Daniel Emanuel Guevarra

It had been a week since Alex joined the choir, and while his voice was a game-changer, his attitude was a different story. The guy was talented, incredibly talented, but he was also impossible to deal with. Every rehearsal felt like walking on eggshells, trying to keep him in line without setting him off. I had never been so exhausted. The day after his audition, he was chuckling when one of the Altos missed their notes, his smug grin making me grit my teeth.

“Almost, Maria. Just a little less off-key next time,” he said with a wink, earning a few awkward laughs from the others. Maria’s face flushed, and I shot Alex a warning glare, but he just smirked back, completely unfazed.

When Noah struggled to hit the high notes in a tricky tenor part, Alex leaned back against the piano with a laugh. “Come on, Noah, it’s a C, not Mount Everest. Just jump, man.”

Vincent frowned, trying to defend his friend. “It’s harder than it sounds, Alex.”

“Only if you let it be,” Alex quipped, crossing his arms.

I could feel the frustration simmering inside me, but I had to bite my tongue. Part of the deal we made was that I wouldn’t call him out, at least not in front of the group. That was the price I paid to get his voice in the choir, and right now, it felt like a steep one. Then, yesterday, he didn’t even bother to show up. Just a casual text; ‘Not in the mood today. See ya next time.’

Not in the mood to sing?!

My jaw clenched just thinking about it. What kind of excuse was that? If the rest of us didn’t show up every time we weren’t "in the mood," we’d have no choir left at all.

It was early Thursday morning, and I was already dreading what was to come. As I sat in the cafeteria, staring at my untouched plate, my mind kept replaying the previous week’s rehearsals. Every time we made progress, Alex would throw in some snide comment or push back against whatever Mr. Bocelli or I suggested.

“I can’t believe we have to deal with him again today,” Lucy muttered, plopping down beside me with her tray of food. She stabbed a fork into her scrambled eggs, her frustration evident. “I mean, the guy can sing, but does he have to be such a jerk about everything?”

Emma, who had taken the seat across from us, nodded. “He keeps acting like he’s better than all of us. It’s exhausting.”

I sighed, running a hand through my hair. “I know. But we don’t have a choice, do we? His voice is what’s keeping the choir alive.”

Emma rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but I’m not sure it’s worth it. I don’t know how much longer we can put up with him.”

Vincent, who had joined us quietly, shrugged. “At least he’s showing up, well, except for yesterday. I mean, I didn’t think he’d stick around this long. I thought he would quit the choir the next day.”

“I didn’t either,” I admitted. “But I should do something about his attitude towards everyone. We can’t keep going like this. He’s pushing everyone’s buttons. He might eventually  push the other members to quit.”

Emma pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose; her brows furrowed. “Maybe you could talk to him? Like, outside of rehearsal? Maybe if you explain how important this is or how he’s been mean to us, he’ll take it more seriously and stop.”

I groaned. The last thing I wanted was to have a heart-to-heart with Alex Matthew Gonzalez. But Emma had a point. Someone needed to get through to him, and as much as I hated to admit it, I was probably the only one who had a shot at it.

“Fine, I’ll talk to him,” I said reluctantly. “But I don’t think it’ll make much of a difference. He doesn’t seem like the kind of guy who cares.”

Vincent snorted. “He doesn’t care about anything, honestly. The only thing he cares about is making sure we all know how miserable we are and how much better he is than us.”

Emma gave me an encouraging look. “Just try, Daniel. It might help.”

I nodded, though I wasn’t feeling particularly optimistic. “Yeah. I’ll try.”

The bell rang, signaling lunch period was over. We all gathered our things and headed off to our respective classes, but I couldn’t shake the sense of dread looming over me. Rehearsal was going to be a nightmare, and now I had to figure out how to deal with Alex on top of everything else.

By the time rehearsal rolled around in the afternoon, I was already mentally preparing myself for a disaster. The choir room was buzzing with quiet chatter as the others warmed up, but I could feel the tension in the air. Alex hadn’t shown up yet, and part of me was hoping he wouldn’t. It would be easier to rehearse without him, even if we needed his voice.

Mr. Bocelli was seated at the piano, flipping through sheet music as he prepared for the practice. He glanced up at me as I walked in, giving me a small, tired smile. “Ready for today, Daniel?”

I forced a smile in return. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Let’s just hope Alex is in a cooperative mood,” he said quietly, more to himself than to me. I couldn’t help but chuckle bitterly at that.

Just as the warm-up exercises started, the door to the choir room swung open, and Alex strolled in as if he had all the time in the world. He wasn’t late, but he always showed up with this aura of being above everyone. He glanced around the room with his usual cocky smirk and gave a casual nod to the other members.

“Good of you to join us, Alex,” I said dryly, folding my arms across my chest.

“Miss me already?” he asked with a lazy grin, slinging his leather jacket over a chair.

“Yeah, like a headache,” I shot back. “You can’t just show up whenever you feel like it, Alex. We’re a team. That means showing up even when it’s inconvenient or boring or... whatever mood you’re in.”

He gave me a long, slow look, as if deciding whether my words were worth taking seriously. Then he shrugged. “Relax, Pres. I told you, I work better on my own terms.”

“Well, welcome to the choir. Our terms are showing up, and trying our best. If you can’t do that, then maybe—”

“Then maybe what?” he interrupted, his playful smirk hardening into a challenge. “You’re going to kick me out? We both know you need me.”

The air between us tightened, every pair of eyes flickering nervously between the two of us. He wasn’t wrong, but I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of saying it out loud. I took a deep breath, reminding myself that I needed to talk to him after rehearsal. Maybe if I caught him in a good mood, if that was even possible, I could get him to take this more seriously. I couldn’t keep going like this, with him acting like the choir was some kind of joke.

“Alright, everyone,” Mr. Bocelli said, getting everyone’s attention. “Let’s pick up where we left off last week. We’re working on blending the harmonies today, so I need everyone focused. Alex, pay close attention to your entrances.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Alex muttered, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. I gritted my teeth but said nothing. I couldn’t afford to start something with him before we even began singing.

The rehearsal started rough, with Alex barely making an effort to follow along. Every time we got to his part, he’d either come in too early or too late, and when he did sing, it wasn’t clear; he wasn’t fully focused. I could feel the frustration building in the room, especially from Lucy and Emma, who kept shooting each other with enraged looks.

“Alex,” Mr. Bocelli said patiently after the third time he missed his cue, “You need to come in at the right moment. Listen to the tenors and follow their lead.”

Alex sighed dramatically, his arms still crossed. “I got it. Just give me a second. Don’t rush me.”

“We’ve already gone over this part,” Vincent muttered under his breath, just loud enough for me to hear.

“Excuse me?” Alex retorted, his sharp stare back at him. I could feel the tension rising. It was only a matter of time before someone snapped, and I was determined not to let it be me. I shot a warning glance at Vincent, silently pleading with him to hold it together for just a little longer.

After what felt like an eternity, the rehearsal finally came to an end. Mr. Bocelli dismissed everyone, and I watched as Alex casually gathered his things, clearly in no rush to leave. Now was my chance.

I caught up to him as he was heading for the door. “Alex, do you have a minute?”

He turned, one eyebrow raised in amusement. “What is it, more singing tips from the choir president?”

I ignored the sarcasm, trying to keep my voice steady. “I just want to talk to you.”

“About what?” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as he waited for whatever lecture he assumed I was about to give.

“About your treatment of the other members,” I said bluntly. There was no point in dancing around it. “You’re making it hard for everyone to work together. Can you tone it down a bit?”

Alex chuckled, shaking his head. “Oh, come on. Lighten up, Daniel. We’re just singing. It’s not that deep.”

“It is that deep,” I snapped, my frustration bubbling over. “This isn’t just some casual thing for the rest of us. We’re working toward something, competitions, performances, scholarships, this matters to us.”

Alex’s smirk faded slightly, but he still didn’t look convinced. “So what? You want me to start acting like it’s the most important thing in the world?”

“I want you to start caring,” I said, my voice tight. “Or at least stop acting like you’re better than the rest of us. You’re not.”

That seemed to strike a nerve. Alex’s eyes narrowed, and for the first time, I saw a flash of something other than arrogance in his expression. He pushed off the doorframe and took a step toward me, his voice low and edged with anger. His right arm hovered over my head, which made me flinch a bit. He was taller than me, so I knew he could tower over me.

“You don’t know anything about me, Daniel. Don’t act like you do.”

I stood my ground, refusing to back down. “Maybe I don’t. But I know enough to see that you’re holding everyone back. I know you could be so much better if you actually tried.”

Alex stared at me for a long moment, his jaw clenched. For a second, I thought he was going to lash out, maybe throw a punch or insult me, but instead, he just let out a sharp breath, shaking his head.

“You really think this matters, don’t you?” he muttered, more to himself than to me.

“It does,” I said quietly. “It matters a lot.”

For a moment, the room was silent. I could see the gears turning in Alex’s head like he was weighing something.

“Tsk.” He turned and walked out of the choir room, leaving me standing there, my heart still pounding in my chest.

I wasn’t sure if I’d gotten through to him or not. Part of me hoped that I had. But another part of me knew that with Alex, nothing was ever that simple.