Page 4 of XOXO

What a jerk! I wasconcernedfor him.

I stomp out the door.

In the foyer, Uncle Jay glances up from where he’s adding hours to one of the rooms. He takes one look at my expression and sighs. “Kid’s not leaving, huh? Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

He starts to come out from behind the bar, but I hold up a hand. “Wait.” His words from earlier echo back to me.Live a little.“I’ve got this.”

Two

The boy is still sitting in the corner when I enter the room. And maybe I should be ticked off that he clearly didn’t listen to me, but it doesn’t matter.

“Here’s the deal,” I say. “I added an extra twenty minutes to your room.”

He arches a brow. “How generous.”

“It’s not a gift. I challenge you to a karaoke battle.”

He stares at me blankly.

“Let me show you.” I scoot into the seat opposite him, pick up the device that controls the karaoke machine, and press the Score button. “Now the machine will score our performance once the song is over,” I explain. “If you win, I’ll give you another hour in this room. No charge. If I win, you have to leave.”

I’m a little surprised that I’m doing this. I would never in a million years think that I would challenge a stranger—a boy my own age who’s probably the most attractive person I’ve everseen in real life—to a karaoke battle. But after getting the feedback from the judges, I’m determined to dosomethingabout it.

Maybe Uncle Jay was right. Maybe getting out of my comfort zone and putting myself out there will make a difference.

I bite my lip and wait as the boy mulls over my offer. Honestly, it’s a win-win situation for him. Without paying, hewouldhave to leave eventually. So either he has to do what he was always going to do, or he gets a free hour in relatively safe comfort.

Finally he taps the songbook with his good hand. “All right. I’ll play your game. But you’re about to be disappointed. I’m actually decent at singing.”

From the smirk on his face, I can tell he’s already planning his hour of squatter-living. Little does he know that though I might not have the best voice, karaoke machines score on pitch, and mine is perfect.

He starts to push the songbook across the table.

“I won’t be needing that.” I pick up the controller and look up the artist by name, plugging in my selection. The instrumentals for Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive” begin to play.

I stand, microphone in hand, then proceed to belt out the song. I mostly chose this one because of the fast pace. I have no time to think or doubt myself when I’m trying to breathe. It doesn’t hurt that it also has lyrics like “Walk out the door” and “You’re not welcome anymore.”

When it’s over, I collapse onto the couch. My score appears on the screen: 95.

The boy taps his good hand on the table in a slow clap. “That was... something else.”

I’m breathless; my cheeks are flushed. “We only have eight minutes on the clock. Hurry, pick a song.”

I look up to find his eyes on me. “You choose for me.”

“Are you sure?” I pick up the book and turn to the back where all the recent songs have been added. “You’re going to regret this.” There aren’t many choices for American songs, but the Korean songs fill up two pages. I read the artist names aloud.

“XOXO? What kind of name is that?” I laugh.

He scowls. “Seven minutes.”

There are so many possibilities. I’m almost gleeful with power. “Do you prefer a song in English or Korean?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“I mean, we’re at a noraebang, you might as well sing a Korean song. I just don’t know many.”

“Really? Not even, like, the anthem?”

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