“Sure.”
My voice comes out sounding much more confident than the person attached to it. I take it as my cue to climb up onto the stage, where I stand in front of the microphone, my mind flooded with memories of the last time I did this.
“Just remember what I said at the airport,” comes Alex’s voice from the shadows. “One step at a time. Just sing the first line. Then the next one. You can stop whenever you like.”
I take a deep breath and let it out slowly.
One line at a time.
That doesn’t sound too hard, really.
Just to minimize the amount of time I have to spend up here, though, I decide to skip straight to the chorus — and to do it immediately, before I can think too much about it, or change my mind.
So, like Lady Gaga herself, I dive in. From the deep end. Or that’s what it feels like, anyway, as the first words of the chorus come out of my mouth. But once I’ve done it — once I’ve jumped — it feels easier. The world doesn’t end. Alex doesn’t fall about laughing. I can’teven see him, actually, although that’s purely because I’ve got my eyes closed.
Well, he asked me tosing; he didn’t specify whatelseI should be doing at the time.
By the time I reach the end of the chorus, I’ve found my stride. The notes are coming out strong and easy; I’m even remembering all the words.
And I’m loving it.
Up here on the stage, I can be anyone I want to be. I feel strong and powerful, andwhole. I feel likeme. I even feel like there’s a spotlight shining down on me; in fact, as I end the chorus and prepare to start it again, like Gaga does at the end of the song, I could swear I can see light through my closed eyelids.
“Oh, shit,” Alex says from the darkness.
I snap open my eyes to find myself bathed in golden light … which is, indeed, coming from the spotlight directly above me.
“Did you do that?” I ask, blinking as I try to find him. “Did you switch on the lights?”
But then there’s a sound from the front of the room, and I look up to see someone from the hotel standing in the open doorway, glaring at me. A torrent of Spanish comes pouring from his lips, and, even though I have no idea what he’s saying, it’s amazing how well tone translates across languages, because there’s absolutely no mistaking the fact that this guy ispissed.
“Come on,” says Alex, appearing in front of me. “Run.”
He holds out his arms, and, without thinking about it, I leap into them from the stage. At some point in the future — probably when I’m replaying this moment over and over in my head — I’m going to think about how I feel a bit like Baby at the end of Dirty Dancing, and how this might just be the coolest I’ve ever been: or ever will be again.
There’s no time for that right now, though. Because Alex is lowering me unceremoniously to the floor, then reaching for my hand and pulling me along with him as he charges at the man at the door, who steps aside at the last second, leaving the doorway clear for us to race through it.
Once we’re through, we carry on running; past the bar, and the little gift shop selling inflatable unicorns and postcards from Tenerife; through the courtyard that leads to the hairdresser and spa; through the terrace we eat all our meals at, and, finally, past the infinity pool, and all the way to the little clutch of palm trees that mark the entrance to the stairs, where we collapse in a heap, out of breath and almost hysterical with laughter.
“Wow,” I say, catching my breath at last. “You really don’t do things by halves, do you? When you said ‘take a risk’, I didn’t think it was going to involve running from thelaw…”
“That wasn’t the law,” Alex says, chuckling. “That was just the hotel caretaker. And I don’t think he bothered trying to chase us, so I guess we’re safe.”
I nod breathlessly, suddenly aware of how close he is, and the way my hand is still tucked into his.
This doesn’t feel safeat all, actually.
Not even remotely.
“So. I. Um…”
“That was amazing, by the way,” says Alex, interrupting what I’m sure was going to turn out to be another eloquent and insightful statement from me. “Youwere amazing, Summer. Seriously. You absolutely killed it back there. And I’m not a man who gives compliments easily, so you can trust me when I say that.”
“Thanks,” I mumble self-consciously. “I’m glad you liked it. I did too. I likeddoingit. It felt… well, it felt really good.”
“Good enough to do it again at the karaoke night?” he asks teasingly.
I hesitate, then nod.
