Ordinarily, Jake Fallon wouldn’tspeak to Ezra Mitchell.
For one thing, Ezra sat all the way over on the other side of the choir with the second tenors. That was practically Siberia to Jake, who sat on the opposite side with the first basses.
But desperate times called for desperate measures, and Jake was desperate, so on Tuesday, before rehearsal started, Jake sat backwards in the seat in front of Ezra and smiled his friendliest smile. “How’s it going, Ezra?”
Ezra was doodling on the corner of his music folder. From where Jake was sitting, it looked like Ezra was drawing an upside down dick—complete with a hairy ball sack.
“Can I talk to you for a sec?” Jake asked politely.
Ezra glanced up at Jake through thick, red-framed glasses that looked like they crawled right off Sally Jessy Raphael’s face. He frowned at Jake with irritation. “What for?”
And that was the other thing. Ezra Mitchell wasn’t exactly the most approachable guy in the choir. If there was a LeighHoward University Men’s Choir Award for The Most Disliked, Ezra would win it. Hands down. Especially since they’d had that mixer last year to welcome all the new choir members. Ezra had stood off to the side, away from everyone, quietly drinking a soda, and wearing a dark blue T-shirt that hadEx-squeeze mewith a cartoon hot dog squeezing a ketchup bottle on it. Jake had thought the guy was odd, but nonetheless, Jake and some of the section leaders had tried to talk to Ezra and include him, but Ezra had scowled at all of them and rejected any offers to hang out.
So, Jake was going to have to handle this delicately.
“I heard, um,” Jake began, feeling intimidated, even though he could bench press Ezra Mitchell. The guy was tall and lanky and maybe one-fifty soaking wet. “I heard you were pretty smart and make good grades?”
Ezra stared at him. Jake noticed Ezra’s longish black hair covered up half of his face. It looked greasy and frizzy at the same time. He had some black hairs all over his chin and around his upper lip that looked like a half-assed attempt at a beard. Or a goatee? Mustache, maybe?
Jake glanced away from Ezra’s face to his T-shirt, which hadRest in Peaswritten next to a cartoon bag of frozen peas laying in a bed. “I was just wondering if you could help me out with my Stats class? I’m not doing so great.”
That was sort of an understatement. Jake was bombing Stats. Hard. It was because he was stretched kind of thin these days with lacrosse on top of the men’s choir. And there was his part-time gig at the country club, fishing golf balls out of ponds and sand pits, and then driving around cantankerous old men in golf carts while they made wisecracks about their wives. He had to maintain a C+ GPA. Otherwise, he’d have to give up lacrosse or choir and he loved both. Not to mention, if his grades slipped too low, his dad would freak andmakehim give up the choir. Jake’sdad hadn’t been all that thrilled to find out his All-Star Athlete son was singing in a choir. Jake thought playing a sport might help, but apparently it was making things worse.
So, Jake needed help, and he had heard Ezra was quite brainy. And he’d heard from a friend of a friend of a friend that Ezra sometimes helped people with their studies. Jake was hoping Ezra would be just as helpful for him too.
But Ezra looked less than helpful right that minute, frowning at Jake—or a half-frown at least, because his hair hid the other half—and tapping his foot with impatience. He’d stopped doing his little dick doodle, leaving the shaft incomplete.
“All right, guys.” Dr. Martin entered the choir room and set a big binder of music on the piano with athunk. “Let’s get going. Get out the Robert Shaw Medley. We’ve got a lot of work to do.” He sat down at the piano. “Basses in your places, please.” He looked pointedly at Jake.
Jake sighed and went back to his seat.
So much for that, he thought as he got out his music and started the vocal warm-ups.So now what?He didn’t want to give up lacrosse. And he definitely didn’t want to give up the choir. He’d put so much work into his first audition. He’d prepped like a professional opera singer with breathing exercises and keeping his vocal cords warm with a cloth wrapped around his neck. He was worried his athletic look would work against him. At Jake’s high school, only the dorky, wimpy dudes sang in the choir. Dudes that looked almost exactly like Ezra Mitchell. It was social suicide, so Jake had decided to be Mr. Choir Boy in his room when he was alone, and Mr. Cool Jock around everyone else. He practiced and practiced until he was sure he’d be good enough for the LHU Men’s Choir.
It was an honor and a tough audition, and a less-than-stellar response from his dad, but he’d made it. And he didn’t want toruin it now with his damn Stats grade. He didn’t know what he was going to do.
After rehearsal, as Jake was putting his music folder away, he was surprised to see Ezra approach him.
“Meet me at the Au Bon Pain in the library,” Ezra said, putting his folder into his bookbag. Jake saw he’d been wrong about the dick drawing. It was actually an elephant with a long trunk and big cartoon eyes.
“Right now?” Jake asked.
“Half an hour,” Ezra answered and walked out of the choir room.
Jake stared after him a little stunned, but he decided he could kill thirty minutes by stopping by the post office on campus to see if he had any mail. Freshman year, his parents sent him care kits filled with deodorant, toothpaste, and shaving cream as if Jake lived in the middle of a desert and couldn’t just take the bus off campus to Rite Aid. Or maybe they worried he’d forget to do all those things being a busy college student. Either way, now that Jake was a junior, his parents rarely sent him anything except birthday cards and sometimes a check.
After finding his mailbox empty, Jake made his way to the library. He took his time walking up to the fourth floor—where the café was—because he was still way too early, but as he got in line for a coffee, he saw Ezra was already there, hunched over some books at a table.
“We couldn’t have just walked here together after rehearsal?” Jake asked, pulling out a chair and sitting down.
Ezra put down his pen and crossed his arms. “This is how it’s going to work. I charge fifty bucks an hour. I only do Wednesday evenings and Saturday afternoons. And I only take cash. Upfront.”
Jake stared at him. “Uh, okay?”
“Tomorrow at six, meet me at the tables on the main floor. If you’re late, I’m peacing out and not coming back. You got it?”
Jake blinked. “Yeah, okay. I’ll be there.” He felt around for his wallet. “I don’t think I’ve got fifty bucks on me right now. Can I give it to you later?”
Ezra set his elbows on the table and leaned forward. “Maybe I can cut you a deal. If you do something for me.”
