The Masked Singer

[Chapter Thirty Seven]

Chapter Thirty Seven

Where do I begin to describe the amazing feeling of waking up by myself to the sound of peace and quiet? Without a doubt, I do not miss Ava yelling at me to do something. I miss my weekend mornings and the freedom to roll around in bed before getting up.

Stretching out my body, I take a deep breath and breathe in the fresh fragrance of mango and frangipani. I smile and snuggle further under my blankets. Nothing can disturb my mood now.

"Time to get up," Ava's voice bellows through the room.

And now I'm eating my own words seconds later. Someone can ruin my mood.

"I'm already up," I shout back.

It's hard to resist the urge to pull the soft warm blankets over my head and fall back to sleep. But I know if I do that, she'll break down the door, and that would be worse.

"You have twenty minutes to get ready," she yells.

"I'll be ready in nineteen minutes Ava." I don't hear a reply but the fading sound of her heels clicking against the flooring. It's not the morning I had planned, but at least today is special.

I get out of bed too fast and almost fall over my feet. My head spins, so I slowly stagger towards the end of the bed and sit on the ground and lean against the dark wooden bed frame. I pull my backpack closer to me and start looking through my clothing for something to wear.

Without deciding on anything particular, I swing the strap over my shoulder and move to the bathroom. I'm surprised when I walk inside. Instead of the luxurious space from my previous room, this one is a little smaller. There's a single sink and a small bench space to the right where the shower is located.

My bag is a mess, so I spread the content onto the bench. The sound of my make-up crashing against the countertop reminds me that I need to put on some fun dance music to salvage my deflating mood.

I charge back into the bedroom in search of my phone. I look through the bedding, on my side table and under the bed — but I can't find it. I swear I had it with my last night. In fact, I don't remember where I saw it last, maybe Ava saw it somewhere.

Poking my head out my door, I spot Ava in the kitchen on the phone.

"Ava, can I ask you something? It's important," I call out.

"I'll call you back in a minute," she whispers, then hangs up the phone, "What is it?"

"I can't find my phone." I frown.

"Where did you last see it?" She puts a hand on her hip.

"I can't remember." I shrug my shoulders. Her soft facial features harden and she stands up straighter as she begins to intently assess the scene unfolding.

"I'll have someone look for it later. You need to finish getting ready before we leave," she reminds me.  

"I was just going to do some promotion work, get people excited for tonight," I say, shrugging my shoulders. "But if I don't have a phone, I guess it could wait for later." I put on my most innocent face and smile so wide, my cheeks begin to hurt.

"You can use my phone," she huffs. Ava picks up the phone from the bench and quickly taps on the screen and then hands it to me.

"Thank you." I smile.

As I walk away from her, I catch her briefly rolling her eyes as she addresses more paper work sitting on the counter.

I wander into the bathroom and get my tunes playing. Listening to music helps me determine how long I've spend doing something, and how much time I have left before I need to go — a decent clocking system if you know how long each song roughly goes for. I spend one song rushing through my bathroom routine, and another one singing into my lavender soap bottle while belting out the lyrics to a random pop song.