Page 48 of Don't Let Me Go
Chapter 18
Jackson
Riley wasn’t kidding about Audrey—the girl’s got some serious pipes. She’s only halfway through her rendition of “To Love Somebody,” strutting across the stage in her black faux-leather jacket and high-heeled boots, and already all the people in the bar are on their feet cheering her on like she’s a legit rock star.
“In my pain, I see your face again, it’s burning in my mind,” she wails into the microphone, her voice tinged with a raspy growl that earns her another burst of applause.
“Dude, she’s so good!” I shout to Riley over the music.
“I know!”
“How long has she been singing?”
“All her life! Her dad’s a singer—mostly local gigs—so she grew up performing with him. It’s in her blood!”
That’s for sure. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone own a stage the way Audrey’s dominating hers right now. When she gets to the chorus, the entire room joins in. Even the very judgy drag queens, who up until now have been unimpressed with the caliber of performers, are waving their wigs in the air.
In fact, the only person not singing is Tala. She’s too in awe of Audrey’s talent to do anything more than stare at the stage, a huge, lovestruck grin spread across her face. It reminds me of the way Micaela used to look at me during my games.
“Thewa-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-a-ay I love you!”
Audrey finishes with a vocal flourish that would put Kelly Clarkson to shame, and the whole bar loses its mind. It’s like being at the Super Bowl and watching your team come from behind to win the game with a last-second touchdown. People are legitimately losing their shit.
“Why did I agree to go onafterher?” Riley groans beside me as he watches Audrey soak up the almost-deafening applause.
“Don’t worry,” I assure him. “You’re gonna be great.”
“No, what I’m going to do is hide in the bathroom until they skip me.”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, not so fast” I say, grabbing his arm as he tries to slip away into the crowd. “You don’t get to trick me into coming to a gay bar because you want to sing karaoke and thennotsing karaoke. You owe me a show.”
“Rain check.”
“Nope. Sorry, dude. You’re getting up there.”
Miss Understood, the drag queen who thought Riley and I were a couple, takes to the stage and resumes her emcee duties, demanding another round of applause for the vocal pyrotechnics of Audrey O’Shea.
“I can’t followthat,” Riley pleads, looking like he might actually be sick. “I’ll get crucified. You saw how the drag queens made that twink cry when he messed up the lyrics to ‘Jolene.’?”
I laugh and drape my arm around his shoulder to keep him from running off. “I’ll make you a deal. You go up and sing, and no matter what happens, I promise I will cheer for you like you’re Harry Styles and I’m your biggest fan.”
Riley tilts his head and looks at me with surprised eyes. “You will?”
“Absolutely.”
Onstage, Miss Understood announces it’s time for the next singer. She looks at the sign-up sheet and calls Riley’s name.
“You’ve got this,” I tell him, giving his shoulder a squeeze when I feel him tense.
“You better clap your ass off,” he grumbles.
I give him an encouraging push toward the stage as Audrey returns to our booth. She joins Duy, Tala, and me in cheering Riley on, but I can tell his confidence is still shaken. As he takes his place behind the mic stand, he keeps his eyes down and his shoulders hunched. He’s shrinking into himself.
“Go, Riley!” I shout.
The opening chords of Queen’s “Who Wants to Live Forever” begin to play, and Riley takes a deep breath.
“There’s no time for us, there’s no place for us,” he begins, his voice coming out thin and hesitant. I’m hoping he’ll loosen up or at least sing loud enough for the mic to pick up his voice. But even if he doesn’t, I’ll keep my word. I’m gonna cheer for him like I’m his number one fan.
