Fabian keeps his eyes on me. “We think so.” But he doesn’t sound very certain.
Oliver’s beside me now. “Spider? You can sing, right?”
And everything that’s happened—everything over the last six weeks of good and bad and awful and terrific—flashes around me like I’m dying. I picture where I was at the start of all this, and where I am now: who’s left me, who’s stayed by me, and who’s grown with me through all of it.
My breath comes out a little shuddery, but strong. “I can sing.”
Immediately the DJ turns and hollers into his mic, without giving us even another second. “Okay, everybody. Time now for our special musical guest . . .”
The room echoes with whistles and applause, and a visible crush of people swarms in from the back. I shake out my hands, take another deep breath, move to my spot in front of the mic. The hall swells with more noise. Oliver and I sneak glances at each other, trying not to smile under the pride we can’t help but feel. When the DJ steps down and the lights brighten on us, I can’t see anyone very well anymore, but I hear Benji’s loud, sharp whistle, and Darby and Gretchen screaming my name. Out there somewhere in the crowd, I know Trip’s eyes are on me too.
We’re starting tonight with Oliver’s favorite of our new songs, the one he insisted I sing first. The irony is so big, I almost laugh into my mic as Fabian’s first notes of “Hansel and Gretel Crumbs” swell around me. But instead I manage to make it look like I’m the happiest person in the world to be here. And maybe I am.
Behind me Oliver comes in on his guitar, a loud, bold chord.
I take a breath.
And then I sing my heart out.
Acknowledgments
In reality, the byline of this book should read “Terra Elan McVoy and Anica Rissi.” Anica, I know it’s your job, but thank you for all the extra tough love, time, attention, and sparkle that you put into this manuscript. It was a mess without you.
Caroline Corder, Sumar Deen, and Natalie Spitzer, your beautiful honesty inspired these pages. And Jamie, you might not remember our discussion about what kind of solo time guys spend with girls they’re not attracted to, but I do, and it helped with this book. (Bump fists.)
Scott, you were an extra trooper with this one. There’s no acknowledgment I can ever write that will properly thank you for what you give to me, and my work, every day. I am glad you are so much more than my friend.
Amy McClellan, you are a million times better than a million boy (or girl) friends put together. I cherish the time we spent working out this arc, and it remains a great example of exactly why and how I love you. (Also, if we hadn’t, this book would have no plot.)
Lastly, I have to recognize the purely friend guys in my life: the ones who have informed and sustained the girl I am. David Astor, John Aubry, Josh Siegel, Frank Schultz, Stewart Haddock, Tom Bell, Jamie Allen, David Lee Simmons, David Bowles, Colin Moore, Justin Colussy-Estes, Paul Stenis . . . we don’t have to talk about it, but thanks.
Being Friends with Boys Page 26
