Page 36 of The Boyfriend Swap

“I know how much you love to sing, and the very last thing you ever want is for someone to say you can’t.”Way to state the obvious, Ms. Lane.

“Uh-huh,” Aimee said sadly.

I pictured Aimee on the other end of the phone, convinced her life was over, and willed myself not to give into her sadness. “I’ll need details from your mom, but if you’re in voice therapy, you’re probably right about not singing in the spring concert this year.”

“I know!” she wailed.

I silently prayed what I was about to say would provide a modicum of relief. “I love to sing too. And when I was your age, my favorite part of school was the concerts. Like you, I was chosen for a lot of solos. Now, as the teacher, I can’t sing with you guys, and I miss it so much.”

“I’m sorry, Ms. Lane.”

I was touched by her sympathy for me during her own struggle and even more determined to provide her a diamond in the rough. “Not your fault, sweetie, but thanks. Anyway, I might not be able to sing, but I get to do the next best thing. You know what that is?”

“No,” Aimee said, blowing her nose into the phone.

As enthusiastically as I could, I said, “I get to direct the show. Which means, I decide what songs to sing and who sings them.AndI come up with dance routines and everything. It’s really hard.” It wasn’t a lie. I did miss performing, but producing the concert was equally fun in a different way.

“You’re good at it.”

Her compliment tickled my heart, but it wasn’t about me. “Thank you. It’s not an easy task to do all by myself, and I could really use help. Do you think you’d want to be my assistant?” I crossed my fingers.

I heard her gasp. “For real?”

The knots in my belly unraveled marginally at the hint of cheer in her voice. “Yes. I can’t swear you won’t miss singing, but I do promise you’ll have fun. Assuming your mom, dad, and Principal Hogan are on board, what do you say?” I’d known Aimee’s parents for several years now and was positive they’d agree, and Principal Hogan always said yes as long as you showed him respect by asking first.

“Yes.”

“Good. Now please try not to let this ruin your Christmas, okay? You have my word I will talk to your parents after the holiday and get this all sorted out.”

“Thank you, Miss Lane. I’m glad I didn’t listen to my mom.”

“Me too,” I said with a laugh. “Merry Christmas, Aimee.”

“You too. Bye.”

After we hung up, I let my head fall backward and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Nice job.”

I faced Will and smiled timidly.

“I only heard your side of the conversation, but whatever you said to your student seemed to have worked,” Will said, beaming at me.

I tossed the photo frame for James in my basket, and as we continued walking up and down the aisles, I summed up the phone call for Will. When we reached the café, we sat down at an empty table. I finished my story over the Snapple iced teas Will bought us.

He shook his head in awe. “Talking down a hysterical child—not a job for the weary. Did you always want to be a teacher?”

I shrugged. “You know what they say: ‘Those who can, do; those who can’t, teach.’”

Will’s eyes darkened. “No offense, but I wanted to pummel your boyfriend when he said that.”

Tapping my hand on Will’s across the table, I said, “Perry was only teasing. You don’t know him like I do.”

“If you say so,” Will said unconvincingly. “For what it’s worth, I thought you had an incredible voice in high school. And based on last night’s performance, you still do.” The night before, I’d sung “Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head” fromButch Cassidy and the Sundance Kidfor the sixties, the theme fromMahoganyby Diana Ross for the seventies, and “Fame” fromFamefor the eighties.

“Thanks,” I said, trying to ignore the flip of my belly. As a teenager, I used to daydream about Will watching me perform or even walking past the auditorium while I rehearsed and being so mesmerized by my singing voice that he fell in love with me on the spot.

“And for the record, I didn’t think you were weird.”

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