Page 3 of Echoes of a Silent Song
But this is a text.
I stand by my statement.
Callum sat with the phone in his hands, leg bouncing up and down beneath the dilapidated desk.Before long, another text vibrated its arrival.
A bit of advice, if I may?Blair is the key to winning over those kids.
The kids.Gah.He’d been trying not to think about the kids.Four choirs’ worth.Four.Plus a music theory class, a piano class, and something called Extended Learning Time.Winning them over was the last thing on his agenda.He didn’t care about winning them over.He cared only about recapturing his muse, so he could resign this job as quickly as he’d taken it, return to Boston, and get his life back.Irritation surging, he started to type a reply to that effect, but the little animated ellipsis stopped him.Another incoming text from Vic.
I’m under no illusion that this job is permanent for you.But this school year will be what you make it, Callum.
Callum leaned back in the chair and studied the little gray speech bubble.Based on what he’d seen today, this year would land somewhere between Moderately Terrible and Complete Dumpster Fire.Thanks to his prickly pianist, his puppylike colleagues, and this tiny, dusty office, Actually Good was out of the question.
But he could grit his teeth and do what he could to move the needle as close to Moderately Terrible as he could.
He texted back, the letters appearing slowly beneath his thumbs.
I’ll do my best.
That was all anyone—including himself—could ask.
Chapter Two
MORNING, SUNSHINE!”
At the cheerful greeting, Blair scanned the auditorium for her best friend.Joy Westinghouse’s purple-streaked platinum-blond pixie cut and crimson butterfly glasses weren’t hard to spot, and her voice—perpetually loud thanks to seven years directing orchestra at Peterson High—wasn’t hard to place.Sure enough, there she sat, five rows back, clad in one of her music-themed vintage-style dresses and clutching her trademark royal-blueIt’s a sharp, not a hashtagtumbler.
Blair slid through the row of plush black chairs and took a seat beside Joy, whose ice cubes clanked in the tumbler.Joy always drank iced coffee, even when it was fourteen degrees outside, and thanks to the auditorium’s enthusiastic air-conditioning, it didn’t feel much warmer than that.
Blair tugged her cardigan around herself—normally not necessary at the tail end of an Illinois summer—and glanced at Joy.“I’ll never know how you do that.”
“Hot coffee is for weirdos.”Joy lifted the tumbler to her lips but paused before she could take a sip, theatrically lowering her glasses and staring at something just beyond Blair’s left shoulder.
Blair frowned.“What?”
“Who.Is.That?”
“Who iswho?”Blair followed Joy’s gaze to none other than Callum, who’d just entered on the opposite side of the auditorium, clutching the same stainless steel travel mug as yesterday and wearing a dusty-looking tweed sport coat complete with elbow patches, as though he’d based his wardrobe entirely on cinematic university professor stereotypes.Hishair, both facial and otherwise, was still less than kempt, but at least he’d bothered to show up this time.
“Thatis the latest in our revolving door of choir directors and the current bane of my existence,” she said.
“You figured that out on the first day?”
Blair met her friend’s level gaze with one of her own.“Did you see him here yesterday morning?”
“Ifthatguy had been here yesterday morning?”Joy pushed her glasses back up and resumed ogling Callum.“I’d have definitely noticed.”
Blair swatted Joy’s upper arm.“Stop it.You’re happily married.”
“Doesn’t mean I can’t notice a job well done on God’s part.And you, my dearest friend in the world, are most definitelynotmarried.”She craned her neck in a not-obvious-at-all sort of way.“And from the looks of it, neither is he.”
Ew.“I can’t speak for him, but I am not looking.And even if I was, I definitely wouldn’t be looking at work.Or in his direction.”
“Last time I checked, looking in the conductor’s direction was a fairly important part of your job.”Joy’s eyes gleamed with mischief.“And if any of my past conductors were that beautiful?Or even close?Watching them would not have been difficult atall.”
Blair rolled her eyes.“He needs a haircut.”
“Ehh, I kinda like it.Makes him all broody and mysterious.Like Beethoven.”
