29 Rosie was a miracle. No musical training. No inhibition. No affected phrasing . No coddling of precious vocal cords. Just out there in the frozen air, belting her heart out. Just raw voice. A natural diva. She tore up Hendrix’s “Angel.” What Mikala would give to find her way back to that kind of musical innocence. Not to mention the woman’s getup. That shiny purple miniskirt and the sparkly tube top outlining perfect breasts, showing lovely arms. All that was thrilling, but what really got Mikala was the way Rosie averted the mysterious crisis on stage, using the music to defuse Earl. If her interpretation of “Angel” made Mikala want Rosie, her rendition of “Me and Bobby McGee” made her love her. Mikala knew it was crazy to say love. They hadn’t exchanged more than a few dozen words. But music was the language Mikala understood and Rosie sure could speak it. Anyway, how many people their age even knew those songs? At the end of the set, Rosie jumped off the stage and nearly ran back to the dorm. Mikala stopped herself from going after her. Clearly Rosie needed to warm up and put on some real clothes. Still, Mikala didn’t want to miss her chance to set up the date they’d emailed about. So as she listened to the bluegrass trio that took the stage, she kept an eye on the door to Rosie’s building. Following the bluegrass trio, a brass quintet played a rousing set, and after that Mikala heard her name being called from the 199 stage. Rosie still hadn’t emerged from the dorm, but it was time for Mikala to play a couple of compositions. She didn’t want to. The previous performers had played lively music that met the rustic stage and polar climate head-on. Even if her fingers survived another few minutes on the piano, she was sure her classical musings would not. She had planned to play The Sarah Songs, and it was too late to switch gears now, but those sensitive melodies would be instantly killed by the harsh cold and bright light. Mikala climbed the stage stairs, deciding to not say anything into the mike. She’d sit down, play, and get it over with. From the height of the stage, she took one last look out over the heads of the audience to the dorm building entrances, just in time to see Rosie bound out of hers. Now dressed in polar clothing, she headed right for the crowd surrounding the stage, but before she got there, a woman stepped in her path. The emcee repeated, “Welcome, Mikala Wilbo, South Pole composer-in-residence!” Mikala sat down at the keyboard and played The Sarah Songs, feeling entirely out of synch with their sadness. She wanted to stay under the influence of that purple-skirted, angel-voiced muse. 200 ...