I’d give anything to have that.
“Besides, you got them pipes that’s about to blow these basic bitches out the water,” Gab laughs. “And while you’re off being rich and famous, I’ll be here, with Jay, teaching the babies how to read.”
I shrug. “I don’t want to be rich and famous. I just want to be rich and . . . known.”
Gab smiles. “That sounds just like you.”
“Nice of you to join us, Jones,” Coach grumbles as I sprint across the parking lot.
“Sorry,” I gasp, out of breath, jumping into the van before we peel out for our swim meet.
“Hey, where were you?” Mackenzie asked.
“Left my new suit and Gab gave me a ride home.”
“Who? Wait—ahhh! Hannah, turn that up!”
Hannah grins at the back seat, then turns up the Ariana Grande song on her playlist.
The van shrieks with glee, girls wiggling in their seats.
“OMG! She totally slays.” Mackenzie grins, bumping my shoulder.
“Totally,” Hannah says. “OMG, Enchanted! You HAVE to sing this!”
“Yeah! Next talent competition.”
Do they know ANY other singers besides Beyoncé and Ariana?
I wince a smile as a text buzzes. Korey.
Can’t wait to see that pretty ass smile of yours tomorrow. Wear something that shows them curves
Chapter 20
Your Eyes
“Don’t take off your coat. We’re taking a class trip,” Korey says, slipping on a leather jacket. “Tony’s already in the car downstairs.”
“Where are we going?” I ask, catching up to him. Mom just dropped me off. She’ll have no idea we’re going somewhere . . . alone.
He smirks. “You’ll see.”
We enter the Beacon Theatre, way different while empty and the houselights on.
“The place where we first met,” he says with a dimpled grin.
“What are we doing here?”
Despite meeting Korey, I don’t have good memories of this place. The wounds from the audition are still raw, and I’m itching to run back home.
“You have to get used to performing. Only place to do that is onstage. We have an hour. Let’s get to work.”
We pick a song from my favorite Whitney Houston album. A song I’ve sung a million times over. As I sing, Korey circles me, hand on his chin, deep in thought. Meanwhile, I’m loving the change in scenery. My voice seems to carry farther onstage than in the studio or my bathroom. Without the audience, my nerves aren’t a tangled web. Still, Korey is here. Korey Fields! Every few seconds I want to pinch myself to check if I’m dreaming.
I’m knee-deep in the song when Korey pauses the music.
“What’s up?” I ask, winded.
“You’re . . . stiff.”
“Huh? No, I’m not! I’m singing from my diaphragm,” I say, poking my stomach. “See? Like you taught me.”
He shakes his head. “This song. The way you sing it, is different than the others.”
I shrug. “It’s just a song.”
“It’s more than that. Your smile . . . this song means something to you.”
I swallow but hold a straight face. “OK . . . so what exercises you got for that?”
“Simple,” he says. “You gotta sing from your heart, Bright Eyes.”
I huff. “And how you expect me to do that?”
He pauses, as if considering his next move, and pushes hesitation aside to take my hand. For a split second, his fingers thread between mine before he places my hand on my chest and holds it there. I gulp at the fire sizzling in his eyes. He feels larger than the theater, maybe the entire city.
“Aight, your heart is nothing but a muscle. It contracts and expands, working just as hard as any other muscle. The difference is, the blood pumping through it pumps through your entire body. That blood holds memories. Things you try to forget but it won’t let you. You have to use those memories, use that blood to fuel you. But that blood can’t move through you unless you relax. Release your hand, Bright Eyes.”
I look down at the fist I formed over my heart, nails digging into my palms ready to fight, almost daring him to touch it.
“Close your eyes,” he says. “And envision the moment this song first entered your heart.”
“I . . . don’t want to talk about it,” I whimper.
He frowns. “You afraid of me?”
“No.”
“Good. Then trust me.”
I close my eyes and hear the sea. Waves crashing against the shore. I smell Grandma’s sage and suntan lotion as the record skips . . . skipping again.
“We’ve worn this out, Chanty. How about you just sing it for us?”
A smile creeps on my face as I open my eyes. I take a step back, shaking my hands free.
“Aight. I’m ready.”
Korey restarts the song and gives me space, letting me take the stage alone. A wave of joy replaces the numbness, and my whole body comes alive.
“Arch your neck back,” Korey says over the music. “Relax the muscles trying to tighten your throat. The notes you need are stuck in there.”
I roll my neck around, feeling the weight of my head fall off my shoulders. My back arches, blood racing, smile widening. This is my favorite album, one of my favorite songs, why shouldn’t I smile?
“Where do broken hearts go?
Can they find their way home?”
“Use your arms,” he instructs. “You are begging for answers. Where do broken hearts go?”
I reach out to the ceiling lights, pretending I’m singing to Grandma again. I spin around and sing to Korey, watching in awe as he circles me. He moves closer, no longer hesitating. The notes I haven’t hit since I was a child come rumbling through me, shrieking like the trains through a tunnel. I pump my arms, a surge of victory taking over.
“Yes! Yes!” Korey cheers from beside me and I feel the need to sing to him and only him, inching closer.
“I look in your eyes,
and I know that you still care for me.”
The song ends and I gasp at the lightning that has replaced my veins. All this time, my heart has been beating, but this is the first time I’ve felt fully alive.
“Again?” Korey asks, breathless.
“Again!”
Chapter 21
432,000
432,000. That’s how many seconds have to pass before I can see Korey again.
Our back-and-forth texts are not enough. Our song volleying is not enough. Even stalking him on social media is not enough. Every second that passes without him—without singing—feels like I’m swimming through a swamp, the mud sticking to my skin, consuming me, pulling me under.
Send me a pic
“Who are you texting?”
I drop the phone on the floor, the carpet breaking its fall.
“Huh? What?”
Mom snickers from the sink, peeling carrots; Shea chopping onions for dinner.
“You always on that phone. Wondering who got you texting like crazy.”
I clutch the phone to my chest, sinking deeper into the crook of the L-shaped sofa. Just the thought of Mom knowing makes my stomach twist into a cramp.