The emcee points at the mayor. “Who’s going to bid three thousand?”

Cal’s hand rises again.

“How about thirty-five hundred?” the emcee asks.

The mayor accepts.

Cal frowns before he says, “I’ll bid five thousand.”

Whispers erupt across the room. Everyone knows that five thousand dollars for a concert ticket is nuts. Even a Jace Knight concert ticket isn’t worth that much.

The emcee pauses, searching the murmuring crowd. “Anyone want to go higher than five thousand dollars?”

Everyone looks around as heavy silence fills the room.

It’s impossible that anyone would bid higher than five thousand dollars.

“One last chance...” The emcee pauses. “Going, going...”

“Seven thousand.” A hand goes up in the very back, opposite from Cal.

I can barely make out a man in a suit, standing in the shadows against the back wall.

“Eight,” Cal shoots back without turning to see who is bidding against him.

“Ten thousand,” the other man replies.

An audible gasp comes from the audience.

No one in their right mind would bid this high.

Cal shakes his head, the anger flashing across his face.

“Do you want to bid higher than ten thousand dollars?” the emcee asks Cal.

Cal’s jaw clenches, the crease on his brow deepens. “No,” he finally grumbles.

“Then the winning bid is ten thousand dollars,” the emcee announces as applause erupts and everyone tries to figure out who just bid five figures for a concert ticket.

As I’m shuffled offstage by the emcee, Jaz bursts through the backstage door. “I got here during the bidding war. I couldn’t see who won.”

I shake my head. “He was in the back, and I couldn’t see him either.”

Mom hurries over carrying a small paper in her hands and beaming with a smile the size of Texas. “Ten thousand dollars! Can you believe it?”

“Did you catch who the guy was?”

Mom shakes her head. “No, but he came over after he won and told me to give this to you.”

She holds out a folded note.

I open the paper and find one sentence:

I couldn’t let Cal win.

-Jace

TWENTY-TWO