I turn back to the stage, and once again, I’m gasping.
Beck Ryder’s rising from below the stage on a separate platform.
Oh my god. Sarah.
Sarah has to be here too.
She—
I quit twisting to look, because the roar of the crowd tells me something else is going on.
And the sudden buzz in my ears and uptick of my pulse and the quake in my knees tell me what’s coming.
It doesn’t matter that the third man rising onto the stage is Tripp Wilson.
Or that Cash is running out from the back of the stage, mic in hand, saying, “Hold up, hold up, this is my number,” with the biggest shit-eating grin to ever eat shit and grin.
We’re eye level with the stage. Like I have a straight-on view of Aspen’s calves.
And even though I can’t see it, I know what’s happening.
Another trapdoor is opening.
Another head is coming into sight.
The crowd is screaming so loudly that I can’t hear myself think.
And—oh my god.
“Oh my god oh my god oh my god oh my god.”
I don’t know if that’s me or Tillie Jean or Annika as a fifth head of brown hair lifts high enough that we can see it.
Davis.
On a stage.
Withthe rest of the Bro Code guys.
Without his manbun.
Without the beanie he’s been wearing outside the house.
Showing off a crisp new short haircut.
Aspen taps her mic. “Is this thing on? My stage is malfunctioning. Is my microphone working right?”
“Levi shoved me off my platform,” Cash says. “I was about to come up, and then he?—”
He cuts himself off as a single drum beats out a rhythm.
Levi grins at Tripp.
Tripp pulls a mic out of his back pocket, looks at it, and shrugs.
Beck pulls a mic out of his back pocket too.
Cash takes Beck’s mic and pushes him back on the stage so he’s behind the Wilson brothers. “Not you. You can’t sing for shit. Just be pretty and dance.”
