My cheeks flush warm as I snatch my cards off the bar and tuck them into my purse instead of back into my wallet, pretending not to notice the amused glances from the girls flanking me.
“Damn, Rae,” Marlena teases, grinning like she’s already decided this will be brought up again and again. “Got the bartender giving you freebies already?”
“Shut up,” I mutter, laughing despite myself. I knock back the Kamikaze. It burns in a satisfying way, sharp and fruity, and I follow it up with a long sip of the Blue Hawaiian—sweet, boozy, and strong enough to soften my nerves.
While Khloe hangs back at the bar to order, Tessa, Marlena, and I weave through the crowd toward the small table they claimed near the karaoke setup. I settle into my seat and finally pull out my phone. I point my camera at the projected karaoke screen and scan the QR code at the bottom, clicking the link that pops up, and opening Karafun to finally scroll through the song list.
I debate for a minute or two, fingers hovering over a few options, before settling on “I Am the Fire” by Halestorm. It’s fierce, bold, and a little angsty—the exact kind of energy I want to project tonight.
By the time I hitAdd to Queue, Khloe’s name is being called. She quickly rushes over from the bar, her drink sloshing over the edge of the glass, and squeals in excitement. She downs half of her cocktail in one dramatic gulp. The ice clinks loudly as she slams the glass on the table with a satisfied gasp, then struts over to the DJ.
He hands her the mic, and she steps up onto the stage and tosses us a look over her shoulder—a smirk tugging at her lips, one hand propped sassily on her hip like she was born for the spotlight.
“Let’s go, Khloe!” we cheer in unison.
Tessa and Marlena are practically jumping out of their seats, cheering as the opening notes of “Final Girl” start. I clap along, laughing as Khloe begins to sing—no,perform—like she’s the headliner of a stadium tour and we’re all lucky to be in her presence.
While Khloe commands the mic with her signature sass and zero shame, Tessa grabs Marlena’s hand and tugs her toward the bar. They disappear into the crowd, giggling like high schoolers sneaking off for something scandalous. I stay behind, swirling the ice in my half-empty Blue Hawaiian as I soak in everything around me.
Khloe wraps up her performance with a dramatic pose and a wink to the audience, her final note met with a wave of cheers. As she makes her way back to the table, Tessa and Marlena return too, carrying what can only be described as drink monstrosities. They were literalfishbowls of booze, vibrant blue, bubbling, and rimmed with a pineapple wedge and an umbrella. God only knows what was in them, but from the way Tessa nearly trips over her chair trying to sit down, I assume it was jet fuel with a hint of coconut.
“What the fuck is that?” I ask, blinking at the absurdity.
“Monkey Punch, baby!” Tessa announces, holding hers up like a championship trophy.
Marlena takes a sip from her bowl, only to immediately sputter and cough into her arm. “Holy shit, that’s strong,” she rasps between laughs, eyes wide and watering.
I laugh, shaking my head as I lean back in my seat. “That looks like it belongs at a frat party.”
The girls settle in with their cocktails, and we spend the next hour watching other brave (or drunk) souls take their turn in the spotlight. Some are surprisingly good. Most are delightfully terrible. We cheer for all of them anyway.
Then, my name gets called.
My stomach does a little flip, but the kind that’s more thrill than dread. The usual nerves that would have gripped me by the throat are barely a whisper, dulled by booze and the warmth of good company.
“Wish me luck,” I say as I push back from the table.
“You got this!” Marlena beams. Khloe, on her way back from the bar, flashes me a grin and two thumbs up as she passes.
I make my way to the DJ, who hands me the mic with a knowing nod. As I take the stage, I turn to face my friends and flash them a smile as the opening beat of “I Am the Fire” by Halestorm pulses through the speakers—and that’s it. That’s all I need. One beat and everything sharpens. The crowd fades, the lights blur, and I step into something bold inside me that I didn’t realize I’d been holding back.
I let the lyrics rip out of me, fierce and unfiltered. My voice rises, steady and strong, wrapping around every word like it belongs to me. I don’t hold back—not for one damn second. I sing like I’ve got something to prove, and maybe I do, if only to myself.
From the corner of my eye, I catch the girls cheering—Tessa waving her straw like a flag, Khloe standing and clapping along,Marlena recording the whole thing on her phone like a proud mom.
And as the final note rings out, the room erupts into applause and cheers.
I step off that tiny stage with my pulse racing, breath shallow, and a grin so wide it actually hurts my face. I make my way back toward the bar, still riding the high, still buzzing from the rush.
“You killed it up there!” Cole says with a grin, tossing his towel over his shoulder, when I wedge into a space at the bar.
“Thanks,” I reply, already feeling my cheeks warm, half from the praise, half from the alcohol.
“So, what can I get ya this time?” he asks, leaning on the bar.
“Sex on the Beach,” I reply with a flirty smirk.
“Ain’t no beaches around here, but I can always figure something out for ya,” he replies with a wink.
