Isaiah and Earl had grumpily agreed to check them in. The way the boys climbed and jumped off the risers and the girls stood around primping and flirting, the men had their hands full.
Ariel could have completely enjoyed the day if not for the nagging questions in the back of her mind: Why had Caleb’s mood changed so drastically last night as the movie started? What was he thinking today, and how should she respond?
Regardless, today was about the teens, so she set aside her thoughts about Caleb. Since Ariel wanted to give them a similar experience to an actual concert, Caleb had promised to arrange for an audio/video/light team for the lessons. She spotted him at the tech booth area that contained a soundboard, some speakers, lighting, and a portable generator.
Might as well get the awkwardness over with. The heavy dew and the early-morning lake breeze chilled her sandaled feet and made her wish for her sneakers instead as she headed toward Caleb.
She passed Isaiah, who stood on a four-foot-high rolling podium he’d found somewhere and set up in front of the risers. He was coaching one of the younger girls in sound-checking the overhead mics. The young lady’s big, dark eyes sparkled as she sang the words “checking it out” in a clear soprano voice over the sound of crackling speakers, musicians tuning and warming up, and the AVL guys shouting instructions and corny jokes at each other.
Despite last night’s awkwardness, Caleb stood and met her across an expanse of grass. His cuffed-up, lightweight blue trousers and blue-and-white checked shirt with brown leather slip-ons sans socks looked just right for a summer Friday on an island.
He reached for her hand. “I came to the beach at six to help set up. Otherwise, I would have brought you with me.”
His gaze held so much warmth, she must have overreacted to his mood last night.
The teen girl sang out her line a couple more times, making Ariel smile. She gestured in the girl’s direction. “I rememberIsaiah making me sing those words during sound checks when I was her age. He never let me get by with a simple ‘check, check.’”
Caleb nodded. “I can imagine you thriving on his attention at that age.”
“And now.”
They approached the dozens of teens milling around, sitting on or jumping from the top of the risers while waiting to audition. Most wore jeans and graphic T-shirts, but a few older teens dressed to impress in casual dresses or khakis, button-downs, and ties.
Ariel welcomed the teens and distributed autographed sheet music. Then she organized them, grouping the sopranos at stage left of the risers, altos at stage right, and tenors and basses at stage right and left on the ground. When it was time to start, she noticed Caleb back at the tech booth with the sound crew.
Caleb glanced up and caught her gaze. Despite her concerns about last night, she couldn’t help the smile that blossomed of its own accord from the deep sense of contentment at having the man she loved show up for her.
Ariel drew in a breath. Yes. The man she loved.
She wanted only to nestle with him for a time while the rest of the world wrote the lyrics, played the music, sang the songs. To find a place for them to be alone, shutting out all distractions from the budding sense of her need of him. Not what he could do, not what he could give. Just him. Just Caleb Joshua Kennedy, the man who’d rescued her and protected her and made her feel whole. The man who remained unaffected by whatever fame, talent, and success the Lord chose to bestow on him—or her.
He held her gaze for a space, then winked, destroying any defenses she had left while confusing her even more.
“Ariel, here ya go.” The production manager held out a wireless mic, breaking the moment.
She reached for the mic, and after Isaiah vacated the podium, she climbed the five steps to the top and stood before the motley choir, sensing Caleb’s attention still on her.
Ariel welcomed the choir and tried to make them feel comfortable, then waved her sheet music. “This song is our textbook. Who knows ‘The Long Way’?”
Apparently they did, since they all broke into song, each singing in his or her own key, it seemed.
“For now, we’ll sing to a recording. Later, and during the performance, you’ll sing with the band. Remember, sing exactly what’s written on the music. No improvising.” She turned toward the sound man. “Oscar, let’s play the intro. Kids, watch for my cue.”
She raised her right hand high and lowered it on the song’s first beat, conducting her ragtag choir in simple four-beat gestures.
Surprisingly, the singers came in on time. They sang through the verses, and Oscar cut off the last instrumental tag.
When Ariel applauded and cheered, so did the audience she didn’t realize had gathered, many of them holding up their phones, recording the teens’ efforts.
Those videos would probably land on social media before the choir started singing again.
This time, she asked Caleb to conduct while she moved close to the risers and listened for tone quality and pitch. When the song ended, she corrected a few mistakes then addressed tone.
“Just a reminder, our noses are not musical instruments, so we don’t want to sound nasal.”
The crew laughed, but the kids deadpanned.
“That means I hear some people blocking off their noses, which makes it sound as if we’re singing through them, although we’re not. We actually want a little air to flow through our noses. But not too much.”
