I’m waiting impatiently outside my best friend Baylee’s front gate. My watch reads 1:47, school is 20 minutes away, and helllooooo — everyone knows that you have to be standing in line the
minute the doors open or you’ll be stuck waiting for tryouts all day.
“Sorry, sorry, sorry!” Baylee comes flying down the path, wrapping a scarf around her neck. There’s nary a breeze outside. I look at it pointedly, and she shrugs self-consciously. “My voice. You know how it is.”
Baylee has a beautiful voice — which happens to strain easily. She’s always in demand for choir, and yet rarely lands solos. She doesn’t seem to mind, though, happily swelling the ranks of whichever songs she’s listed for.
“What’re you trying out for?” she asks me, breathlessly, trying to keep up. “And what’s the rush?”
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