“It’s my new app.” She taps the screen, and the app loads another screen where a personalized avatar with blond hair like hers pops up. A scoreboard floats above the avatar’s head. “Like I said, it’s still in beta,” she explains. “I’m mostly just letting my paying clients from my other app get a free account here, but you pay to join these karaoke battles. I actually went out of my way to get a lottery license so I could upgrade the prizes, and now you can win real cash.” She taps on the screen again, and a countdown starts on the top. “Here, try it.”
“I didn’t know you liked music.” I take the phone from her, and stare at the brightly colored numbers, counting down from thirty seconds.
“Sure, everybody likes music, and it’s just karaoke.” Pointing to the screen again, her expression pulls into a serious one. “When that gets to zero, it’s going to throw you into a round where you are randomly matched with another contestant. You battle it out, singing the same song.”
“What?” My arm automatically stretches, thrusting the phone farther away from me. “I’m not in the mood to sing.”
“It’s so much fun.” She pushes the phone closer to my face again. “Trust me, you will forget about what’s his name.”
The timer runs out, and the screen goes dark. My heart ticks up a notch. I have no idea what I’m doing. Bright red letters flash a song name, “I Will Survive,” and I resist rolling my eyes on Portia. I know she’s trying, but I just got done crying. I’m all nasally. “I’m not singing,” I assert, crossing my arms across my chest.
“It’s starting.” Portia wags her index finger at the screen. “Please just try it this one time, and if you hate it, I won’t evenask again.” She’s seriously the sweetest person ever, and I hate that she wants this so much. I roll my bottom lip in and glare at the screen. The lyrics scroll across the screen. I swallow and open my mouth to sing very softly and annoyingly monotone but on time. A gauge on the side of that screen turns green, marking the notes I hit, and it keeps glowing, seeding my confidence.
Portia bobs her head along, mouthing the words with me. I can’t carry a tune, but the app doesn’t seem to care about my pitch. It has some technology that senses the timing of the words.
I don’t know how, but the gauge is overflowing by the time I am done with the first chorus. Maybe it’s rigged or Portia has it on an easy setting to make me feel better, but since I’m doing well, I start the second verse. It’s clearly the song choice that’s helping, and I start to replace my shallow breaths with deep ones. When it’s over, there’s a pause on the screen. For a moment, I think it’s jammed, but Portia leans over. “The app has to wait for your opponent to finish and compare scores.”
Digital confetti falls over my screen and a giant “Congratulations!” flashes.
“I won?” My tired and rubbed-red eyes grow wide as a little bit of pride puffs up my chest. Christian always teases me there is no one on the planet who loves winning more than me, and I sort of agree. Even when I’m completely shattered, I still love winning.
The screen does some tally thing, and it flashes. “You’ve won a thousand diamonds.”
“Look how many diamonds I won.” I tap on the screen, watching them all pile up. “What do I do with them?”
“Since you start in the amateur level, nobody spends or wins money. So, this was just a way to make it fun. You can use the diamonds to level up your avatar and advance in levels, which will change the contestants you may challenge. If you make it to the pro level, you can win real prize money.”
“Really?” My eyes are glued to the screen as these shiny diamonds just keep coming.
“Told you it was fun.” Portia reaches over, taking her phone back from me, giving me the side-eye. “I’ll text you a promo code for a free download.”
I take a deep breath, about to tell her no thanks.
It’s a silly game.
I don’t have time for games.
However, upon second thought it was a mere three minutes of distraction that allowed my tears to dry. I’m not by any means healed, but I will take a distraction. “Thank you.” I breathe a little easier as the flood of tears I was holding back earlier has seemed to lessen.
Christian pops his head out of his office. His front hair spike looking extra disgruntled. “Are you ready to get this show on the road?”
“Yeah.” I stand, ready to walk out with him. “I’m ready to move on . . .”
two
Arielle
We arrive in the heart of downtown Mapleton right around dinnertime and pull into the historic Harbor Inn and Lodge parking lot. I’ve visited plenty of small towns, but unlike most, where it’s clear their better days are behind them with old infrastructure and deserted downtowns, Mapleton appears to be quite the opposite. People of all ages bustle in and out of downtown businesses from street corner to street corner, and everyone has a cheery smile on their face. I step out of the car and do a double take when I see I’m walking on an actual cobblestone covered street.
“This way.” Christian motions toward a robin’s-egg blue, two-story building. It’s perfectly colored to match the pattern of all the other buildings surrounding it, resembling something out of a storybook.
Finding the bookstore sign right where it should be—above the door—I read it out loud, “The Bookshelf. Isn’t that adorable!”
“You say adorable, but I say it looks like money.” Christian rubs his hands together, the smirk on his face growing even wider. “I’ve been talking to the owner for weeks, and he’s looking to expand coffee sales. He thinks franchising would be a great option—which I agree. I’ve pretty much got him sold on partnering with me for a Coffee Loft franchise.”
We slow our steps, and I take in the large street window display full of paperback books. I can’t help but think I’ve been here before, even though I know I haven’t been. After pondering for a moment, I conclude the reason it looks familiar is it resembles the quaint little bookstores you see in Christmas movies.
Christian opens the wooden door, and we are hit with the scent of paper mixed with hints of vanilla and deep espresso. My nose perks at the scent cocktail. I’m not a huge reader, so the scent of new books doesn’t excite me, but the coffee notes feel like home. My attention lands on an impossible-to-miss mahogany staircase that lines the wall, leading to an overhead loft filled with more books. We meander past it, like two lost people, toward the familiar sound of a milk steamer.
