Tori

I wait until I’m sure Serge is distracted by the kids. It doesn’t take too long. As soon as we’re with them again they’re bombarding him with questions and needing his reassurance. I think it’s good for him. His color is coming back quickly and he doesn’t look so shaky and sweaty.

I have to admit, when I found him in that alcove, I thought I might already be too late. The way he looked wasn’t good, and even though I didn’t think he could’ve gotten something that fast, I wouldn’t put anything above a person who really wanted to score.

But thankfully, my worst fears remain just that. They’re not reality. At least not yet. But it’s only going to get harder if someone doesn’t put his mom in her place. I don’t think she knows the effect she has on him, because if she does, and she still acts that way, she’s a really shitty mom. And from what he’s told me, she’s not a shitty mom, she’s just a lot.

So when I’m absolutely sure he’s not watching, I slink off and look for her around the backstage area. And sure enough, it’s not long before I find her, perfectly coiffed and trying to talk her way in backstage.

“You don’t understand,” she’s saying. “My son is back there. He needs me.”

“Ma’am there’s three thousand kids here to perform today. If I let every parent back here, we might as well not have a back stage.”

“Let me speak with your supervisor, this is ridiculous,” she says.

“I’m going to call security if you don’t leave on your own.”

She looks scandalized.

“It’s okay,” I say, flashing the guard my chaperone badge. “I can handle this one.”

He gives me an odd look but then looks back at Serge’s mom and decides she’s not worth the trouble.

“She can’t go back there,” he says.

I nod. “Understood.”

“I know you… you were talking to my son outside,” she says brightly. “You know Serge?”

“I do... can we talk?”

She nods enthusiastically, no idea what she’s agreeing to.

“So you’re Serge’s mom?”

“Dimitra,” she says, holding her hand out. I shake it, but without much conviction. “Who are you?” she asks.

“Tori,” I answer plainly. When that doesn’t answer her question, I remember that Serge doesn’t really talk to his mom all that much and probably hasn’t told her anything about me. Or even that he’s seeing someone. I have to be careful.

“I’ve been working with Serge and the kids for a few months and we’re planning some benefit concerts for the center in the future.”

She narrows her eyes and then suddenly the penny drops. “You’re the one he’s been performing with!”

“Yep.” I nod.

“And he’s planning more concerts? I’m so glad he’s not wasting his talent anymore. He’s not getting any younger.”

“See, that’s what we need to talk about,” I say, blunt as a spoon.

“Excuse me?” Dimitra’s smile fades, she finally realizes I’m not here for a pleasant chat.

“The way you talk to your son about his choices, musical and otherwise, it’s not okay.”

“I don’t know who you think you—”

“Save it. If you want to have any place in your son’s life, you need to learn to be supportive and stop pushing him so damn much.”

“I don’t know what arrangement you and my son have, but I am his mother and if you think for one minute he’s going to listen to you and let you cut me out—”

“It’s not me,” I tell her. “Serge is the one that’s going to cut you out of his life if you can’t cool it. It’s not up to me. This is just a friendly warning. Just thinking about you makes Serge want to pick up the needle. I know you think you were encouraging him to be his best, but it put a lot of pressure on him and he nearly died. How important is his career to you really? Would you rather have a successful son or a living one?”

The color drains from her face and her jaw goes slack. I think it’s the first time that Dimitra Davenport has ever considered that she might be the catalyst behind her son’s drug problem.

“He told you all that?”

“More or less,” I say, my tone a little gentler. “I get it. Believe me. I’m a perfectionist about this too, but it’s not worth the alternative.”

Dimitra’s trembling hand comes up to cover her mouth. “It was my fault?” she whispered, her eyes brimming with tears.

“The pressure was too much for him. But, I wouldn’t blame yourself entirely. He’s a big boy that makes his own choices.”

“I never knew I was putting so much pressure on him… I just wanted him to be the best he could be…” And then her tears start flowing and she sobs against my shoulder. I don’t really know what to do, so I just awkwardly pat her back saying ‘there, there’ over and over again.

“I’m sorry,” she says, wiping at her tears. “I feel like such a fool. Why hasn’t he ever told me this himself?”

“Maybe he figured you knew? Or maybe he didn’t want to hurt your feelings? I don’t know. He cares about you a lot, I think your pressuring just drives him, well, crazy.”

Her lips thin and I shrug. “Sorry,” I add.

“Why don’t you just go and enjoy the show and I’ll talk to him. We’ll come see you after it’s all done. He doesn’t need the distraction and I’m pretty sure that guard takes his job way too seriously.”

That gets a watery chuckle out of her and she nods. “Okay. Thank you, Tori. It took a lot of guts to tell me what you did, but I needed to hear it.”

I smile and wave, dipping back through the stage door. I hope Serge won’t be pissed at me when he finds out I confronted his mom for him, but something had to be done about that woman and her warpath.

“How’s it going?” I ask, whispering to the gathered kids.

“The other teams are really good,” Amanda says, fidgeting with her hair.

“Have we already forgotten why we’re here?” I ask, eyebrows raised, teasing her. She rolls her eyes with an exasperated sigh.

“No.”

“Why are we here?” I prompt.

She sighs again. “To have fun.”

“Right,” I say.

“Well, winning is fun, isn’t it?” she tosses back.

I grin. “I dunno. Why don’t you win and let me know?”

“Well, you heard the lady,” Serge says, coming up beside me, an arm around my waist. “Let’s go out there and show them what we’re made of.” Then, he turns to me. “Kiss for luck?”

“Wait, you’re going out there too?”

He laughs. “Yeah, I’m the choir director.”

I smack my forehead. Of course he is. And that explains all the extra pressure he’s putting on himself. I lean up on the tips of my toes and kiss him.

“Knock ‘em dead, baby.”

The performance goes off without a hitch, and afterward, Serge is in such a good mood, I think it’s safe to bring his mom back into the fray. Surreptitiously, I wave her over while he’s gushing with the kids and speculating about their scores.

He spots her coming over and stiffens, his back going straight as a steel beam. “Mom,” he says, his voice gruff.

She’s not crying anymore, and it looks like she’s probably reapplied her make-up because it’s impossible to tell that she ever was.

“You were great out there,” she says.

“But?”

She shakes her head. “No buts. It was a wonderful performance.”

He frowns. “Thanks?” Then he narrows his eyes. “But I shouldn’t be wasting my talent teaching kids, right?”

Dimitra sighs, her face falling, a hand going out to Serge’s arm. She looks up into his eyes and squeezes his arm. “I will always be proud of you. No matter what you choose to do. And the work you’ve done with these kids is amazing. It’s clear you have talents I didn’t know about,” she said, trying out a little smile.

Serge still looks confused, but he lets her hug him and hugs her back. “Thanks, Mom.” When Dimitra looks at me over his shoulder, I give her a secret little thumbs up and she mouths ‘thank you’ at me.

I’m sure it’s not all going to be sunshine and roses from here. I’m still going to have to keep an eye on her, but it’s progress and I’m happy for that.

“Tori, how long ‘til we find out who won?” Kamala asks, hanging around like my shadow. Not that I mind. After so many weeks at the center, I almost feel weirder without her at my side.

“Um… I don’t know. I think that’s everyone, so soon?”

“Do you think it will be us?” she asks, her eyes big.

“What do you think?”

“I think we’re gonna win,” she says confidently.

“Me too,” I grin.

It’s another hour of anticipation before the judges return with the results.

We don’t win.

But we do get second, which is enough to get us to Nationals.

It’s a win in our books, but when I glance over at Dimitra, I see trouble brewing. I can tell the results hit her hard and I can see her wheels turning. I don’t know if she’s ready to go appeal to the judges or to give Serge a lesson on what to do better next time, but I see it happening. I hurry over to her quickly.

“He worked so hard for this,” she grumbles under her breath. “Anyone with half a brain could see that!”

“Yep. He worked really hard so the kids could get this far and have a blast. And look at those kids,” I say, the whole lot of them cheering and laughing and dancing. “Looks to me like they’re having the time of their lives.”

Her face softens and she nods.

When Serge comes over to us, he looks apprehensive, like he’s approaching a live landmine.

“You did great, honey,” Dimitra says, hugging Serge. “You all did great,” she says louder, to the kids. “I think this is cause for a celebration.”

“Mom?”

“Who wants ice cream?” she says, doing her best Oprah impression. The kids cheer and jump around like crazy and it takes us a few minutes to get them settled enough to get everyone in a line. Apparently, Dimitra saw an ice cream place down the block, and Google confirms, so we head off for a field trip.

It’s one of those make your own ice cream bars, with a ton of flavors of soft serve on the wall and a toppings bar full of candy and cookies and fruit. When we’re done with the place, it looks like a hurricane tore through it. I make sure to empty out the cash in my wallet into the tip jar before we leave.

It’s on the way out that Serge comes to me with eyes narrowed. “What did you do? Lobotomy? Pod person? What?”

“What?”

“You said leave my mother to you and now she’s like from another planet.”

I laugh, leaning into him as we walk back to the bus. “You know, sometimes, people just change for the people they love.”