The Compass by C. T. Lang (carter reed .txt) 📕

here to audition!”
“A Coreman Scholar? How interesting,” intoned a deeper voice. Alex stepped into the house and saw a tall Asian boy who looked like he could pass for a 30-year-old CEO.
“It’s nice to meet you.” She said, and shook his proffered hand.
“I’m Jenson Burke, but you’ll commonly hear me referred to as the First Mate. Co-founder of The Compass.” Alex could not think of a reply, but he didn’t wait for one. With a beckoning gesture, he started up the wide wooden staircase at a pace that made Alex feel like a young army officer following his superior.
“Look, I’m sorry if I gave you the wrong impression, but I can’t audition. I haven’t any lines to perform, or songs to sing, or anything like that. I wasn’t planning on auditioning, that kid just found me on campus—”
“First of all,” he cut her off, “The student you mentioned is Ryan Somers, a fourth-year student who was just accepted to the Axes Medical Academy.” His voice subsided to a softer tone when he added, “Seaman Somers—that’s our way of referring to a member of our fraternity, by the way—has a genetic defect that did not permit his body to mature past the physical age of ten years. In the future, you will kindly remember to address him by his name, or if you are too dense to remember that, “Seaman” will do just fine.”
“Uh, sure.” And she was pushed rather unceremoniously into the audition room.


The Compass
Chapter Two: Solve by Trial and Laughter

Alex stood in the doorway for an instant, shell-shock from the sight. Entirely the opposite of what she had expected. Beautiful. No. Wonderful! Glorious! Her eyes widened as she viewed what may have been the dearest sight in her short life on this earth!
It was a library. Not just any boring, public library. A real rustic, genuine gentleman’s study! Filled wall-to-wall with bookshelves, lined from ceiling to floor with volumes of every sort, and each piece of furniture, from the Grecian sofa to the Roman statue of the goddess Minerva, was stylishly academic. Alex was at home. Suddenly she craved the thought of passing this audition. She had to live here, if only to spend time in this breath-taking room!
“Please come in and take your seat,” droned a voice from across the room. (No, it’s two voices! Twins!?)
“Okay…” Turning toward the sound of the voices, she found a single wooden chair opposite a screen, not like a confessional screen, but a partition much like those that separate a limousine driver from his customers.
“Name and age?” the voices hurried on tediously.
“Alex DeAiken. Freshman, Coreman Kid.” (Yikes. I sound really boring.) She paused. “No autographs, please,” (I hope they realize I’m just trying to be funny.)
“Nice one, lubber!” (Lubber? Like, landlubber? What in the world?) But before she could ask, a demand arose from a new voice.
“Have you any talents, stranger?” (Hmm… he sounds Southern, but not Virginian, like Mother. He’s from one of the Carolinas, I bet.)
“Err…” (None at all! Damn it! My brother would have an answer for this… What would Jef say??) “Fraid not, gents. Oi’m completely talent-less, meself.” She imitated a Cockney accent, as brashly as Jef would speak. (Sounds like the twins are chuckling… I’ve got to get that Carolina boy to laugh!)
“That’s a shame,” the voice replied, with a theatrical sigh. “We so could have used a singer. Since Seaman Somers sounds young to be an alto and you dogs can’t sing worth a doubloon…”
“Watch it, Captain!” (Ha! That sounds like mutiny to me.) Alex smiled to herself, but the voice went on, its owner unperturbed.
“It’s a real pity, that. A ship needs all positions filled, and we are sorely wanting someone in the alto range. With its First Mate as tenor and Ryan… err, Seaman Somers, as mezzo-soprano at best, that just leaves these tone-deaf, scurvy dogs… And Mark Antony, of course. The prized baritone.” (He speaks like a collector who can’t find the last piece of a set. What’s he getting at?)
“Don’t forget yourself, sir.” (Sarcasm must come naturally to this pair.)
“Ah, yes! Your Captain is a talented fellow. But I must prostitute my voice to whichever range needs me most. How I wish I could retire from the stage and make a modest living in the realm of paper and ink!” (He’s really laying it on thick. If hyperboles were lightning-bolts, I’d be six feet under right about now.) “So it’s up to our new recruit to fill the gap!”
“So this is some kind of singing club?” Alex ventured a guess.
“What?”
“What??”
“WHAT!?” The three voices clashed like an earthquake in the study, and Alex glanced around nervously to check that no books had fallen from their shelves.
“Sorry! I guess I don’t know what The Compass is, exactly,” she said, faking a laugh. (Help me out, here, Jef! What am I getting myself into?)
“Well, as el Capitan over here would have it, our fraternity is like a ship—” The twins began to recite a well-rehearsed monologue, but the other boy’s voice cut them off.
“That’s enough!” (Ouch. I can almost see him glaring at me.) “The Compass is not a choir. If it was, our twin sailors here would be marooned on a dormitory hall.” He laughed for a moment but quickly reverted to the serious tone.
“The Compass, in summary, is a social experiment, the collaborative effort of Jenson and myself in our freshman year. Well, that is, last year. When we received our acceptance letters to the Axes, our fathers allotted us a small sum of money to purchase the land and this charming house for the formation of a fraternity. Instead of choosing a traditional Greek name, we named it The Compass, after our fathers’ profession. Yes, we come from proud lines of naval—”
“Captain! Cut it out!” The louder twin interpolated. “It’s nothing complicated, really; The Compass was designed to combat the negative stereotype of a fraternity. We’re strictly about entertainment, and we only accept young men who can sell.”
“Sell?” (First a choir; now a business? What is this?)
“Unlike the other fraternal institutions,” the ‘Captain’ started again, “We have to raise funds for the upkeep of our lifestyle. For the last three semesters we have balanced the books to the T, every I dotted and no mistakes whatsoever!” he said proudly, but Alex could have sworn she heard one of the others say “Josh overspends!” while the other coughed loudly. (I see the point now. They must hold shows and concerts and things to pay for what Mummy and Daddy won’t. Maybe not all rich kids are ungrateful snobs…)
“So do you want to hear me sing or not?” she said flatly, folding her arms and raising an eyebrow. Instantly the voices returned to normal.
“Why yes, of course. You’ve an entertaining personality. If you can prove your worth by vocalizing a good piece, we’ll move you into a trial round.”
“Which means you get to stay for dinner with us and tour the rest of the building, while we determine what other merits you have.” (I’d get to spend more time here?? That’d be beyond great!! I‘ve got to make this good. But what can I sing?)
“I don’t know any classical music; I mean, I’m no student of Beethoven…”
“Beethoven didn’t write music for singers, you lubber,” one of the twins said caustically. (Ouch! That stung. M-m-must… recover!) “Besides, you think all we Axes kids listen to are boring classical pieces?” The other twin picked up. “You’re in for a real culture-shock. We’re just as schooled in poor people’s music as you are. In fact, I bet you couldn’t think of a single song we haven’t heard.” (That’s it! I’m back in the game now!)
“Oh really?” Alex said demurely. “Why don’t you put your money-- sorry, I mean your doubloons-- where y’ar filthy mouth be?” She couldn’t resist a smirk.
“What’s the wager?” said the third voice smoothly. “We’ll not be beat!” Alex sat back in the chair and folded one leg over the over, in a relaxed, subtly manly way.
“If I sing three verses of a song—any song, mind you—and you can’t tell me the song title or its artist by the end of the third verse, you’ll lose.”
“Let me guess,” the voice carried on from there, “If you somehow manage to top us, you’re automatically in for the trial round?” (He’ll see right through this. Well, it’s too late now.)
“That’s exactly what I mean… Sir.”
“A plot! Very good. I like it. Trey, Grey, what say you?”
“Sure.” “Works for me!” The twins chorused. (Aha! I have just the thing. Thank you, Jef. Thank you so much!) Her face broke into a smile of relief.
“Very well. Commence to sing!”
“Aye aye, Captain.” Alex drew in a breath and, in the silence of the enchanted study, began to sing.
“I know a girl who would
Walk a thousand miles
Just to prove she could
And I love it when she smiles”

Alex paused for breath, and one of the twins yelled out a name.
“Sorry, that’s not it. But that’s only your first shot. Shall I continue?”
“Of course!” (Maybe they actually like it—my singing. No, snap out of it, Alex! They just like Jef’s words.)
“She’s a helluva girl
The smartest in my world
And I love her that way
I wouldn’t let her change a thing”

She listened for a guess, but the gentleman’s study remained silent.
“She day-dreams in school
And they say that she’s a strange one
She breaks every rule
Just cause she’d like to change ‘em”

It was halfway through the second verse, and Alex really got into the song, shaking her head and snapping her fingers to the upbeat tune.
“And she may not be a homecoming queen
But she’s more beautiful to me
And I love her that way
I wouldn’t let her change a thing”

Alex’s voice dipped a little, as she remembered the look on Jef’s face as he lay on the grass on that July day.
“Hey, Alex! Come listen to a song I wrote. It just came into my head yesterday, while you were finishing the Coreman application!” Jef had written this for her, and named his work Alex’s Song. He was the best brother she could ever want.
She forgot to pause and listen for a guess. She even stood up from the chair and closed her eyes, not quite dancing, but swaying to the tempo as she plunged into Jef’s last verse. All the pain and problems of this afternoon vanished. Even the audition seemed far away. None of that mattered now. She was here, in the library where time stood still, singing to the memory of the girl she used to be.
“She wears a blue ribbon in her hair
And she dances like she just don’t care
Mother says she’s a sinner
Father says she’s a winner
She’s a helluva girl
The coolest in my world
And I love her that way
I wouldn’t let her change a thing”

In keeping with Jef’s style, she changed tempo to repeat the last line; so it was with