of the set, “Fall Down,” and I feel my body automatically start to pulsate to the beat. It’s like an instinct now. I stop myself and glance down at my phone, scrolling through my Instagram feed to keep myself distracted.
Too clingy, huh, Tristan?
Well, look at me now. I’m barely even listening!
About halfway through the song, I click over to Whack-a-Mole’s feed and check their follower count. After spending the summer as their unofficial publicist, I just can’t help myself. They’ve already gained fifty-three new followers tonight. That’s pretty solid.
I thumb through their feed and freeze when I see a picture of Tristan and Daphne posing together like a cozy little couple. He has his arm wrapped around her tiny waist and their heads are tilted toward each other. They must have taken this right before Whack-a-Mole went on. If I squint, I can see the Ferris wheel in the background. This is what happens when you’re late to your boyfriend’s gig. He takes photos with skanky boy-stealing cheerleaders!
I close the app and stuff my phone into my pocket.
“Thou shall never act or appear jealous. Thou shall never act or appear jealous,” I whisper to myself, shutting my eyes and trying to ignore the hot fire pokers jabbing at my rib cage.
Tristan belts out the final lyrics of the song’s bridge and I melt in relief. Only one more song after this and then it’s over. Then he’s all mine. Tonight is the night. My fantasy carnival date is finally going to happen. I’ve set everything in motion. I’ve played by the rules. I’ve followed the commandments. And now I can finally reap the rewards.
I glance around the crowd. For some reason it seems even more packed than last night, which I know is impossible. It probably just feels bigger because I’m standing in the back, so I can see everyone. Yesterday I was so focused on the stage right in front of me, I hardly noticed anything else.
There’s a couple a little farther ahead of me, watching the show with mild interest. She’s slim with black hair and pale skin. He’s tall and wearing dark jeans and a gray sweater. I instantly recognize the signs of a first date. The fidgety hands that want to touch. The space between their two bodies that grows smaller, then larger, then smaller again. The game of pivoting heads when you try to steal peeks at the other person without getting caught.
It’s not until she steals a glance at him that I recognize her. It’s the girl from the cafeteria. The one who was tripped by Cole Simpson at lunch. I can’t see the guy’s face, but I watch as his hand slips uncertainly into hers and their fingers tangle. It makes me smile. It looks like her first day at school wasn’t so bad after all.
Jackson performs the closing drum loop, crashing the cymbals with a flourish. The crowd screams. I almost join in but then limit myself to a polite clap.
“Okay, we have one more song for you tonight,” Tristan says breathlessly into the mic, swatting at the sweaty lock of hair that’s fallen into his eyes. “This one is dedicated to the girl who got us this gig.”
I freeze.
Then I hear the sound. It’s not one obnoxious chipmunk squeal, it’s a chorus of obnoxious chipmunk squeals. I follow Tristan’s gaze down to the front row where the entire varsity cheerleading squad is camped out. Daphne jumps up and down, and for a moment I think she’s going to lead the squad in a Go-Team-Tristan cheer, complete with syncopated claps and herkies.
He flashes her a smile. But it’s not just any smile. It’s that smile. My smile. “Thank you for being so freaking awesome, Daphne Gray.”
Oh. My. God.
I can’t breathe. The words. They’re the same exact words. The only thing that’s changed is the name. It’s as if the dedication itself doesn’t even matter. He can just cut and paste a girl’s name in and it’s all the same.
He starts the song. My song. The one he wrote about me.
“She.
She laughs in riddles I can’t understand.
She.
She talks in music I can’t live without.”
Another cold front hits me like a bus.
What if it’s not about me?
What if it’s just some generic song about some generic girl? If he can plug and play his song dedications, what’s to say he can’t plug and play his lyrics, too?
The words don’t say “Ellie smiles in riddles I can’t understand.” They just say “She.” But apparently she