Page 63 of The Best Christmas Choir Ever

Charlie huffed, sounding exasperated. Doris put a hand on her shoulder. “It wouldn’t hurt to check again,” her grandmother said diplomatically.

“Do that thing,” Maggie said. “What’s it called, Frank?”

“Refresh.”

“Yeah,” Harriet said. “Refresh this business.”

Charlie clicked her tongue. “The site’s barely loading as it is.”

“You might need to clear your browser history,” Frank suggested. “The cache has probably reached its memory limit.”

“See,” Harriet said. “The cache thingy is full.”

Charlie handed off her laptop to Frank.

He set it on his lap, and the choir shifted, crowding around Frank’s wheelchair instead. Frank unfolded a pair of glasses from his pocket and perched them on the end of his nose.

“This doesn’t look like a rehearsal,” Julian said. “What am I missing?”

Charlie dropped one hand to her hip, the other gesturing in Frank’s direction. “I was trying to check the competition website to see if there’d been any updates. But my laptop is not cooperating.”

Doris popped her head up. “Maggie has it on good authority that today’s the day we find out who’ll be invited to perform at the competition.”

“Whose authority?” Julian asked.

Maggie wiggled her brows in his direction. “I might know someone.”

“That Graham Burbank guy you mentioned before?”

Maggie flicked her hand like Graham was old news. “Richard McDaniel actually. He sits on the board at the community center.”

“Just how many people do you know?” Julian asked.

Maggie shrugged. “Enough.”

“Status no change,” Frank confirmed suddenly. “I’ve cleared the cache. The website hasn’t been updated.”

The residents groaned in unison.

“That’s what I said,” Charlie muttered.

“Right.” Julian reached into his pocket for a piece of paper. “While the rest of you were busy not rehearsing, I was sent a very important email.” Heads whipped in his direction, and Julian suddenly felt like an antelope that had stumbled into a lion pride. “From the Elm Springs Arts Council.”

Charlie’s eyes widened comically. “Oh my God!” she cried. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Way to bury the lede,” Doris said, looking like she wanted to swat him on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper.

Julian unfolded the printed email very slowly, but Harriet launched across the room and snatched it from his hand.

“Read it!” Maggie said, dancing at Harriet’s side, clinging to her arm. “Go on, read it!”

Silence fell over the room. Julian could have heard a snowflake hit the ground.

“We are pleased to inform you,” Harriet began.

Doris threw her hands up. “They’re pleased!”

Maggie squealed, and Harriet hushed her. “… That the Glendale Shakers are invited to perform at the Twentieth Annual Christmas Choir Competition!” Harriet’s voice rose with every word. “Please see the below instructions for the day of the performance… Blah, blah, blah… Congratulations on your acceptance… We’re freaking in, baby!”