Lightning Strikes (Hudson 2)

After class, I had to report to Professor Wilhelm for my vocal evaluation. I told Randall and he volunteered to accompany me.

"I can't go in with you," he said, "but I have nothing until stagecraft class and I can hang around for moral support, if you like. Then, we could have lunch. I haven't been here long myself, but I'll fill you in the best I can," he continued when I just listened without commenting. He looked around nervously now. "I haven't had a chance to make a lot of friends. If you don't want me to, just..."

"No," I said smiling. "That's fine. Thank you."

He beamed. Did he know how handsome he was? I wondered. I'd had my fill of boys who did and were just plain arrogant about it. He seemed quite nervous however and talked without taking much of a breath all the way to the vocal studio. I learned that his father was a stockbroker. Randall said he was the oldest of three. He had a younger brother and a sister who was the baby of the fatuity.

I was so jittery when I sang for Professor Wilheim, I could hear my voice cracking when I just sang the scales. He wanted to know if I could read music. Of course, I couldn't, and that put a look of disgust on his face for a moment before he sighed like someone gathering strength to walk another ten blocks. Then he asked what song I knew. None of the ones I mentioned pleased him. Finally, he asked me simply to

sing "Amazing Grace" while he accompanied on the piano.

"Very good, very good," Professor Wilheim said when I finished. "You'll attend my intermediate class every Tuesday and Thursday at nine. Any conflicts?" he demanded. I glanced at my schedule and shook my head.

"Good."

When I told Randall I was in the intermediate class, he reacted as though I had already been cast in a major show.

"He thinks you can carry a tune; otherwise, he would condemn you to the do-re-mi-forever class," he said. "Maybe we'll end up singing a duet one of these days."

"Please," I said, "spare me the false

compliments." He grimaced as if I had slapped him.

"Don't forget I heard you sing. I'm nowhere near as good as you."

His expression changed to an appreciative smile, and then he grew serious as we entered the cafeteria.

"I hope I can live up to everyone's

expectations," he muttered.

That was a feeling I could understand. It had to be more painful to be chosen and to fail than not to be chosen at all. Look at all the disappointed relatives and friends who would learn about your failure, and then what did you do with yourself? Would that happen to me? Whom would I disappoint though? I thought. Grandmother Hudson, maybe, but certainly not my real mother and certainly not Roy. He wanted me to just give up on any thoughts of a career and marry

There's always yourself, Rain, I thought. You'll disappoint yourself.

Sarah and Fiona were already at the table eating sandwiches and drinking tea. Philip Roder, the ballet dancer I had seen practicing, was reading a biography of Isadora Duncan and eating a yogurt. He looked up when Sarah asked how I fared with Professor Wilhelm.

"He put her in his intermediary class," Randall volunteered before I could respond. He seemed so determined to keep a smile off her face.

"Really?" she asked, her voice dripping with disappointment.

"That's very good," Philip Roder said. "He's practically forbidden me from entering his studio. Hi. I'm Philip Roder." He extended his hand.

"Rain Arnold," I said, shaking quickly. "I saw you dancing earlier. You're very good."

"Thank you," he said.

"Oh, and you know about ballet?" Sarah asked me. "About as much as anyone from where I come from, I guess, but I don't think you have to know all that much to tell that he's good," I said sharply.

"All right," Philip said, beaming a wide smile. "Someone with spunk."

Sarah looked furious for a moment and bit into her sandwich.

"What would you like to eat?" Randall asked me. I went to the refrigerator with him and picked out some cheese. He made us some tea as I prepared the sandwiches. Before we sat down, Fiona and Sarah left.

"What's her problem?" I asked, nodding in their direction.

"Don't mind her. She's always got a chip on her shoulder," Philip Roder told me. "She's like that to everyone, especially new students."