CHAPTER 58

CHAPTER 58

EZRA

Morning came too fast.

My alarm buzzed at six and I wanted to throw it out the window. Lily’s voice floated through the corridor, loud as always, “Up, soldiers of the Lord!”

I groaned, rolled off the bed, and started dressing. The uniform white shirt and black trousers were freshly pressed, but I felt like a zombie in church clothes.

When I came out, the dining table was empty.

No breakfast.

Just a pile of gum packets and bottled water.

“We’re not eating?” I asked, blinking.

Jordan looked up from tying her shoelaces. “Genevieve said chewing gum keeps the voice warm.”

Lily nodded enthusiastically. “Yup. Gum for breakfast. Michelin-star meal.”

I muttered, “Great. We’ll all pass out before round one.”

We loaded onto the bus, the morning sun too bright for my sleepy eyes. Everyone buzzed with nervous energy—laughing, whispering, praying. Genevieve stood in the aisle, prim as always, clutching her clipboard like it was the Bible itself.

“Good morning, everyone,” she began, voice polished with that British lilt that could slice glass. “We are ambassadors of grace today. I expect discipline, punctuality, and above all, humility. Remember—you sing for God, not applause.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the bus chorused.

Then she looked at me. “Ezra, dear, please make sure the sopranos keep time. You know how they wander.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Lily leaned close to me, whispering, “You mean how she wanders.”

I elbowed her. “Behave.”

Genevieve smiled, clearly oblivious, then turned. “Father Dorian?”

He rose from his seat near the front, one hand braced on the headrest, that calm authority rolling off him. Even in his crisp black shirt and collar, he somehow looked… unreal.

“Everyone,” he began, voice deep and steady. “Remember what we practiced. This isn’t just a contest—it’s fellowship. Sing with your hearts. And if you get nervous—” he smiled faintly, “—breathe. The Lord hears nervous hearts too.”

The bus erupted into applause and cheers.

Lily even whistled.

He caught my gaze for half a second, and I swear my chest forgot how to move.

Then Father Nico stood.

Instant mood-killer.

He adjusted his collar dramatically, lips curved in that too-smooth smile. “Let us remember to sing with purity and virtue,” he said, voice honeyed. “And avoid… distractions that lead us astray.”

The pause lingered too long.

I froze.

Jordan’s brow furrowed. Lily’s smile dropped entirely.

When he finished, everyone clapped out of habit. Everyone except the three of us.

Lily crossed her arms. “Not clapping for the creep.”

“Same,” Jordan muttered. “Man gives me hives.”

I stayed quiet, chewing my gum a little too hard.

The bus pulled into the competition grounds two hours later.

The place was massive—an auditorium built like a cathedral, glass walls catching the sunlight, banners of different parishes fluttering in the wind. Choirs milled about everywhere, carrying folders, chatting, warming up.

Lily whistled. “Holy crap, this is like the Olympics of singing.”

Jordan adjusted her jacket. “Yeah, except no medals, just eternal judgment.”

I laughed, nerves thrumming under my skin.

We filed out, Genevieve directing us with military precision. “Section B, row seven. Keep your robes straight, everyone. Father Dorian, if you’ll—ah, thank you.”

We found our designated seats—neat rows of padded benches near the center. The air buzzed with energy.

“This is insane,” Lily whispered, clutching my arm. “Look at their uniforms. They have matching pins!”

I looked at the choir to our right—perfect posture, silver pins shining on their collars. “They look like a cult,” I muttered.

Lily snorted so loud Jordan smacked her arm. “Shh. You’ll get us excommunicated before round one.”

Father Dorian took the aisle seat a few rows down, his expression unreadable as he scanned the crowd. Nico sat farther back, already charming some nun with that snake smile.

Genevieve was up front near the judges’ panel, clipboard raised, checking and rechecking our slot.

“Okay,” I whispered to Lily, “so who’s first?”

Before she could answer, the MC took the stage—a cheerful man in a grey suit with a microphone that squeaked the moment he touched it.

“Good morning, everyone!” he boomed. “Welcome to the annual Inter-Parish Choir Fellowship!”

The crowd responded with polite claps and scattered cheers.

He continued, “We have participants from over twenty churches this year. Let’s give thanks for the gift of music and community.”

He bowed his head. “Let’s pray.”

Everyone followed. Hands clasped, heads down. His prayer was long and dramatic—something about voices rising like incense, and the spirit of unity filling our lungs.

When it ended, the applause came again.

Then he smiled brightly. “And now, without further delay, let’s welcome our first performers—St. Anthony’s Parish!”

The choir in matching pins stood, all composure and confidence, walking to the stage like professionals.

Lily leaned over. “I’m already intimidated.”

Jordan muttered, “They breathe in harmony. We’re doomed.”

I laughed nervously. “They’re good. Really good.”

As their voices filled the hall, soaring and perfect, I swallowed hard. The audience was transfixed.

I glanced at Dorian.

He wasn’t watching them—he was watching me.

Our eyes met.

He gave the smallest nod. Just once.

My pulse jumped.

Okay, I told myself. If he believes in me, I can do this.

Lily elbowed me. “You okay, space cadet?”

“Yeah,” I said, chewing gum again, even though it had lost all flavor. “Just… warming up.”

“Right,” she said with a grin. “Warming up your soul.”

I smiled back, pretending not to notice that Father Nico’s gaze had shifted toward us again from two rows behind.

Something about this competition felt bigger than singing.

Something dangerous was building under the hymns and holy smiles.

And deep down, I knew—this week was going to change everything.

******

By the nineteenth church’s turn, my stomach was in full panic mode.

These people could sing.

Like, actual angels-on-autotune level good.

Jordan leaned closer and muttered, “Yeah, we’re screwed. I’m not even sure we’ll make the first fifteen.”

I elbowed her. “You’re supposed to say something positive.”

“I’m positive we’re screwed,” she said flatly, and Lily snorted beside us.

“Guys,” Lily whispered, “do you think they bribed Heaven? Because what is that voice doing?”

The sopranos on stage hit this harmony that made my bones vibrate. I swear, even the sound tech guy clutched his heart.

I looked down at the program. “Only ten churches make the next cut,” I murmured. “Ten.”

Lily hummed, half nervous, half dramatic. “Okay, so we’ll just be number ten. Manifest it.”

Jordan scoffed. “Manifesting won’t fix our pitch problems.”

I shot her a look. “You’re supposed to have faith. What happened to that?”

“Faith left when I heard that alto hit a C6,” she said dryly.

I laughed despite the nerves, but my heart wouldn’t stop hammering.

Genevieve and Father Dorian were sitting a few rows in front. Genevieve looked like a royal at a coronation — straight back, perfect posture, her pearls glowing under the stage light. She leaned toward Dorian, whispering something. He nodded slightly, face unreadable as usual.

I wished I could hear what she said. I always hated not knowing things.

“Next up,” the MC said, “the nineteenth performance: Saint Luke’s Parish Choir!”

Applause thundered. The choir on stage bowed gracefully, all smiles and confidence. They started singing, and oh God, it was flawless.

Lily whispered, “Okay, maybe we’ll just… bring vibes. If we can’t win, we can at least bring vibes.”

Jordan chuckled under her breath. “Yeah, sure. Vibes and tears.”

When their performance ended, people clapped like it was the Second Coming.

Then the MC looked down at his paper and smiled. “And finally… our last performance for this round — Saint Maria’s Parish!”

That was us.

Lily squeaked. “Oh my God, we’re up.”

My pulse jumped. “Okay. Okay, this is fine.”

I stood, smoothing my robe, ready to follow the others up. But before I could take a step, Genevieve’s hand shot out and caught my arm.

“Ezra, dear,” she said softly.

I froze. “Ma’am?”

She smiled — polite, too polite. “You won’t be joining this one.”

“Huh?”

She lowered her voice. “You’ll sit this round out. We’re saving you for the finals.”

I blinked. “But—”

“No buts, Ezra.” Her tone wasn’t loud, but it had that power that made my stomach sink. “We need to hold something back for the last round. Let the audience anticipate your voice.”

I opened my mouth, then shut it. “But I practiced with them.”

Father Dorian turned slightly in his seat, his eyes meeting mine. Calm. Serious. “Do as she says.”

That was it. No argument, no explanation.

I sighed, stepping back slowly as the others climbed the stairs. Lily looked back at me, mouthing, It’s fine.

I wasn’t sure it was.

“Just stay, dear,” Genevieve said again, her accent perfectly clipped. “Watch. Observe.”

I sat down, heart heavy.

Lily walked to the center of the stage, her robe swaying lightly. She looked smaller up there but somehow… confident. The mic stand was slightly too tall, so she adjusted it with a nervous laugh that drew a few chuckles from the audience.

Then she smiled, steadying herself. “Good evening, everyone. Before we begin, I’d like to share a verse. Psalm 100:2 — ‘Serve the Lord with gladness; come before His presence with singing.’”

The crowd murmured approval.

She nodded at the pianist and the first notes of the song filled the hall.

It was one of our best pieces. Harmonies tight, rhythm clean. The kind that made even the quiet ones hum along.

As soon as Lily started singing, I forgot to breathe.

She owned it.

Her voice was low and strong, floating above the piano like honey and thunder mixed. By the bridge, she hit a note so deep and clear that my jaw actually dropped.

Someone in the audience gasped. Another clapped too early.

I turned to Genevieve, who was watching with quiet pride, her lips barely curved into a smile. Even Dorian’s expression softened slightly, though his eyes flicked toward me once — quick, unreadable.

I looked back at Lily, who ended the song with this perfect little pause before the final line, letting the silence stretch — dramatic, confident.

Then she finished.

For a heartbeat, the hall was still.

Then applause exploded.

“Damn,” Jordan muttered beside me. “She killed it.”

“She murdered it,” I whispered, clapping.

Lily bowed, grinning from ear to ear, and I couldn’t help smiling too.

Ryan and the others looked proud, sweaty, relieved. They had done it.

As they walked back to their seats, Lily threw me a look. “Told you. Vibes.”

I rolled my eyes but grinned back. “Okay, fine. You were right.”

“Obviously.”

Jordan leaned in, whispering, “We might actually make top ten.”

Genevieve turned back slightly, hearing her. “We will make it,” she said primly. “Confidence is the language of faith.”

Jordan blinked. “Yes, ma’am.”

I bit my lip, trying not to laugh.

The MC congratulated Lily and the choir for their “moving performance,” and my chest filled with pride. I wasn’t even on stage, but still… they were my people.

I glanced at Dorian again. He was watching the stage, but his jaw was tight, like his mind was elsewhere. I wondered what Genevieve had whispered earlier.

As applause faded and the MC announced a short intermission before results, Lily turned around in her seat and whispered, “So? How’d we do?”

I smiled. “You guys were perfect.”

She grinned. “We better be. I can’t lose to Saint Luke’s again.”

Jordan smirked. “Petty church rivalry, huh?”

“Call it holy motivation.”

I laughed, feeling lighter.

For the first time since we’d arrived, I wasn’t nervous. Not really. Watching them up there — strong, confident, beautiful — reminded me why we were here.

We might not have been the fanciest church or the most trained, but we felt what we sang. That had to count for something.

I sat back as the crowd chattered, heart still pounding but in a good way this time.

Maybe, just maybe, we had a shot