Read Online Riven by Jerry B. Jenkins - Free Book Online Page B

mind, he could do this. He had no idea whether he was any good or if he would wind up humiliated, but he could at least try.
    Brady emerged relieved to see the bathroom empty, but when he got into the music room, the same guys were bending over the now open guitar case. “Sweet!”
    “A Strat!”
    “Touch that and I break your face,” Brady said.
    The boys recoiled. “Just looking, pal. Chill.”
    “Yeah, well, it isn’t mine and I’m not supposed to let anyone—”
    “Great threads, by the way.”
    From the theater Brady heard, “Thirty-eight!”
    He lifted the guitar, heavier than he expected, and slung the black leather strap over his shoulder. He should have practiced this. He just missed the doorjamb with the neck, and as he moved to the side of the stage, still out of sight, the houselights went black.
    Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Brady padded carefully toward the single mike at center stage as murmurs faded to silence, but he could see nothing. What if he plunged into the orchestra pit? He treaded gingerly, feeling carefully for solid ground. Finally Brady nudged the mike, pulled it close to his mouth, and took a deep breath.
    Forcing his fear somewhere deep inside, he belted, “Well, it’s one for the money!” and the girl at the piano banged a loud chord. “Two for the show!” and she came in again. “Three to get ready, now go, cat, go!” and the spotlight hit him.
    Somehow Brady had begun on pitch, and now that he was into it, he just let loose. Air-picking the gleaming blue Stratocaster, he could see the spotlight dancing off his suit, gold lamé from head to toe.
    During a piano interlude, Brady danced all over the stage to the squeals and cheers of the crowd, and the light followed him. No one was going to believe this hadn’t been choreographed and rehearsed. How could he ever thank the piano girl and the lighting guys?
    When he finished, Brady took a sweeping bow and ran from the stage, holding up his pants with his free hand.
    “Get back out here, Brady Darby!” Mr. Nabertowitz squealed. “Encore! Encore!”
    Brady stopped, panting.
    “Go back,” someone said. “Curtain call.”
    Hands from everywhere pushed him back out. He visored his eyes with his hand but couldn’t see Mr. N. in the darkness.
    “Kill the spot!” the teacher said, and the houselights came up. “Ladies and gentlemen, may I introduce Mr. Conrad Birdie!”
    More cheering and clapping, but it was not lost on Brady that Alex North rose and stormed out.
    Well, Alex was Nabertowitz’s problem. For now, Brady was Christmas-morning happy. He imagined himself on the cover of the program, but he also knew there would be a lot of hard work between now and opening night.
    By the time he got back to the music room, Nabertowitz was there. “You are something special, my young friend!” he said. “You can sing. I hope you have a little range in your dancing, but we can work on that.”
    “You gonna have trouble with North?”
    “Of course.” The teacher leaned close. “Between you and me, I’m worried more about Mom and Dad, but I can handle it. You just worry about learning your part.”
    Brady carefully reboxed the guitar, and this time he kept it with him when he returned to the bathroom. But his clothes were not hanging in the stall. Had he forgotten which one he’d changed in? As he moved from door to door, he noticed two sinks were full of water.
    One also held his shirt.
    The other his pants.

10
    Thursday | Oldenburg Rural Chapel
    Paul Pierce was away for more meetings with his sons, so Thomas Carey felt productive all morning, talking by phone with contacts at each of the other four churches in his circuit, getting a little studying and sermon preparation done, and even somewhat organizing the modest office. At the back of his mind was Grace, who had again been slow to rise and exhibited a strange bruise on one wrist. She attributed it to the heavy work around the house but couldn’t