Page 31 of Never Been Shipped

“If you don’t know us, we’re ElectricOh!,” she said. “And we aresoexcited to be here. If you’ll indulge me for five seconds, I wanted to introduce some of the people up on this stage, just so you know who you’re looking at. On bass, we’ve got theverylovely,verytalented…Frankie Simons!”

Frankie played a quick scale on the bass that made John smile, because he got it for the inside joke that it was—it sounded much more impressive than it actually was to play, and it had always bothered Frankie when movies included moments like that as a sign that a musician could hack it.

From the grin on Micah’s face, she got it, too. “I think they can handle it, Junior,” she said, then swept her hand towardSteve. “And behind me, we have the baddest-ass drummer on the planet, he canstillhit even if his kid doesn’t like punk music…Steve Gerding!”

Steve twirled his sticks before playing a quick, staccato drum solo.

“Don’t worry, Steve,” Micah said, tilting the mic stand to one side before catching it with her foot to set it upright again. “All kids go through a rebellious phase.”

That was the other thing about Micah. She owned the stage no matter what she was doing on it—when she was singing, when she was just riffing between songs. When John looked out over the audience, he could see that she had them in the palm of her hand.

He was so busy looking outward that he almost missed that she was talking abouthimnow. She was talkingtohim.

“That’s right,” she said, laughing. “You know it’s true. Go ahead and play us a little something.”

He wished he’d caught whatever she said at the beginning. He blanked, couldn’t think of a single impressive riff he could play. He plucked out the notes for “Hot Cross Buns,” the song they’d learned on their first day of band in middle school. The crowd laughed, someone in the back giving a loud whistle.

Her face softened. “A classic,” she said.

And then she was moving on to introduce Ryder. Smart, leaving him last. That would satisfy his ego a bit. He played a little solo and then gave a modest wave afterward.

“Okay,” Micah said. “That’s enough of that. Now—”

John didn’t have a microphone in front of him. Sometimes he sang along to parts of the song as he played it, but nobody needed to hear his voice amplified as part of the mix. So he hadto walk up to Micah to catch her attention, leaning in to talk into her mic. He could tell he’d taken her off guard, because all she could do was tilt the microphone toward him, like she was interviewing him for the news.

“You didn’t introduce yourself,” he said.

She gave a self-deprecating eyeroll, but the crowd had already started to cheer, and she took the microphone back. “I’m Micah Presley,” she said.

“No relation,” John put in.

“No relation,” she agreed. He had no idea if anyone could even hear what they were saying, between the sound of the crowd and the fact that neither of them was speaking directly into the microphone anymore. He put his guitar pick between his teeth, freeing his hands so he could clap for her as the crowd went wild. When he glanced over at Frankie, they were also clapping, and Steve started hitting the snare with a steady, evencrackuntil the applause morphed to trace the same beat.

“All right, all right,” Micah said, giving John a playful shove. “Places, please. We all know why we’re here. Nightshifters—this one’s for you.”

If John thought the crowd was loud before, it was nothing compared to the sound they made when Ryder played the opening notes of “If Only.” John should’ve put his in-ear back in before the song started up, because now he had to come in with that first chord, and it was still dangling around his neck, but he found he didn’t care. He liked the experience of being able to hear more of what was going on around him, the mix still in the one ear monitor he did have in.

Micah left the microphone in its stand for this one, and even with a view of her back John knew she had her eyes closed.She’d told him once that she got self-conscious, making eye contact with someone in the crowd while singing a particularly romantic or intimate or revealing line. She usually kept her eyes closed through the entire first two verses of this song, which led him to wonder which line in particular made her feel that way, or if it was all of them.

People in the audience had started putting their phone flashlights on, swaying back and forth like they were holding up lighters. John could tell the moment Micah opened her eyes, too, because he heard her breath catch, an almost imperceptible hitch on the last word that sounded like she’d meant it to be there.Are you gonna come over?

“This is your part,” she said to the crowd, turning the microphone toward them to let them take over a couple lines of the chorus before she finished out the rest herself. John could see people in the first few rows crying—actualtearsstreaming down their faces—and that used to be the kind of thing that made him uncomfortable. He’d always looked down at his guitar, turned away, tried to ground himself in his own experience without worrying about anyone else’s. But now he felt like he might cry himself.

And then there was Micah, arms outspread, belting out the huge building notes of the bridge that felt like they could fill the entire ship. He’d taken all of this for granted, after a while. The crowd, the music, the people on the stage,her. He’d forgotten how special it all was. When the song was over, he almost didn’t know what to do with himself. It took Frankie, gesturing him over for a quick collective bow with the rest of the band, to get him to remember to move.

“Holyshit,” Frankie said once they were off the stage. “That was incredible. Seriously. I’ve never felt energy like that.”

“Well, we’re playing to a crowd of die-hardNightshiftersfans,” Ryder said. “Consider the audience.”

“I wish every audience was die-hardNightshiftersfans,” Steve said. “Remember Hamburg?”

Frankie leveled a glare at their drummer. “Steve.”

“What?”

“Read the vibe,please. Nobody wants to talk about Hamburg right now.”

Steve held up a finger like he was about to argue, before thinking better of it. “Tell you what I do want to talk about is a hamburger, because I’m flippin’ famished.”

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