Page 89 of The Best Friend Power Play

"You can choose the song," I say, hoping it lessens his pain a little.

"That doesn't really help, but okay," he says, browsing through the songs on the machine. "I've found one," he says, looking over his shoulder.

"I'm ready, baby," I say, waving the microphone in front of me. "Show me what you got."

He holds my gaze for a moment, pinning me with one of those classic Culver dimpled smiles.

"Here we go." He hits the button on the machine and strides over to me, picking up the second mic on the way as the playful guitar strums and light electronic beats of "22" fill the air.

"Perfect choice," I say, smiling when he joins me on the stage.

"You haven't heard me sing yet."

Knowing that he's a little—okay, a lot—self-conscious, I sing the whole song so he never has to sing by himself.

He's a little wary at first, but by the time we get to the second "we're happy, free, confused, and lonely" line, he's fully feeling it.

So are our friends, and everyone starts singing along with us—yes, even Milo. Bear's the sole holdout, but even he bobs his head and mouths the words—and yeah, this song really is the perfect choice.

I belt out the lyrics, hearing them—feeling them—in a new way. I may be slightly older than twenty-two, but there's something about them that hits me hard and deep tonight.

Life can be miserable and magical at the same time, like loving Comfort Bay, but at the same time itching to see more of the world.

And it is good to not have to think about deadlines, like the kids' college applications.

But it's the line in the chorus that really gets to me, the one about everything being all right as long as he's next to me.

Culver's singing and dancing a little, and not that he'd ever admit it, but it looks like he's having fun.

And so am I.

Dancing and singing next to him.

Oh, god. I don't want this summer to end.

I don't want him to go.

I don't want things to go back to how they were before.

Just friends.

The song ends, and we take our bows, receiving a standing ovation from our friends.

The night continues with less singing and more talking and laughing and drinking. Everyone is having a great time.

And I am, too.

I'm determined not to think about the future but to be present in the moment.

This is an evening I want to look back on with fondness, not sadness.

At the end of the night—a respectable eleven p.m. because none of us are twenty-two anymore—we're outside saying goodbye when Fraser makes an announcement. "So, heads up, everyone, I'm throwing a party at the end of the month."

"Ooh, what sort of party?" Amiel asks.

Fraser grins mysteriously. "You'll have to wait and see. Invitations will be going out soon."

I look to Evie for more information, but she shrugs as if she doesn't know what's going on either.

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