“Ten? No. He’s here for his little sister.” And for me. “That’s all.”
An expression—I can’t tell whether it’s sadness or frustration—mars her perfect face. “Kara!” she calls out, the intensity of her voice startling. “All cameras off. Phones too. Now!”
The few conversations buzzing around us die out.
“Thank you, Mrs. Stone,” I tell her as she goes to find a seat.
She gives me a tight nod, and I climb onto the stage. Once seated on the bench, I move the mic around until it’s at the right height. And then I say, “Nevada Dylan, get your skinny butt up here.”
Nev’s eyes bulge. Mom’s too.
“You owe me, remember?” I add.
Nev sinks lower into the wooden pew.
I start playing the opening chords of my song. “I wouldn’t be here today if it weren’t for you.”
That makes her jolt out of her seat. Perhaps because she’s afraid of what more I might confess. She looks at Mom and then at Mona. When Mona tips her head toward the stage, Nev scampers forward as though propelled by an invisible force. And then she’s scaling the stairs, knees quaking, eyelashes batting.
I tip my head to the bench, and she rushes to take a seat.
“It’s not being filmed, don’t worry,” I tell her.
Nev’s complexion has turned the waxen gray of someone about to face their greatest fear. I knock my shoulder into hers.
She raises her eyes to mine. “Is that why Lynn—”
“Made you practice my song?” I nod, then, without taking my eyes off hers, I whisper, “Ready?”
She shakes her head no.
I lean in and whisper, “Well, I wasn’t either, but you didn’t give me a choice, so here I am returning the favor.”
60
Hear Us Roar
I press down on the piano keys, so focused on Nev that the theater and everyone in it melts away. “One, two, three,” I say, marking the beat with a slight nod of my head.
And then I begin playing the song that led me onto this stage.
As I reach the end of the intro, Nev’s lips are still sealed shut.
I elbow her, and she jumps. “Now,” I murmur, right before launching into the opening verse. But she doesn’t sing.
People say take it slow but they forget it’s a race.
So I run, and run, and run, I give chase.
“You know this song. Come on,” I murmur.
She still doesn’t unbolt her lips.
“What does your bracelet say?” I whisper.
She frowns, then stops twisting her fingers long enough to read the words on it. She needs to trust in them.
Gotta leave behind my demons, to go after my dreams,
