The band moved into position.
Rachel touched my arm.
“Remember where you are?”
I gasped. “Canada?”
“We’re in Dallas.”
“I knew that.”
“You said Denver during soundcheck.”
“Denver was very memorable.”
“We haven’t played Denver yet.”
“Then I’m manifesting.”
Two fingers.
The crowd began chanting my name.
Savannah.
Savannah.
Savannah.
It was strange how quickly a name stopped belonging to you once enough people said it at the same time.
One finger.
I looked at Rachel.
“Do I have both legs?”
“Last I checked.”
“Then let’s make irresponsible choices.”
She shook her head, but she was smiling when the platform began to rise.
The stage opened around me in white light and noise.
Twenty-two thousand people stood.
For the next ninety minutes, I was not tired.
That was the magic of it.
Everything that felt heavy backstage disappeared the second the first line left my mouth. The band was sharp. The crowd was louder than the monitors. Thousands of lights moved through the arena like stars someone could hold in one hand.
I ran the length of the stage.
I changed guitars twice.
I missed one lyric and pointed the microphone toward the audience before anyone could notice. Twenty-two thousand people sang the correct words back to me, which was both moving and professionally useful.
