Page 9 of A Smile in a Whisper

“Eves?” Sunita’s caring arm rub went unnoticed.

Every breath, every thought was consumed by the tortuous mix of simmering loathing and suppressed longing swirling inside her.

“Evie?” Sunita tried again. “Why don’t we—”

A goosebump-raising scream cut her off and jolted Evie as the Viking puppet, free of its tethers, lurched drunkenly toward the large glass windows of her mother’s shop.

Evie’s blood ran cold. “FUCK!” she shrieked and tore across the street.

THREE

EVIE

Then, Wednesday, August 3, eighteen years ago

“Okay, everyone, turn to page twenty-seven.” Mr. Remington licked his finger then flicked through a well-thumbed clothbound book. “We’ll start with ‘Pleasant Valley Sunday’ then follow up with ‘Downtown’.”

A cacophony of fed-up groans and muttered curses proliferated around the room.

Can’t we sing something new? Evie sighed. She stopped twirling her ponytail and cracked open the 1960s songbook.

Every summer, she had hope. Hope for new songs, new instruments, a new instructor, but each summer that youthful optimism ran aground, her hope shattered like a lost ship tossed into the rocks on the Mainland’s west coast.

And yet, Evie kept coming back, kept walking beneath the baronial town hall’s twin bartizans and carved stone figures, through its timber-paneled doors and into the community center. When she was eight, music camp was a fun way to keep out of trouble while her parents worked. Five years on though, hanging at the beach, roller skating with friends, and afternoons at the cinema were more Evie than singing the golden oldies once beloved by her grandparents.

Slumping in her chair, she shared a sulk with the bespectacled boy across the aisle, a friend since preschool. He motioned toward the teacher, curled his fingers together in a loose fist, and crudely moved his hand back and forth.

Evie laughed into her hoodie sleeve and nodded, mouthing “He IS a wanker” as Mr. Remington did the moist, mucus-y, throat-clearing thing that earned him the nickname Mr. Phlegmington.

“So gross…” Evie shuddered, burying her nose in the musty songbook.

“Class, before we start, we have a new voice joining us.”

YOU need a new voice. Shaking her head, Evie lowered the discolored pages and peered over the rows of heads in front of her. All chiseled jaw and long legs, a teenage boy in a baggy, short-sleeved turquoise shirt, artfully distressed skinny jeans, and a sheepish half-smile stood by Mr. Remington’s side. His wary gaze peeked through his tumble of brown hair then fled to his gym bag’s drawstrings entwined around his fingers.

Wait, WHAT?! Breath bottled in Evie’s chest. She shot up straight, her stare fixed as she sought confirmation this wasn’t just any new voice joining in.

“Everyone…” Mr. Remington sniffed.

OHMYGOD! Evie gulped. Nikolai?!

“…this is Nick.”

A strangled squeak escaped Evie’s throat, the noise lost in a sea of rising whispers.

“Now, where can I put you?” The instructor’s eyes washed over the rows of stunned faces.

Beside me! Evie’s heart pummeled her ribs. She plucked her backpack from the folding chair beside her, ignoring the twinge in her right side. Oh god, wait till I tell Fiona! He’ll be close enough I can reach out and—

“There!” Mr. Remington slapped Nikolai on the back and pointed. “Fifth row, far side—off you go…” Hugging his Chelsea FC bag, the teen actor shuffled across the room.

Evie deflated. “Nooo!” she moaned quietly, dumping her belongings back on the chair. Her misery wasn’t lessened by Nikolai’s new neighbors: two comely sixteen-year-old girls from Stromness Academy.

Five songs and a dozen throat clearings later, most of the girls hadn’t sung a single note, including Evie, who spent ‘Happy Together’ and ‘Never My Love’ ogling Nikolai as he stealthily signed autographs for the teens sat nearby.

“Well, that went well.” Mr. Remington’s tone rose sarcastically. “Let’s move along to our harmonizing exercises. Same as last time, folks. Pair off with the person on your left.” His fingerprint-dappled glasses slid down his long nose. “Oh, except you, Evie.”

“What now?” she murmured, her head lolling sideways as she turned away from the boy across the aisle.