version. This is sheer ecstasy. I feel like I could do anything. Skydive. Sumo wrestle. I’d even eat Daphne Gray’s almond-infested banana bread again.
Where is the little boyfriend-stealer, anyway?
I peer into the crowd, scanning the first row where she was standing yesterday, but she’s not there. In fact, her entire posse appears to be MIA.
I scan the sea of faces, all singing along and swaying to the beat and feeding off this energy that Tristan and I are sending out.
I spot the new girl, Sophia, somewhere in the middle. She’s dancing, too, but I notice the guy she was with last night is not there. I wonder what happened to him. I hope she’s not here to try to make a move on Tristan. Well, if she didn’t realize we were a couple in the cafeteria today, then she has to have picked up on it by now.
The song comes to an end. Tristan plays a final, powerful chord on the guitar while Jackson pounds on the cymbals. The noise from the audience is deafening, and yet it’s the most beautiful sound I’ve ever heard.
“Thank you!” Tristan calls, his voice all hoarse and sexy. “We’re Whack-a-Mole. I hope you had a great time tonight. Come see us again real soon!”
Heart pounding, ears ringing, I make a split decision. I run to Jackson on the drums and whisper something into his ear. He nods and I ask the same question to Lance on bass and Collin on backup guitar. They both give me a thumbs-up.
I push Tristan away from center stage and pull the mic from the stand. “Actually,” I say, flinching at the sound of my own voice reverberating over the speakers. “We have one more song. A surprise song. But it’s one of my favorites and it has very special meaning.”
Tristan takes a sip from his water bottle, his eyebrows shooting up. “What are you doing?” he yells to me over the screaming crowd.
I flash him a coy grin. “You’ll see.” I grip the mic and tilt my head to Jackson. “Hit it, boys.”
Jackson kicks off the beat and Collin comes in a moment later with a cool, edgy version of the song’s original riff. I sway back and forth, my nerves threatening to close my throat.
Am I really going to sing in front of all these people?
I’ve never sung in front of anyone before. Well, except for Tristan in the shower that night of Daphne’s party.
But I can hear the first verse coming like a freight train and I’m tied to the tracks. There’s no getting out of this now.
I close my eyes, raise the mic to my lips, and start to sing.
“I don’t like you, but I love you.”
I can feel someone standing beside me. When I open my eyes, Tristan is there, bending down to share the microphone. Just like we did that night in the shower, he harmonizes the chorus with me, rounding out the sound so perfectly that chills cover my entire body.
“You really got a hold on me.”
The audience loves this. They are letting out all sorts of whooping sounds and catcalls. I can feel myself blush but I don’t care. Not when Tristan is standing here next to me, our shoulders brushing, our voices tangling together.
After the song is over, Tristan slides his sweaty hand into mine and we take a bow. When we come back up, I see he’s watching me, beaming. I lean in to whisper, “Was there something you wanted to talk to me about?”
“What?” he calls back over the noise.
I place my palm on his soft, damp cheek. “This morning, in your text message. You said you wanted to talk.”
He laughs and shakes his head. “I can’t even remember anymore!”
I smile, victorious. “I figured as much.”
I’m so absorbed in the lights, the applause, Tristan, I don’t even notice Owen in the audience until I’m about to leave the stage. He’s standing in the back, his arms crossed, his expression inscrutable—either because he’s too far away for me to read it, or he’s purposefully hiding it from me.
Something twists in my stomach. Something I can’t identify.
Guilt?
No. That’s ridiculous. What reason do I have for feeling guilty? It’s not like I broke any promises to him. It’s not like we agreed to come to this carnival together. He knew I had plans to be here with Tristan. And yet, when our gazes connect across this giant, pumped-up crowd, I can’t help but feel like he’s judging me.
I break eye contact