I'm wired. I live to sing and I love performing but I hate those moments when everyone is looking at me, anticipating what's to come. The song title appeared on the screen in front of me and I threw my head back laughing. This was going to be fun. I tilted my head to each side cracking my neck and winked at Mike, who'd made his way front and center.
The problem with Kiss Me Deadly by Lita Ford is there's no intro. No time to prepare once the play button is hit. On the other hand, Lita Ford was my secret role model growing up. Mom wanted me to be Mary Lou Retton and I wanted to be Lita.
In a bold move, I nodded to the DJ to start the song and I jumped off the low stage. These people wanted a show, my brother wanted me to show everyone what I can do, who was I to deny any of them? I danced my way through the crowd, growling out the lyrics in true badass rocker chick fashion. I saw a spark of recognition in a few people's eyes, but that could have also been the liquor making them glaze over.
When the song ended, there was a moment of dead silence. That's about the scariest reaction out there. If people jeer, you know they hated it. If they scream and clap, they loved it. But silence? There's no telling what they think. Lucky for me, the cheers and whistles started. Not so lucky for me, they were accompanied by flashes from camera phones. Knowing there was nothing I could do to change the fact that I would never again be anonymous in my hometown; I did what anyone would do. I grabbed my beer and gave my brother a hug.
Chapter Twelve
Despite my best efforts, which I have to admit weren't all that great in my inebriated state, to tell Mike we should leave since my cover was blown and there was no way I was staying in their little competition, I was still planted firmly on the cracked vinyl barstool. Garrett apparently thought it was a great idea to keep me there as well since he was the designated beer bitch for the night and made sure my glass was never empty.
With every round he went to the bar to buy, Garrett seemed to get a little friendlier. I'm pretty sure that given four or five more rounds, he would have wound up sitting directly on my lap. The worst part was I didn't hate it. The me I knew just a few months earlier was the master at holding a grudge. We had our fair share of history, and we didn't exactly part on good terms the day we graduated.
He was the only friend who knew my plans to leave town as soon as my graduation party wound down. I didn't even plan to stay long enough for everyone to leave; just long enough that my absence wouldn't be noticed before I could get a head start. And him knowing meant there was one person too many apprised of my plans.
That morning, as we listened to the principal drone on about what a huge day this would be in our lives, Garrett tried to talk me out of leaving. He was the first of many people in the years that followed to tell me what a selfish person I was.
Apparently, now that I was living the life I dreamed of, he changed his mind about that. Or maybe not. Maybe now I was just the selfish bitch who had the cajones to go after what she wanted. I swore I would never forgive him for those words as I slammed the door on my Malibu and peeled out of the driveway.
“Nickel for your thoughts?” Garrett said, poking me in the shoulder after setting yet another beer on the table in front of me.
“I'm pretty sure that's not the way the saying goes,” I laughed, pulled back to the present by his words.
“No, but I know that, no matter what you are, cheap isn't one of them. I want to know bad enough that I'm willing to dig out a nickel.” He sat down next to me, leaning in so he was dangerously close to invading my personal bubble.
“Just thinkin',” I said, hoping he'd get the hint I wasn't in a mood to talk. If there's one thing, besides karaoke, that doesn't mix well with alcohol, it's reminiscing about