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caught up listening that I’d missed my chance for a last-minute warm-up.She held the door open while I went in. I hoped the hour I’d done at home would be enough.
    Anderson sat behind a big folding table. “Brooke Dempsey,” he said. “Why does that name sound familiar?” He looked through my paperwork while the rest of the judges stared at me. For a second I panicked, thinking maybe they’d heard about how I’d gotten wasted at the Fourth of July party and almost got arrested trying to climb the water tower by the lake, or how I threw up all over the lobby of the Steak ’n’ Shake when Chloe and I got the beer munchies two weeks after that.
    â€œAh yes,” Anderson said. He’d found my Training and Experience sheet. “You study with Hildy Shultz, over at the university—she mentioned you to me.”
    â€œShe really respects the program here,” I told him. I hoped I didn’t sound like an ass kisser.
    Anderson just nodded and said, “Are you familiar with how we structure our choruses?”
    I nodded, almost laughing. I knew everything there was to know about how the department worked. I knew that most people started out in freshman glee club or Concert Choir, and then worked their way up through Chorale and into Honors Choir at the top. Usually only juniors and seniors got into Honors. Sometimes a sophomore made it, but freshmen almost never got in.
    I’d made up my mind that I would be different.
    â€œWhat are you going to sing for us?” Anderson said.
    â€œâ€˜Che faro senza Euridice,’ by Gluck.”
    â€œImpressive. Begin when you’re ready.”
    I took a second. Shut my eyes and got focused. Then I nodded for the pianist to start the introduction. To this day I still remember it as one of those performances where everything goes right. The notes just came without me having to think about them. I even took a chance on a cadenza at the end and nailed it.
    Anderson told me, “Excellent. Check the results tomorrow, then enroll in the appropriate class when you come to school on Monday.”
    As I left the room a tiny girl was standing by the door, waiting to go in next. I watched her through the window as she gave her music to the accompanist. Then she started to sing. The door blocked most of the sound, but I could hear enough. It was her—the soprano from before.
    And so it turned out I wasn’t the only freshman who made it into Honors. Kathryn showed up, too, sitting a few seats away from me in the back row. I recognized her by the long, dark hair. But even though we were considered freaks and intruders by the upperclassmen, and even though I knew how good a singer she was, we never talked. Our school is huge, and I always had stuff going on with Bill and Brice’s friends. It wasn’t until thetwins graduated, leaving me and Chloe without an automatic social life, that I really got to know Kathryn.
    Â 
    Chloe noticed her when she came to meet me after choir on the first day of junior year.
    â€œWho’s that?” said Chloe.
    I looked where she was pointing, and there was Kathryn, walking away from us down the hall.
    â€œHer name’s Kathryn,” I said. “Pease, maybe?”
    â€œShe’s pretty,” said Chloe.
    A light went on in her eyes, and I could see the ideas start to bubble up. Chloe’s the social director in our group—sort of like a teenage Martha Stewart, Miss Manners, and Perez Hilton, all rolled up in one. Back in sixth grade, she was the first person who put into words why people were so interested in a gawky new girl from New York. You’re popular, Brooke, she’d told me. You’re lucky. When we got to William O. Douglas, she’d made herself the official keeper of the A-list for our class—no one was admitted without Chloe’s blessing.
    â€œWe should invite that girl out,” Chloe said. “In fact, I can think of a lot of