Then Quint turns his head. His expression is sour. For a second I think he’s turning to look at me, like maybe he could feel me staring, judging. But no, he’s watching the booth next to ours. I crane my neck to see two college-age guys, one downing the last dregs of a pint of beer. The other cups his hands around his mouth and calls out, “Quit it with the boring jazz crap!”
My jaw drops. Excuse me?
His friends laugh, and the one with the beer raises his empty glass into the air. “Come on over here. I’ll give you a kiss to dream about.”
The other guy adds, “Maybe then we can play some real music!”
No way. They’re heckling her. What is wrong with people?
I return my attention to Ari. She’s still singing, but her eyes are open now and her voice has taken on an uncertain waver. Her cheeks are flaming red.
I think of how much this moment probably means to her, and my fist clenches under the table at how those jerks just tainted it.
I look back at the boys’ smug expressions. I imagine one of them choking on a tortilla chip. The other spilling salsa down his Tommy Bahama shirt. Honestly, universe, if you’ve ever—
Something small flies toward the booth, smacking the first guy in the eye. He yelps and clamps a palm over his face. “What the hell?” he roars. He reaches for a napkin, but doesn’t realize the edge of his own beer glass is on top of it. He pulls. The glass tips and falls, sending beer flowing over the table’s edge and into both of their laps. There’s a flurry of curses as they try to move away from the growing puddle on their seats.
Ari lets out a barking laugh. The chords of the song continue to float around her, but she’s stopped singing. Her mortification is gone, replaced with gratitude, and for a second I think it was me. Did I just…?
But then Ari looks at Quint, and I see his shoulders trembling with restrained laughter. He’s swirling a spoon around his glass, the ice clinking against the sides.
The boys in the next booth are still looking around, vainly rubbing their drenched pants with the shoddy paper napkins. One of them finds the projectile and holds it up. A cherry.
Carlos bustles over to them, trying to act the part of the concerned restaurant owner, though there’s a coldness in his expression that makes me think he probably heard their heckling earlier. He gives them a tight apology and slaps a stack of napkins on the table.
He does not offer to replace the lost beer.
Ari finishes the song and scurries from the stage like it’s on fire. She plops back into our booth with a sigh of relief. “Was it really terrible?”
“No, of course not!” I say, and I mean it. “You were great. Ignore those buffoons.”
She scoots closer to me in the booth. “Did you see Quint throw that cherry at them?”
I nod. As much as I don’t want to, I have no choice but to admit, “That was pretty awesome.” I roll my eyes dramatically. “I suppose he might have some redeeming qualities. But trust me. They are few and far between.”
We stay to listen for a couple more acts. It’s a lot of contemporary music that I know I’ve heard, but couldn’t tell you who the artist is. Ariana Grande? Taylor Swift? Then someone gets up and does a Queen song, so at least I know who they are.
“Next up, for your listening pleasure,” says Trish, checking something on the karaoke machine, “please welcome to the stage … Prudence!”
Ari and I both swivel our attention to her, but I just as quickly turn back to Ari. “Did you put my name up there?”
“No!” she says vehemently, lifting her hands. “I wouldn’t! Not without your permission, I swear.”
I growl, but not at Ari. I believe her. It’s not something she would do.
Could there be another Prudence in the bar? What are the chances of that? I have yet to meet another person with my name, and no one is going up onstage.
“Jude must have sneaked it in before he left,” I say.
“You don’t have to,” says Ari. “Tell her you changed your mind. Or that someone put your name up there without asking.”
My eye catches on Quint’s. He’s looking over his shoulder, surprised. Curious.
My pulse is starting to race. Ari is right. I don’t have to go up there. I