Page 69 of You're so Bad

“Sure, but who cares?” he says back brightly, with the confidence of someone who has a beautiful voice.

We file inside with everyone else, and the whole group huddles around the bulletin board next to the door as if it’s the list of who made varsity basketball. Bianca and Colter’s names are at the top, singing “At Last” by Etta James. They doubled down with the stupid alphabet theme, because our names are listed next. She assigned us “Bohemian Rhapsody.”

I don’t have to ask why. For one thing, the song is significant to Colt andme. We watchedWayne’s Worldon our first date, because I couldn’t believe he’d never seen it. When I asked him what he’d liked about it, the only thing he could come up with was that song. Later, he admitted he’d been distracted because he was trying to figure out how to make a move.

I’ll bet it didn’t hurt the song selection process that “Bohemian Rhapsody” mixes multiple different styles of music into one song, giving me a variety of ways to embarrass myself.

“Well, that’s it,” I say in an undertone. “We’re fucked.”

Colt and Bianca don’t hear me—they’re at the back getting set up for their performance, which I’m sure they’ve practiced at least thirty times. Hell, they probably even choreographed a dance. But Melly turns to face us. “I’m screwed too,” she says, stricken. “She assigned me a rap song. I’ve never rapped before in my life. I knew she was pissed at me for letting your kitten out last night.”

Leonard whistles. “Brutal.”

Melly’s friend is happier with her pick—a Britney Spears song that apparently speaks to Bianca and Colter’s souls.

Other guests murmur around us as they check out their songs, and then Bianca makes an announcement that the fun is about to begin. People settle into chairs or lean against the wall to take in their highly staged performance. Leonard and I are wall-leaners, and he draws me close. My heart flutters as he presses my back up against him, his arms clasped in front of me. Colter never held me like this around other people—he was always embarrassed by physical affection, as if touching his girlfriend was the same as carrying around a teddy bear.

He’s only pretending.

Then Leonard whispers in my ear as the song starts up, “Why’d she choose that song for you?”

I tell him in an undertone, and he listens, rocking me against him a little as if he’s a secret Etta James fan.

“We’re about to blow them out of the water, Tiger,” he tells me in my ear, his words a pleasant tickle. “Don’t you fret.”

“We should have unleashed the crickets in here,” I whisper back, just as Bianca launches into her part of the song. It would be fantastic if she were pitchy, but she’s not the kind of person who would host a karaoke night unless she was damn sure she could pull it off.

As predicted, they have a whole little dance number prepared. They’ve obviously been pouring time into it for weeks. It’s no accident that she scheduled us to go next.

Then again, I remind myself of Leonard’s rendition of “Ninety-Nine Bottles of Beer” in the car. Maybe I have a secret weapon.

The happy couple finishes by exploding heart confetti into the crowd, no joke. Bianca gives me a pointed smile as she leaves the mike and walks over, “Your turn, Bean.”

“Maybe you missed the first few times we told you,” Leonard tells her in a jovial voice that’s got metal beneath it, his arms still around me. “That’s not a nickname she answers to anymore.”

Something burns in my chest, because he’s standing up for me again. He comes off as a joker most of the time, closed-off and mysterious the rest, but he keeps standing up for me.

“Old habits die hard,” Colter says with a smile. His eyes land on me, a bit sad suddenly. “We picked a song we know you like.”

It hurts a little, but only in the way that old wounds do if they’re poked.

“Now, go on up there and show us what you’re made of,” Bianca says, patting me on the ass. It’s the kind of thing she would have done when we were actually friends, and that hurts too.

“Oh, we will,” Leonard tells her.

He pulls a chair up toward the karaoke machine, the feet screeching against the floor. Then he signals for Colter, who’s playing DJ, to get us going.

“Is that for me?” I ask in a whisper as the opening strains start. “Because I might need to sit down. You can gyrate around me.”

“I’ll give you a lap dance later, if you ask nicely. I have plans for that chair.”

If I doubted him, I didn’t for long. He jumps on top of the chair while he’s singing about Scaramouche, doing a Freddie Mercury act that has everyone in the cabin shouting and tapping their feet. In the beginning, I do my best to stay as silent as possible, because I don’t want my crappy voice to screw things up. But Leonard’s having so much fun, it’s impossible not to join in. After a minute or so, I’m belting out the lyrics right along with him, getting lost in the fun of it. Both of us beat our chests dramatically as we tell our mamas we’ve just killed a man.

When we finish, everyone cheers, and several people slap Leonard on the back and call him doc. I take great satisfaction in the sour look on Bianca’s face as she whispers furiously to Colter. Thirty seconds later, he announces over the microphone that there will be no more karaoke because the machine is broken. He immediately unplugs it and starts to carry it out of the cabin, probably to avoid the possibility that someone will inspect it and realize it’s just fine.

Leonard has obviously figured out that the best way to mess with Bianca is by taking attention away from her. We won this round, and from the look on her face, she can’t stand it.

I’m watching Colter return when Leonard takes my hand. The jolt it sends through me catches me off guard.

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