Chapter 12
[Rose's POV]
Sarah was already moving, her performer's instincts taking over. "Let me demonstrate why each song could work for you, Rachel. I want you to hear the different emotional possibilities."
She positioned herself in the center of the room, one hand on her hip in a practiced pose. "Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are..."
Her trained voice filled the space, technically proficient and emotionally calculated.
"Now listen to this one," Sarah continued, transitioning seamlessly. "Rock-a-bye baby, in the treetop, when the wind blows, the cradle will rock..."
When the branch breaks, the cradle will fall... I'd always hated that line, even eighty years ago. What kind of lullaby promised a baby falling from a tree? But Jimmy had liked it.
"And finally," Sarah's voice dropped to a more intimate register, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine, you make me happy when skies are gray..."
"I think Rock-a-Bye Baby suits you best," Sarah concluded, looking expectantly at Rachel. "It's classic, showcases vocal purity, and has that timeless quality judges love. Plus, it's not as juvenile as Twinkle, Twinkle."
Rachel nodded thoughtfully, already calculating her chances. "You're right, Mom. It fits my range perfectly, and I can add some interesting vocal runs in the second verse."
I found my voice suddenly, cutting through their discussion. "What are the requirements for submitting an application?"
The question landed like a foreign object in their conversation. William's head snapped up from his papers, his expression shifting from mild interest to sharp disapproval.
"Since when do you care about singing competitions?" His tone carried the dismissive edge that had become his default setting with me.
Daniel snorted from his position at the table, not bothering to look up from his homework. "Rose wants to be famous now? That's rich. You can barely handle your coursework and now you're chasing fantasies."
William's frown deepened. "Daniel's right. Your academic performance needs serious attention. The last thing you should be doing is wasting time on entertainment industry nonsense."
Rachel's smile was perfectly calibrated—supportive on the surface, condescending underneath. "Oh, the barriers to entry are incredibly low, Rose. Just submit a video of yourself singing one of those three songs. No special training required, no audition process—literally anyone can try."
The emphasis on 'anyone' wasn't subtle, but I simply nodded. "Thank you for clarifying."
"Though," Rachel continued with feigned helpfulness, "most serious contestants invest in proper recording equipment, voice coaching, staging advice. The competition is quite fierce."
I absorbed this information without comment, already understanding the subtext. Rachel wanted me to know I was outclassed before I even began.
"Well," Sarah said brightly, "I think this is wonderful that you're showing interest in the arts, Rose. Even if it doesn't go anywhere, it's good to explore different talents."
The casual dismissal in her tone would have stung if I hadn't spent years navigating academic politics where colleagues smiled while undermining your research funding.
I excused myself and climbed the stairs to my room, closing the door with deliberate care.
My phone still felt alien in my hands. But I'd learned enough to navigate the recording function.
I positioned the device on my desk and selected the camera application. The red recording button seemed to pulse with possibility and threat in equal measure.
You are my sunshine, my only sunshine...
The words came without conscious decision, carrying the same gentle strength I'd used in that Los Alamos dormitory. My voice held youthful clarity but layered with something deeper.
You make me happy when skies are gray...
Through the thin walls, Daniel's mocking commentary carried clearly: "Listen to Rose! She thinks she's going to be the next big star. This is so embarrassing. Can you imagine her on national television?"
I continued singing, my voice steady and sure. This wasn't about fame or recognition—it was about something James would understand, something that connected us across eight decades.
You'll never know, dear, how much I love you, please don't take my sunshine away...
Sarah's footsteps paused outside my door. Through the thin walls, I heard her murmur to herself: "That voice... it's so pure, yet there's something almost... maternal about it. Strange combination for someone her age."
From Rachel's room came a different commentary: "She doesn't even have proper recording equipment. Just using her phone like some amateur. Completely unprofessional."
I finished the song and immediately submitted the video to the American Dream Star website. No hesitation, no second thoughts.
The next morning brought Alexander's unexpected transformation. I arrived at Boston College Prep to find him waiting by my locker, holding a Starbucks cup and wearing an expression of manufactured contrition.
"Good morning, Rose," he said, extending the coffee with a practiced smile. "I wanted to apologize for yesterday's... misunderstanding."
I studied the offering—a grande latte with some elaborate foam art. In my previous life, peace gestures came in the form of shared cigarettes outside military barracks or an extra ration of coffee during late-night calculations. This felt entirely different.
"Thank you, but I prefer to stay focused on academics rather than social interactions," I replied politely but firmly.
Alexander's smile faltered slightly. "I understand. I just thought... well, we're classmates now. Might as well get along."
"Of course. Cordial classmates."
During the morning break, I gathered my books from my locker when voices from Alexander's corner of the classroom caught my attention. I moved closer, pretending to examine the bulletin board.
"—just need to make her think I'm actually interested," Alexander was saying to Mike in a low voice. "Let her fall for the whole charming rich boy act. Then when she's completely hooked, I dump her publicly."
Mike shifted uncomfortably. "Man, that seems kind of harsh. She's just a transfer student."
"She embarrassed me in front of the entire class," Alexander's voice hardened. "Nobody does that without consequences."
I felt no surprise, only the familiar recognition of a strategy I'd seen countless times in academic politics and wartime negotiations. Alexander was young, predictable, and emotionally driven—exactly the kind of opponent who defeated himself.
I straightened and walked past their desk, making no acknowledgment of what I'd heard.
Lunchtime brought Alexander's persistence to new levels. He intercepted me before I reached the cafeteria.
"How about we grab lunch off-campus? I know this great place downtown—"
"No, thank you."
"Come on, the cafeteria food is terrible. Let me at least—"
I turned to face him directly. "Alexander, yesterday you treated me as an enemy. Today you're suddenly concerned about my lunch options. What changed?"
He opened his mouth to respond, but a bright voice interrupted us.
"Rose! Alex!" Rachel appeared beside us with perfectly timed surprise. "What a coincidence! I was just coming to grab something from the vending machine."
"Rachel," Alexander said, his relief evident. "Great to see you."
"Alex, I'm so glad you're here," Rachel continued, her tone sweetly concerned. "I've been worried about Rose. She doesn't seem to have many friends at school yet, and I know how hard it can be to adjust." She turned to me with an expression of sisterly care. "Alex is one of the most popular guys here. If he's offering to help you settle in..."
I saw the calculation in her eyes, the way she emphasized my supposed isolation, the subtle implication that I needed rescuing. I also noticed how Alexander's expression brightened at being positioned as my potential savior.
"Of course I'd be happy to help," Alexander said quickly. "That's what I was trying to tell Rose."
Rachel clasped her hands together. "Perfect! You two will get along wonderfully. Alex, you'll take good care of my sister, won't you?"
There was something else in Rachel's voice. The way her smile didn't quite reach her eyes suggested a history I wasn't privy to.
"Absolutely," Alexander replied, but I caught the gleam of satisfaction in his expression. This wasn't kindness—it was opportunity.
I looked between them, understanding the game perfectly. Rachel was positioning me as the needy transfer student requiring social assistance, while Alexander saw this as the perfect cover for his revenge plan.
"Thank you both for your concern," I said calmly. "But I should get to the library."
I walked away, leaving them to their machinations. Behind me, Alexander called out, but I didn't turn back.