Daisy Lyter's Arc

Chapter 4 of 5

Daisy walked into the audition sure of her scene. Then the director handed her a sheet of music. The lead sang a solo in act two, and Daisy had never practiced it. Her acting was ready. Her voice was not. A thin, shaky song would sink the whole tryout, no matter how real her anger looked. She had one afternoon. She went home to the brick apartment block and sat on the steps with the sheet in her lap. The notes climbed higher than she could reach. She tried the first line out loud and cracked on the top note. She tried again and cracked again. A white cat padded up the steps and sat beside her. It belonged to a neighbor. It watched her with calm blue eyes and did not flinch when her voice broke. Daisy almost laughed. At least one thing in the world wasn't judging her. Then Sunny Sheer came down the sidewalk, a flower in her hair, pink shoes bright against the gray pavement. She was the stranger who'd caught the fake note in Daisy's scene. She'd never lied to spare Daisy's feelings once. "You sound like you're wrestling that song," Sunny said. She sat on the step below. "It's too high. I'll ruin everything tomorrow." Sunny tilted her head. "Sing it low again. The part you just did quiet. That one didn't crack." Daisy stopped. In the scene, the quiet lines had been the real ones. The loud ones had sounded like acting. Maybe the song worked the same way. She didn't have to belt it. She could drop the key and sing it soft, let the pain carry it instead of the volume. She tried it low. The top note settled into her range. Her voice held, thin but steady, full of the same tight ache she used for the angry lines. The white cat blinked. Sunny grinned. "That," Sunny said. "That one I believed." Daisy ran it ten more times on the steps until the whole song sat low and true. By dusk she could sing it without a single crack. The next day she stood on the stage. She performed the scene quiet and real, the way she'd fixed it. Then the director pointed at the music. Daisy took a breath and sang the solo low, soft, aching. She hit every note. No crack. No fake. The director wrote something down and nodded. Daisy walked off the stage. She'd survived the song that could have sunk her. But as she reached the wings, the senior stepped up to audition next. The director leaned forward in her seat, already smiling before the senior spoke. Daisy had passed. Now she had to beat the one who always won.