His gentleness is a total switch, and so is my matching bravery, though the truth is I’m not doing this as a personal experiment. I’m doing it as a career chess move.
I nod. “Okay.”
He lifts a brow. “Okay?”
“Okay,” I say again, forcing a smile. “But if I don’t like it, you have to believe me when I say that, and I don’t want to hear a single thing about performing ever again.”
He says, “I swear.”
He means it.
Liam nods at Penelope, who smirks and says something into her earpiece. At the keyboard, Gretta does a subtle thumbs-up. Liam pulls his AirPods out of his pockets and grabs just one of them, sliding it into my ear. He finds a song on his phone and hits play: “Good Day.”
“Walk-up song,” I whisper.
“It’s yours now,” he says back with a grin.
A miles-deep chasm isn’t big enough to hold my feelings for him. Between his smile and the nostalgia of this song, my nerves loosen and break apart, crawling into the shadows of the auditorium.
“So glad you liked the new songs!” Gretta says into her mic. “We’ve got one more surprise for you before Penelope Parker. A song by our cowriter, Paige Lancaster!”
The cheering is loud, and today, humanity is a little bit better than good, and Liam kisses me once before spinning me and smacking me on the butt.
The minute I step onto the stage, I know with absolute certainty that this is the last time I’ll ever do this. Not because I’m afraid or anxious, though those feelings are there, but because the appeal of performing has never existed for me, and now that it’s happening, I know it never will.
The truth of it calms my nervous system until I’m almost eerily settled.
This isn’t me,I think as I grab the guitar from a smiling Henrietta and loop the strap over my head. As I blink against the blinding, saturated lights aimed my way. I can’t even see the audience, only black and blue orbs. Nothing about this feels natural or soothing, not in the way the rest of it always has.
Being widely perceived will not make me a more self-actualized person. There’s no award on the other side of this performance. On the other side of my songwriting degree. On the other side of getting signed.
I’ll still be me.
“Hi,” I say into the mic, squinting. “This is a song about a person you love betraying you in the worst way you can imagine.”
I play “I prefer shadows,” and do my level best to inject emotion into the performance, recalling how this song felt when Imade it. I was pure fury, a whirling dervish of angst, and that’s how I try to sing. I’m speeding up, my tempo shot, but my voice holds steady.
When it’s over, I say, “Thank you,” and then find the cognizance to add “Get ready for Penelope Parker!”
The crowd cheers once more, still just a giant blob of indiscernible noises. I set the guitar on its stand and run offstage.
“Do you forgive us?” Penelope squeals when everyone wraps me in a hug. Even the guys are out here, Marlowe’s shaking laugh nearly drowning out her question.
“Nothing to forgive,” I say.
“You were amazing!” Henrietta shouts.
“POPPED THAT STAGE CHERRY REAL GOOD!” Jake bellows.
I’m shaking now, adrenaline loosening its claim on my body. I eventually fight my way past everyone to Liam, who’s beaming with midday sunlight.
“Ihatedthat,” I tell him.
“You’re grinning ear to ear,” he says.
“Because I pushed myself. And that’s why I trust how I feel about it.”
I’m melted sugar when Liam lifts me into his arms. He starts walking as I wrap my legs around his waist. “And howdoyou feel about it? If you can put it more eloquently thanI hated that,” he teases.
