“How’d you hear about it? It hasn’t been out long.”
“Livy gave it to me.” Guilt bubbled up at the mention of her name. Despite her spending a fortune on records for me, I was still miffed at her. But she deserved it. “I’m just kidding about knowing every word. But it’s been a long time since I’ve fallen so in love with a record. I’m looking more forward to Crosby, Stills & Nash than any other band.” I closed my eyes and sang along softly, somehow forgetting Leon sat next to me. “‘I am yours. You are mine. You are what you are. You make it haaarrrd. And you make it haaarrd.’”
A few stanzas later, I opened my eyes to find him staring again, the way he’d done when the butterfly was on my shoulder. I stopped singing, abruptly.
He gripped my knee. “Hey, don’t stop.”
I shook my head.
“Why? I wanna hear you. Please keep singing.”
“Not unless you sing with me” was all I could think to say. His touch had caused a butterfly swarm in my stomach.
With a slow shake of his head, he leaned toward me. “You do not want to hear me sing. I have a terrible voice.”
“So? I bet you still sing.”
After an exasperated sigh, he picked right up with the music. But he stopped a few words in, covering his face with his hands. “Can you at least sing with me? To drown me out.”
I gave him a playful push; then we finished the song together, our voices escalating at the end. “Do-do-do-do-do, do-do, do-do!” Clapping along with the crowd, we laughed at our impromptu duet.
The record may have been brand new, but the audience sure knew it.
Once the applause died down, Leon folded his arms across his chest. “Lay it on me. How did you learn to sing like that?”
“I don’t know. Church, maybe. I was in the youth choir when I was young.”
“No one at my church sings like you.”
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing?” I knew what he meant.
“Come on.” He lightly shoved me this time. “You sing great.”
His compliment sent another flutter to my belly. “You’re nice to say that. Thanks.”
“It’s true. Anyone else in your family sing? I’ve heard it runs in the family.” Even Leon’s smile moved me. Bottom crooked canines and all.
“My brother.”
He tilted his head to the side. “Ron?”
I nodded, glowing at the idea of him remembering my brother’s name.
“What about your parents?”
“My mother sings, but only in church. She’s been in the choir her whole life.”
During the second track on the album, “Marrakesh Express,” a guy next to Leon passed him a joint. Instead of smoking, he leaned over me and passed it to Anne Marie, who put it to her lips straightaway. Her long, tie-dyed skirt was knotted above her knees. She was barefoot and very pretty. Instead of ogling her darling macramé halter top, I studiedthe way she smoked. How she held the joint. How she inhaled. And the way she twisted her wrist when she passed it on.
“I take it you don’t get high,” Leon said, once I turned back to him.
I opened my mouth to lie, then thought about Livy’s pot comment. So I shook my head.
“I take it Livy does?”
“Oh yeah,” I said with a vigorous nod.
“How did you two end up here together? You seem ... pretty different.”
