Chapter 19 Lorna Is Sixteen
Kristen comes home after three months in a residential drug treatment program. Nana and Lorna have made a cake—well, Lorna made it while Nana drank. She has written Welcome Home on it. It’s chocolate—Kristen’s favorite.
There are circles under Kristen’s eyes. She has skinny arms, but her beauty is coming back. She’s so thin. Except for her stomach. Her stomach is too big, like she’s malnourished. She says the food was terrible in prison. She means rehab.
Kristen seems flat and lifeless, not excited to be home.
She keeps her arms folded over her body, and her eyes dart around the rooms she is in, like she expects someone to jump out from the curtains and haul her off.
Maybe because that’s how Mom and Dad got her into treatment—strangers came to the house and took her.
Kristen says thanks for the cake. She eats a piece, says she can’t eat anything else, and goes to her room to lie down.
As the first week home unfurls, Kristen mopes around the house. She tells Lorna it’s because she’s bored. “I have nothing to do. Mom won’t let me get a job because I have all these stupid meetings to go to.”
“Do you want me to go with you?” Lorna asks, although she has no idea what kind of meetings Kristen means.
Kristen plays with Lorna’s long hair, twisting it around her fingers, making corkscrew curls. “No. Then both of us would be bored.”
Mom finally relents and tells Kristen she can get a job. Kristen is happy and begins to look but quickly discovers there are not many options for a twenty-year-old woman with a record of petty theft.
“That doesn’t sound right,” Mom says when Kristen complains about it.
“Are you kidding?” Kristen snaps. “No one wants someone with a record, Mom. I told you.”
Kristen’s mood gets darker as the days roll on. “I hate being sober,” she confides in Lorna. “I hate who I am when I’m sober.”
“Buy why?” Lorna asks. “You’re funny and smart, and I really like you like this.”
Kristen smiles at Lorna like she’s a stupid little kid. Maybe she is. “It’s hard to understand, I know. Sometimes I don’t understand it myself. It’s not like I want to be like this. But I am, and I’m sick of trying to be someone I’m not.”
Lorna doesn’t understand what “this” is. “But you’re not going to do drugs or anything, are you?” she asks.
“Are you kidding? And risk going back to that hell pit known as treatment? I’m not going to use, Lorna. Or drink. Or steal Nana’s pills. Trust me.”
Lorna is relieved to hear this. She doesn’t think she can survive another year like the one before Kristen went. “Do you promise?”
“Of course I promise,” Kristen says, and hugs her. “Besides, you need me. Who else is going to listen to you practice your songs?”
Lorna has been spending as much time as she can at school.
She made choir this year, and they are preparing for the all-state spring choir contests.
She is not the best singer, but she tries harder than anyone.
That’s what her choir teacher, Mr. Sanders, says.
He tells the entire choir that if they had even half the work ethic Lorna has, their group would be in first place.
The kids look at Lorna like she’s trying to make their lives miserable.
Mr. Sanders tells her to ignore them. He works with her after school, trying to help her find her voice and use her diaphragm to support her breath.
Lorna goes home and practices with Kristen, who tells her when she is sharp or when she is flat, even though she says the songs are dumb.
One month before the contest, Mr. Sanders hands out solos and duet assignments.
He tells the choir that Mr. Collins, his college buddy and chief rival, who is now the choir director at another local high school, has beat Mr. Sanders and his choirs four years in a row.
He rouses the choir into believing this will be the year they win—and they will do it with Jamie McCorkle, the best singer in the choir.
Everyone cheers when he points to Jamie.
Mr. Sanders asks Lorna to come to all the rehearsals for soloists, duets, and ensembles to help.
She remains in the chorus, but she is thrilled to be part of the more intense rehearsals.
She hands out music, then picks it up after rehearsal.
All the singers work hard. Kristen says it’s a waste of time, it’s only a dumb high school choir contest. But she is there to pick up Lorna every day.
A week before the contests are to begin, something terrible happens. Jamie McCorkle comes down with bacterial meningitis after a volleyball tournament. Mr. Sanders looks slightly sick when he calls Lorna into his office and tells her she will be doing one of Jamie’s solos.
“What?” Lorna says, unable to absorb the news. It makes her frantic. But excited.
“You’re the only other person who knows that solo. We’ll work every day, make sure you’re ready,” Mr. Sanders says. He takes her by the shoulders. “You can do this, Lorna.”
“I can do this,” Lorna repeats.
When Lorna comes home with her news, Kristen is on the couch, eating from a bag of chips. She’s been working at a fast-food burger joint. She talks about how fat she is getting, how she hates the job, how the place is bogus.
Lorna suggests she go back to school and get a degree. “You always loved art,” she reminds her.
Kristen laughs. “Did I?” She laughs again. “I don’t want to do art. I want to direct movies. Maybe even star in them.” She suddenly leaps up from the couch and does what Lorna thinks is supposed to be a pirouette, but she stumbles and falls back on the couch. She laughs uproariously.
It’s odd.
But Lorna is bursting with her own news and ignores that tiny little alarm.
She tells Kristen what happened at school, how she is now a soloist with only one week to prepare.
“There is no time to waste,” Kristen says.
“You need to practice. I’ll help.” And she does.
She tries to coach Lorna on pitch, although hers is no better.
But she is helpful when it comes to presentation.
As the weekend and the contest approach, Lorna’s nerves begin to take on a life of their own.
In full rehearsals, she feels strange to be the one to step forward.
She imagines a Jewish golem taking a giant step, and the audience and choir staring at her in shock and dismay.
She tugs on her shirt, tries to smooth her hair. Mr. Sanders tells her not to fidget.
Two days before the contest, Kristen doesn’t come home from her shift.
“Here we go again,” her mother says wearily.
“What?” Lorna asks.
Her mother grimaces. She glances at Nana, who is asleep in her chair. “You know what that means,” she says ominously.
Maybe Lorna knows, but she doesn’t want to hear her mother say it.
Her mother does anyway. “She’s at it again.”
“Don’t say that,” Lorna snaps as they head to the car. “She’s not, Mom. She promised me. She’s been helping me with my solo.”
Her mother stops and looks at Lorna. Then she laughs. But it’s not a pleasant laugh; it’s dark, and it makes Lorna feel stupid. “Why are you laughing?”
“Let me tell you something, honey. Addicts never tell the truth. Never. They will lie to your face till the day they die.”
Lorna is shocked. “That’s not true. You always say she’s trying.”
“But I’m not a fool,” her mother says.
Lorna is furious with her mother’s lack of faith in Kristen. She pushes aside any niggling doubts and refuses to argue. She goes to practice and works with Mr. Sanders. He tries so hard to look happy when she does the solo, but Lorna can tell he wishes Jamie McCorkle was well.
Saturday morning, Lorna is so nervous she feels sick. She refuses breakfast. “You have practiced and practiced,” her mother says. “You will do fine. I wish I could be there to see it, but I have to work.” Her mother recently took a job at a dress shop to help make ends meet.
“I’ll be there,” Kristen says from her place at the table.
“Where’s that?” Nana asks sleepily.
“Nowhere, Nana,” Kristen says. But she looks at Lorna. “I wouldn’t miss it.”
Lorna is relieved. Someone on her side.
“Lolo, you look like you’re going to pass out,” Kristen says. She gets up from the table and comes forward. “Has anyone ever worked as hard as you at anything? No. It’s going to be fine. And you know what? After it’s over, you and I can go for pizza.”
“That would be great,” Lorna says.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Mom says.
Kristen rolls her eyes. “Stay out of it, Mom.” She smiles at Lorna, then pushes some of her hair back into the bun she’s supposed to wear. “Remember, look at the back wall. If you don’t see them, they can’t see you. And project,” she says, tapping Lorna’s belly. “You’re going to do great.”
“Don’t get her too hyped up,” Mom says.
Kristen whips around. “Why can’t you be supportive?” she shouts.
“I’m not going to pretend she’s Pavarotti when she’s not,” Mom shouts back, and they begin to argue. Lorna goes outside to wait for Mom. She’s thankful for Kristen’s pep talk, but she fears Mom is right—she’s not that good.
After Mom drops her off at the school, Mr. Sanders runs through the music one more time.
Then they board a school bus to go to the neighboring district’s performing arts center for the contest. There, they stand in a circle holding hands before heading onstage.
“We are here because we have Knight pride. We are going to win. We will beat Westwood and stand victorious!” They all begin to chant, “Go, Knights! Go, Knights! Go, Knights!” Lorna swallows down a swell of nausea and nerves.
They file onstage. Lorna is shocked to see the auditorium is full. There are other choirs from other local high schools. Parents, teachers, and who knows who else. She is so jittery she can hardly stand. She takes deep breaths like Mr. Sanders taught her.
When it comes time for her solo, she moves to the front of the stage.
The golem is in place. The music begins, and she opens her mouth, and the first notes come out of her, clear and loud enough.
But just then, there is a terrible commotion in the audience.
Lorna takes her gaze off the back wall and looks down to see Kristen and some guy tripping over people to get in the front row.
They are giggling and loose-limbed and shushing each other too loudly.
She knows instantly that Kristen has been using something.
Kristen looks up and sees Lorna, waves, and then slides down in her seat, telling the guy to be quiet, saying loud enough for Lorna to hear, “ That’s my sister . ”
Lorna’s stomach churns. Mr. Sanders starts the song over.
Lorna begins to sing, but she can’t take her eyes off Kristen and that boy.
He is looking around, like he wants something, speaking to people behind him.
Kristen slaps his arm hard, and he barks at her.
Lorna is still singing, her voice wobbling, her pitch breathy—she can hear she is off-key.
The chaos unfolding in front of her causes acid to churn in her belly.
When the boy begins to laugh, Lorna’s anxiety reaches a sickening threshold she can’t contain.
She takes a step, intending to flee before the unthinkable happens, but it is too late.
She vomits on the stage. The crowd cries out.
The contest is disrupted and she flees, choking on tears and mortification and another swell of nausea. How can life be so cruel?
She doesn’t know what happened after. How the vomit was cleaned up.
How the choir continued. How the contest ended.
Even who won. On the bus back to school, no one will speak to her.
Someone says she stinks like vomit. Jake Nucci finally takes pity on her and tells her Mr. Sanders sang her part and they came in third overall.
Lorna doesn’t know what is more disappointing—that she lost control and cost them the win? Or that Kristen is using again?