Page 129 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
“You want pain? Wait until they drag you up there.”
“They’re not dragging me anywhere. I don’t sing in public.”
“We’ll see about that.”
She shoots me a look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Before I can answer, Connor gets shoved up on stage next. The poor kid tries to muddle through a Harry Styles song, his face turning redder with every line while the rest of us heckle him with catcalls and completely unhelpful advice.
“Louder, Connor!” Thorne shouts. “Project from your diaphragm!”
“What diaphragm?” Jett yells back. “Kid’s got no diaphragm!”
“He’s dying up there,” Beck says. “Do you need help?”
Several people answer at once. “No!”
Tate pouts. “Just an offer.”
Connor flips them both off without missing a beat, which gets him a round of applause that has nothing to do with his singing ability.
Juliet’s got her phone out now, taking pictures and recording videos. She keeps trying to get me to pose with her, telling me to smile, which I hate.
“Come on, just one perfect picture,” she says, holding the phone up. She has to stretch her arm all the way up just to frame us both. “You’re like a skyscraper.”
I grin. “You’re like a fire hydrant.”
“Ha ha. Now smile like you’re having fun.”
I repress the urge to smile. “I’m not having fun.”
When Juliet keeps shoving her phone in my face, I feel the corner of my mouth give. She’s the only one who’s ever dragged a smile out of me against my will.
“Fake it. Your fans want to see you being human.”
“I don’t want them to see me being human. The Chainsaw isn’t a person. He’s a machine. I should scare fans off, not invite them to karaoke night.”
“That’s exactly why you should do it. Show them you’re more than just the angry guy who fights everyone.”
I glare at her, but she just keeps snapping pictures. Eventually I give her what she wants… sort of. My version of a smile probably looks more like a grimace, but she seems satisfied.
“There,” she says, checking the photos. “See? You look almost approachable.”
“Almost approachable is my limit.”
She laughs and bobs her head. She’s evil.
Silas appears with a fresh pitcher of beer, doing his best to blend into the wall. My brother’s never been much for crowds, but he’s here because the team expects it. Same reason we’re all here, really.
“How long do we have to stay?” he asks, settling into the chair across from me.
“Until Ivy gets bored or someone gets arrested,” I tell him. “Whichever comes first.”
“Smart money’s on Beck getting arrested,” Juliet adds. “He’s been eyeing that disco ball like he wants to take it home.”
The genuine shock comes when Thorne steps forward and grabs the mic. I’m expecting another train wreck, but he sings “Rolling in the Deep” low and steady, smooth as hell. The bar actually goes quiet. I realize our captain has been holding out on us.
“Holy shit,” I mutter.
