the girl who had showed up at Pinocchio’s with a puppet face drawn on her hand, was taking the stage. After giving the puppet a name (Ms. Heel), she dove right into “Defying Gravity.” Sydney didn’t even have the chance to explain that puppets couldn’t be in the Nightingales. And was every girl in here going to do a song from Wicked? (It was so refreshing when Viola busted out “Satisfied” from Hamilton.) Sydney had to admit Donna’s voice was excellent, but the puppet was a deal-breaker. She was about to lean over to Lidia and say just that when Lidia jumped out of her seat and started applauding Donna on her last note.
“That was amazing!” Lidia cheered.
“Um …” Sydney slowly stood up. Were they sitting in the same auditorium? “That was really good, but, Donna, we need to see you perform without the use of a puppet.”
“Why?” Lidia asked, sounding annoyed.
“Because it’s a gimmick,” Sydney explained. “The Nightingales aren’t about gimmicks.”
Lidia folded her arms. “Says who?”
Sydney was nearly at a loss for words. “The a cappella rule book. A cappella groups don’t have puppets!”
“The Mouthbreathers in Vero Beach do,” Dave reminded her. “They were tough competition last season too.”
Lidia motioned to Dave. “Thank you. See?” she said to Sydney. “We can have puppets.”
What was Lidia doing? They’d talked about doing many things with the Nightingales, but none of them included puppets! Their group was already a laughingstock. They couldn’t add a singer with a puppet named Ms. Heel to the mix. They needed to know Donna had stage presence and didn’t need a crutch to get up there and perform. “But we don’t want puppets.”
“Maybe you don’t, but I do,” Lidia said gruffly. “You do not get to cast my vote for what I feel and don’t feel.”
Sydney was taken aback. Was Lidia really going to have a meltdown again in front of everyone? It was bad enough that Mr. Wickey insisted both the boys and girls a cappella groups did tryouts together (he was the club advisor for both, after all), but it was embarrassing fighting in front of the boys. Lidia had promised—hadn’t she?—that they wouldn’t do this here. It was unprofessional. They didn’t have enough people auditioning as it was. “I’m not,” Sydney said slowly. “What I’m saying is that we have always wanted this group to be focused on the singing. We never wanted gimmicks and I don’t think we should start now.” Sydney looked at the stage. “Donna, would you mind trying that again without holding up your, um, fist as Ms. Heel? You have a beautiful voice. We want to hear just you.”
Donna clutched her puppet hand close to her chest. “I’m not sure I can sing without her. We’re a team.”
“That’s fine, Donna,” Lidia said. “I think we have all we need. You are free to go.”
“What? No!” Sydney countered. “I want her to sing again.”
“I don’t,” Lidia said.
“Ladies.” Mr. Wickey tried to interrupt.
“Wow, this is better than any Nightingales audition we’ve seen yet,” Dave whispered to Griffin and Pasqual.
“Who cares if she uses a puppet?” Lidia asked. “She’s putting herself out there. She’s being real! At least she’s honest!”
Some of the people auditioning came out of the wings to see what the racket was about.
“What are you talking about?” Sydney asked.
Lidia’s whole body was shaking. “I just mean … I … she’s not acting like other people I know!”
Sydney put her hands on her hips and tried not to look as mortified as she felt. Why was Lidia airing their dirty laundry again? She caught a glimpse of Griffin’s face. It was grim while Dave and Pasqual were still laughing. “Are you referring to me?”
“Yes! It’s always all about you, you, you! ‘Don’t be upset, Lidia. Think of the Nightingales and competitions!’ ” Lidia mimicked. “God forbid you stop for a second and think about your best friend’s feelings.” She paused for a second, then shouted, “Your apology was so fake!”
Sydney’s jaw dropped. “It was not!”
Griffin cleared his throat. “Uh, guys, do you really want to do this here?” he asked.
Lidia and Sydney both looked at him. “Yes!”
Lidia’s voice was shaky. “You gave the classic ‘Sydney apology,’ which is to gloss over the actual apology.” Her face was red. “You really hurt me, Syd, and you don’t even care. And now I don’t either.” She looked around, suddenly realizing they had an audience. “I’m sorry,” she said to Mr. Wickey. “I forgot there is somewhere I have to be.”
Sydney was fuming. “Lidia! We’re in the middle of auditions!” Lidia kept walking. “Fine! Leave! You’re good at yelling then storming out of places! Go!” Lidia whirled around, tears in her eyes. Okay, maybe that was taking things too far. “Wait. Lidia! Wait!”
Whitney appeared by Sydney’s side. “Wow, some captain she is.”
“Are you really going to let her walk out in the middle of auditions?” Micayla asked. “Maybe you should go after her.”
Sydney’s chest was rising and falling rapidly. Her cheeks burned. Lidia had made a fool of her again! “No,” Sydney said stiffly. She smoothed her hair and sat back down, tapping a pen on her notebook. “My job is to stay right here. I’m sorry,” she told the others, looking longer at Mr. Wickey and avoiding Griffin’s gaze. “Let’s start again, please.”
Mr. Wickey ran a hand through his hair. “Okay. Ladies and gentlemen, I apologize for the interruption. We’re going to proceed with auditions without Ms. Sato.”
Sydney was too busy staring at the white space on her loose-leaf paper to witness Whitney and Micayla high-five with glee.
Julianna gripped her knees, hung her head, and took deep, gulping breaths, rocking back and forth on the ground outside the theater’s back door.
It was over. She wasn’t near the stage anymore. It’s going to be okay, she told herself. She was thankful Gabby and Viola didn’t follow her. When she finally felt her breathing slow, she stood up and leaned against the theater wall.
Her first day at Bradley had been an epic fail. How was she going to face her new classmates after running out on them twice? And what music extracurricular option was she left with now? She banged her head on the wall she was leaning against. Chorus, that’s what.
Julianna clutched the small silver musical note she wore around her neck. It was a gift from her mom for her birthday. It was meant to be a reminder that all roads in Julianna’s life led to music. But so far, every road she went down was a dead end. How many more times could she put herself out there and fail?
Julianna didn’t know how much time had passed when her phone buzzing got her attention. She looked at the group text.
NAYA: I’m with Amy! We’re thinking of you. How was your first day?
Julianna took another deep breath, feeling the warm air fill her lungs. She might as well be honest. These were her closest friends.
JULIANNA: Terrible.
NAYA: Why???
JULIANNA: I chickened out of trying out for the school’s a cappella group.
NAYA: Aww! Who cares? Try out for volleyball instead. You’r
e good!
JULIANNA: Thanks, but every student needs a music program here. Lucky me.
Julianna was too embarrassed to tell her friends she’d lost another songwriting contest too, so she left that part out.
NAYA: Eek. That is a problem. You’ll figure it out. We love you, Ju-Ju!
AMY: Join the chorus! You can stand in the back and sway! LOL!
Ouch! She knew Amy was kidding, but didn’t she realize not making the Tonal Teens was a sore point for her?
JULIANNA:
NAYA: She’s kidding!
AMY: JK! Their loss! How’s the songwriting going? Got anything TT could use this competition season?
Julianna sighed. It was just like Amy to change the subject. Julianna had given her a song for the Tonal Teens to use last season and it had won them gold. Amy was forever trying to get Julianna to write for the group, but Julianna was hesitant. It still hurt too much. Besides, she had been saving her music for the songwriting contests, which required original, unperformed songs. The fact that Julianna had music she wouldn’t give to the Tonal Teens seemed to drive Amy nuts.
JULIANNA: Nothing yet! Maybe today’s screwup will give me inspiration. ☺
NAYA: That’s our girl! Don’t let an audition beat you. And you’re too good for general chorus. Get back in there and try out! What do you have to lose?
JULIANNA: XOXO!
What do you have to lose? Naya had a point. If she didn’t go in there and audition, then she was definitely going to be stuck with general chorus or worse—having to learn the tuba. At least with the Tonal Teens she had tried. Would she kick herself if she didn’t audition? The crowds had probably thinned out by now. Maybe no one other than Gabby and Viola knew she was missing. After all, she did say she was running back to get her sheet music. Julianna smiled. This might work!
She stood up and banged on the theater door, hoping Gabby and Viola or someone else would hear her. It felt like she was banging forever before a custodian finally opened the door and Julianna rushed in past him.