The opening act is always reserved for the showstopper. (Usually it’s this girl named Lewnyi who’s the best at piano of anyone in school.) The other thing is that Germ is wearing a skirt—A SKIRT. The eyeliner is back too, and now there’s lipstick.

And then, the act begins.

It turns out, the act is whistling.

They are whistling a medley of show tunes. It all begins slow, with “Singin’ in the Rain,” followed by “There’s No Business Like Show Business.” But then they get into more complicated territory: the soaring chorus of “Memory” from Cats, the highs and lows of “Send in the Clowns.”

I sit there staring, listening, shocked. I didn’t even know Germ knew how to whistle. But there she is, her high-pitched trill weaving melodies in and out of Bibi’s low harmony, and though they start out nervously and miss a few notes, they are soon careening ahead with a galloping rendition of “Ease on Down the Road”—watching each other carefully as they do it, so that they’re perfectly in time. They are so in tune with each other that it begins to sound seamless, like one unit whistling instead of two people.

The whole audience is completely silent. Even the dead referee stops blowing his whistle. Nobody throws spitballs, or laughs quietly into their hands.

And I realize something—I guess at the same time that the rest of the school does. Germ and Bibi are really, really good.

When they finish, Germ and Bibi beam at each other and fall into a huge hug, and the crowd erupts into cheers.

And then it happens. Though Bibi’s performance was solid, it’s clear that Germ’s whistling was the breakout piece of the act. And that really hits home when the kids start chanting. It’s unintelligible at first, but then I recognize the sound.

They’re chanting Germ’s name.

CHAPTER 15

When she sees me through the crowd that gathers after the show, Germ smiles and leaps toward me for a hug.

“That was… wow,” I say. “That was amazing!”

There are all sorts of feelings swirling around in me, but I try to make happiness for Germ be the only one. It isn’t that I wish people would chant for me like that one day—I wouldn’t like that; it would only embarrass me. But it’s hard not to wish they wouldn’t chant for Germ, either. Bibi is right beside her, and for a moment, we exchange a glance—neither of us smiles at the other.

“And you look… really nice,” I say to Germ.