Chapter Three
MS. EM!” Thalia Jones, a senior soprano, wrapped Blair in an enthusiastic hug as kids filed into the choir room for Madrigals after lunch.
“So good to see you, Thalia.” Blair returned the embrace. “That haircut is perfection on you.”
“Thank you.” Thalia grinned and fluffed her hair, now much shorter, curlier, and redder. “My mom hates it.”
“Which I suspect is part of the appeal for you?”
Thalia’s grin widened. “You know it. She—”
“Hey.” An ear-splitting baritone yell sliced through the din. Blair and Thalia both jumped. The choir fell silent. And Callum, the source of the sound, stood beside the piano.
“The bell rang,” he said to the class. “Though it’s clear none of you heard it through that unholy racket you were making.”
Unholy racket? It’s the first day. Cut them some slack. She bit back the words.
“We’ll talk later.” Blair motioned toward the risers, and Thalia cast a reluctant glance toward Callum as she ascended to her spot on the top row of the soprano section.
The rest of the choir turned wary attention to the wild-haired man in the center of the room.
“And who are you, exactly?” The question on all the students’ minds came, naturally, from the lips of outspoken alto Makayla Barnes.
“I’m Callum Knight.” He raked a hand through his mop of hair. “Er—Mr. Knight, that is. I’m the new choral director here at Peterson.”
Brayden Lee, the tenor section leader, elbowed Jake Ireland. “I heard this one wasn’t even the one they hired back in May.”
Jake’s eyes widened. “Really?”
“Yeah. My mom said they originally hired some other guy but he got a better gig.”
Jake chortled. “This one might not even last until the first concert.”
“Jake. Brayden.” Blair shot them a warning glare. “A little respect, please.”
“Ms. Emerson. I’ll take care of discipline in my own classroom, if you don’t mind.” Callum’s gaze toward her was level, his voice pleasant, but both were underpinned with unmistakable warning.
She stared in disbelief. She’d only been trying to help, and he’d dressed her down in front of the students. While holding the coffee she’d brought him, no less. How dare he?
“I didn’t realize you valued discipline so highly.
” Her voice was heated but low enough so only Callum could hear.
He ignored her, but a muscle in his jaw twitched.
Had her point landed? She certainly hoped so.
More than half the students were on their phones, and a good portion of those still had their AirPods in.
Even the ones whose phones were tucked away sat on the risers, their expressions ranging from apathy to suspicion to undisguised loathing.
Not a particularly auspicious beginning. It didn’t matter, of course, since he’d be gone after this year.
Check that. Jake might not be wrong. Callum Knight might not even last until October.
“Now.” Callum looked around the room, his voice a crisp staccato. “Since all of you seem so intent on running your voices, let’s bypass the handbook for now and sing something.”
To their credit, at least a third of the choir lowered their phones to reveal eyes glimmering with at least marginal interest.
Callum reached for a yellowed stack of music on a table to his right. “Could I have a volunteer to hand these out?”
Thalia raised her hand, and Blair sent her a glance of thanks. Thalia, a born leader and this year’s choir president, could always be counted on to step up. Callum acknowledged Thalia with a nod, and she stepped down from the risers and took the stack from his outstretched hand.
Blair snagged one of the copies off the top of the stack as Thalia passed her, and she almost choked on the sip of coffee she’d just taken. “‘Daemon Irrepit Callidus’?” She peered at her new director. “Callum, really?”
He met her gaze with a level one of his own amid the quiet din of choral chatter.
“While everyone else played ridiculous icebreaker games, you may be pleased to know that I spent that time reading the choral handbook from the state activities association. A school this size is required to perform a level four for state festival.”
Blair’s eyes narrowed. “In April, yes. But this is August.”
“And these are the famed Peterson Madrigals,” he replied with a smirk. “I’ve heard good things. I believe they’ll rise to the challenge.”
While she had to admire the director’s faith in the ensemble, and while it was true that the Peterson Madrigals likely could have handled a piece like “Daemon” in their glory days, those glory days were long gone, and she highly doubted Callum Knight could bring them back.
Pulling in a breath, she settled back at the piano bench and steeled herself for the impending train wreck, which was putting it mildly.
Within ten minutes Callum’s cheeks above his stubble were stained a deep crimson, sweat dotted his forehead, and the muscle in his jaw twitched wildly.
At least half the kids had given up and checked out, and the ones who still tried gave a frustrated sigh as Callum cut them off.
“Altos. You missed your entrance. Again.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Knight.” Makayla’s cheeks were flushed with anger and embarrassment.
“Sorry isn’t good enough,” Callum snapped. “Good enough is good enough.”
Makayla’s eyes widened, then filled with tears.
Makayla normally kept her emotions reined in, but “not good enough” was her Achilles’ heel.
The girl’s father was a raging perfectionist—a cardiothoracic surgeon at Peterson General—and nothing she did ever measured up.
Blair had spent the last two years trying to convince Makayla of her talent, to help her see the beauty of her gorgeous alto voice with its velvety tone and natural vibrato.
All that work over all that time, and this pompous blowhard had just undone a fair bit of it.
As calmly as she could, Blair stood from the piano and leaned toward Callum. Twin whiffs of coffee and cologne greeted her. “Mr. Knight.”
“Yes?”
“A word, please.” She jerked her head toward the office.
“Not now.” His blasé, dismissive tone made her even madder.
“Yes. Now.” Each word was a dagger. “Or you’ll find yourself in need of a new accompanist. And I’m told those are hard to find.”
That got his attention. He glanced up from his iPad and lowered his baton. “You wouldn’t dare.”
Of course she wouldn’t. Especially not if it meant leaving these kids with him. But were she a betting woman, she’d place a large wager on him not knowing this about her.
“How confident are you in that assessment?” She locked her gaze on his and refused to blink.
He stared at her, jaw rock hard, stormy emerald eyes narrowed into slits. Finally he set his baton down on the stand, the click of wood against metal the only sound in the tension-thickened choir room.
“Fine.” He stalked toward the office.
“Hold down the fort, Thalia,” Blair called as she followed Callum inside.
“Will do, Ms. Em.”
Callum stood aside to let Blair pass, then shut the door, folded his arms across his chest, and faced her, brows arched. “What on God’s green earth is so important that you were compelled to interrupt my rehearsal?”
“It’s not your rehearsal. It’s their rehearsal.
Our rehearsal.” Pulse pounding in her throat, she gestured toward the choir room.
“They are children, Callum. I know you’ve been conducting professionals for years, but you need to take a step back and understand that these are young people, impressionable people, who are enrolled in your class because they want to be. Because they want to learn to sing.”
Callum’s lips tightened, the skin around them whitening.
“Makayla Barnes is the one person you should never, ever say ‘not good enough’ to. She seems tough, but inside she’s a fragile young girl with a backstory that’d break your heart, and if you talk to her that way, you’ll lose her.
And that would be devastating, because if you heard that girl sing . . .”
“I have heard her sing. Just now.”
“I mean really sing. If you’d heard her rendition of ‘Quella fiamma’ at contest last year, you’d—”
“If she’s already sung ‘Quella fiamma,’ then she needs to be challenged.
They all need to be challenged.” Callum stepped toward her, close enough she could feel the warmth from his body.
“I don’t know what kind of kindergarten coddling you all have been doing around here, but this choir is capable of greatness.
The talent is there. You know it and I know it.
They just need someone to harness it. Channel it.
Bring it out from where it’s hiding to where the whole world can see. ”
Blair pulled back, the searing heat of anger cooled slightly by his words.
Normally, she’d have a bone to pick with his description of her career as kindergarten coddling .
. . but even in a frustrating, ten-minute train wreck of a rehearsal, Callum Knight had seen the talent that lay in their top choir, and something had motivated him to try to bring it out of them.
Gone was the burned-out shell of a man she’d met on Monday.
In his place stood someone who might have what it took to bring the Peterson High choirs out of the ashes.
“What?” Callum’s voice was quieter now, hawkish eyes roving over her face in a thorough, but not unkind, evaluation.
She straightened. “If I didn’t know better, Callum Knight, I’d think you might care about this job after all.”
Callum dragged a hand through his hair. “Blair, when I was eleven years old, I thought I signed up for robotics as my sixth-grade elective, but a computer error put me in choir instead. And ever since then, choral music has been my life. Singing it, conducting it, creating it myself, coaxing it to life, watching people connect with it, with each other . . . making music is what makes me come alive. Sometimes in those magical moments when everything goes well, it just . . .”
“ . . . seems almost like a glimpse of heaven.” Goodness.
Two minutes ago she’d wanted to fling her cup of coffee right in his face, but now something hovered between them.
A commonality. A connection. One she hadn’t had with any of the other choral directors who’d occupied this office. Who’d taken charge of this classroom.
Callum seemed to feel it too, because those narrow slits of eyes had widened. Dark lashes blinked, and tightly folded arms gradually relaxed. One hand slid into his pocket, and the other found that wild mop of hair again.
Perhaps they could salvage the year after all.
“Look, Blair.” His voice was considerably softer.
A bit rough around the edges. “I’ll be honest with you.
This isn’t where I saw myself at this point in my career.
And those kids might be right. I might not even last the year.
But as long as I am here, as long as my job is to teach them, then I’m going to demand their absolute best.”
“Then may I give you a bit of advice from the perspective of someone who grew up in this community and who’s worked with these kids for almost a decade?”
He nodded. “You may.”
“If you want their best, you have to give them yours. And that starts with letting them see what you’ve just let me see.
Let them see you care.” She flipped a lock of hair over her shoulder.
“We’ve had six directors in six years. Let that sink in.
Nobody in this room has had the same teacher two years in a row.
Every August there’s a new face in front of them.
New expectations. New ways of doing things.
And just when they think they’ve got it figured out, just when they start to like that person, they get the rug yanked out from under them and have to start all over again.
Frankly, it’s a wonder any of them are still enrolled in choir.
But the fact that they are means that getting to sing—to make music with each other—is worth putting up with all the other crap they’ve been through.
These kids adore one another, Callum. And for a lot of them, this is the only place they feel safe.
Don’t take that away from them by yelling and screaming on the first day. ”
He was silent again, that impossible-to-read expression flitting over his face. Had she angered him again? Gotten through to him? She couldn’t wait for the day when she’d understand this expression, because guessing games were the worst.
“I think perhaps I’ve underestimated you. And been a bit rotten to you.” He flashed a slight smile. “Forgive me? Please?”
“Of course,” she replied. “Thank you.”
“And I think perhaps I’ve overestimated the choir’s capabilities at this point in the semester.”
“I . . . don’t disagree with you.”
“Well, that’s a first.” And then Callum smiled.
The curve of his lips carved a slight indent in his cheek.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. And her heart gave a curious thump.
It wasn’t attraction. Goodness, no. But if she had to spend the rest of the school year watching someone .
. . there were certainly less pleasant someones she could be watching.
“Not to push this tenuous truce too hard,” he began, his hand on the doorknob of the office. “But might you be available for a bit after school today? I could really use your help.”
Blair tilted her head. “With . . .”
“Repertoire selection,” he replied. “I’d really like to get going on music, for Madrigals in particular, but I haven’t had a chance to explore the choral library, so I’m not sure what’s in there and what I might need to order.
I want to find something challenging but achievable, and high-quality compositions are an absolute must. Frankly, I’d like to select music for all the choirs.
Four per choir to begin, with a goal of learning at least that number, if not more, for the October concert. Does that sound reasonable?”
Reasonable? It sounded like perfection. Not that she’d give Callum Knight the satisfaction of knowing she thought that. Not yet. Not when the idea of not hating him was so new. “Yes. Very reasonable.”
His eyes lit. “Wonderful. Then perhaps the rest of the day we go over the handbook?”
“That sounds like a good idea to me.”
“And I’ll make sure to remember to point out the deadline this time around.” He cracked the door and tossed another grin over his shoulder, and her heart did that same funny thing it had before.
She had to get that under control.
If she didn’t, Joy would never let her hear the end of it.