my best material, but the solo had been difficult. I’d driven Vee crazy testing songs on her before finally choosing “Still Hurting” from The Last Five Years.
Despite my nervousness, I knew everyone at camp had faith in me, and as their resident star, I couldn’t let them down. They were sure, as was I, that Ms. Stritch would fall in love with my performance—maybe even insist that I skip my senior year to study in New York as her protégé.
After I finished my pieces, I walked downstage for the interactive part of mentoring, notes from an actual Broadway legend . . . Ms. Stritch regarded me with her critical eye and larger-than-life personae, asking, “What do you know about heartbreak, Ms. Reid?”
“Uh, well . . .” I stammered, my face flushed from my performance and inability to form coherent thoughts. “Not a whole lot.”
She nodded and said in her rasping drawl, “I could tell. Next!”
I remember leaving the stage in a stupor, shame blurring my vision. She was right, of course. I’d picked performance pieces that I’d had no life experience for—I’d never had a serious boyfriend, let alone crippling heartbreak.
Now, I could sing that song with enough heartfelt passion to make a cynic weep. Without warning I started to sob—dry heaves that racked my body from the inside out. Eventually tears began to gush, and gush, and gush. I cried until my nose stopped up, my eyes swelled shut, and my throat felt raw. Sometime shortly after, I drifted off to sleep . . .
I followed the orange glow until I reached the campfire. Listening to the crackle and hiss, I sat on an old stump to bask in the heat and aroma of burning wood. Vee sat across from me, sporting her favorite fleecy sleep pants and a tank top. Her upper half was wrapped in her Hogwarts blanket.
Compared to my typical dreams involving Vee, this seemed so chill. “No wacky escapades tonight, Buttercup?”
“Nah.” She smiled at me, the firelight causing the planes of her face to move. The shifting shadows reminded me of Vee’s favorite quote from J.K. Rowling. The one about everyone having both light and dark inside. “No energy for hijinks tonight.”
I chuckled. “Tell me about it. Even the Scooby gang needs a night off now and then.”
“Exactly.”
The breeze picked up slightly, and I pulled my Les Mis blanket tighter around my shoulders to offset the chill. Outside the fire circle the night was pitch black, making it impossible to decipher my surroundings. “Where are we?”
“In Doon.” Shutting her eyes, she stretched her slippered feet toward the fire.
I gestured to my Playbill pajamas. “Why does it feel like drama camp?”
She opened one eye to peer at me. “Because it’s a dream, silly.” Closing her eye, she wiggled her toes in the heat. “But you can sing camp songs if you want to.”
Where I went, camp songs equaled show tunes. Nothing against “Kumbaya,” but it couldn’t touch “Seasons of Love” for building unity. But this wasn’t the time for songs. If this really was a Calling, we had important information to discuss. “I don’t think so.”
Her eyes popped open and she leaned in to gawk at me. “Mackenna Reid doesn’t want to sing show tunes?! Who are you and what have you done with my Ken?”
Another gust of wind ripped through the fire circle. Strands of hair whipped around my face, obscuring my vision. Projecting my voice over the elements, I said, “No. I don’t think this is a dream.”
“Of course it is.” She stood and walked toward me. “Why else would we be in our sleepover jammies?”
But this wasn’t a middle school slumber party. I rose to meet her. “Vee, I need to tell you something.”
Her smile faded as her eyes widened in concern. “Sure. Anything.”
The wind sprang to life, howling like a beast and ripping at our clothes as it sought to tear us into pieces. “We’ve rebuilt the Brig o’ Doon and we’re training an army in Alloway. Duncan and I are going to cross first so that we can make a plan.”
Shouting to be heard, I grabbed Vee’s shoulders and leaned in toward her ear. “We need you to use Aunt Gracie’s ring so that we can open the portal on the bridge.”
Tendrils of hair escaped her braid. They lashed her face like tiny whips. “When are you coming?”
“Soon. Hopefully tomorrow night. Can you meet us at the bridge?”
She nodded.
Rain started to pour from the sky, assaulting our skin in pellets of