Loosening up.
He doesn’t know it—or maybe he does—but Quint has just dug his thumb into a very sore spot. Maybe it comes with being a perfectionist. Maybe it’s because I’m a rule follower, an overachiever, the sort of person who would rather host a study group than go to a kegger. Maybe it’s because my parents gave me the unfortunate name of Prudence.
I do not like being told to loosen up.
I can relax. I can have fun. Quint Erickson doesn’t know me.
Jude, though, knows me all too well. He’s watching me, his expression dark with concern. Then he turns to Quint and says, maybe too loudly, “Actually, Pru and I used to do karaoke all the time when we were kids. She used to do a brilliant rendition of ‘Yellow Submarine.’”
“Really?” says Quint, surprised. He’s looking at Jude, but then his gaze slides to me, and I can tell he has no idea how much my blood is boiling right now. “I’d pay money to see that.”
“How much?” I spit.
He pauses, like he’s not sure whether I’m joking or not.
A waitress appears and gestures to the small table, now cleared of old dishes, sporting two glasses of ice water. “Your table is ready.”
“Thanks,” says Quint. He seems relieved to have an escape from this conversation. I’m ecstatic. “Good to see you, Jude. Nice to meet you … Ari, right?” His focus returns to me. “Guess I’ll see you in class.”
“Don’t forget.” I thump the textbook. “Two hundred and fifty words on your preferred aquatic adaptation.”
“Right. Thanks for the reminder. See? Was that so hard?”
“Just seems so pointless,” I say sweetly, “since we both know you’ll still be writing it five minutes before class starts. If you write it at all.”
His smile stays firmly affixed, but I can see it’s becoming weary. “Always a pleasure, Prudence.” He gives me a one-fingered salute before he and Morgan head off to their table.
“Ugh,” I groan. “You know he’s going to forget. And the worst part? Mr. Chavez will give him a pass, like he always does. It’s—”
“Infuriating,” Ari and Jude parrot together.
I huff. “Well, it is.” I wake up the laptop. It takes me a minute to remember what I was writing about.
“Don’t kill me for saying this,” says Ari, “but he didn’t seem all that bad?”
“He’s not,” says Jude. “Terrible lab partner, maybe, but still a nice guy.”
“Terrible is the understatement of the year. I honestly don’t know what I did to deserve such karmic punishment.”
“Oh!” Ari’s eyes brighten. “That gives me an idea.” She pulls the songbook toward her and begins flipping pages.
Jude and I look at each other, but don’t ask what song she’s looking for. Jude grabs his drink and finishes it off in one long swig. “I need to get going. I’m supposed to meet the guys at seven to start planning our next campaign.” His brow furrows as he looks at Ari. “Do you really think you’ll sing? Because I could probably stay, if you need moral support.”
She waves a hand at him. “I’ll be fine. Go explore your goblin-infested dungeons or whatever it is.”
“Kobold-infested, actually,” says Jude, sliding from the booth. “And I’ve got some great ideas for booby traps in this campaign, too. Plus, you know, there will probably be a dragon.”
“Can never have too many dragons,” says Ari, still scanning the songbook.
I consider asking what a kobold is, but I’m not sure I have the brain space for one of Jude’s over-enthused explanations, so I just smile. “It’s not called Dungeons and Dragons for nothing.”
“They have it!” says Ari, swiveling the book around and pointing. “I know you know this song.”
I’m expecting her to have picked something by the Beatles, but instead she’s pointing at the title of a song from John Lennon’s solo career: “Instant Karma! (We All Shine On).”
“Oh yeah, that’s a good one,” says Jude, leaning over the table to see. “You could pull it off, Pru.”
“I’m not singing.”
Ari and Jude both raise their eyebrows at me.
“What?”
Ari shrugs and pulls the book away again. “I just thought maybe you’d want to prove Quint wrong.”
I lift an angry finger. “I have nothing to prove to him.”
“Of course you don’t,” says Jude, slinging his backpack over one shoulder. “But there’s nothing wrong with showing people that you can do more than get straight As. That you can actually, you know”—he takes a step back, maybe worried that I’m going to smack him, and whispers—“have fun.”
I glare at him. “I do know how to have fun.”
“I know that,” says Jude. “But even you have to admit that it’s a pretty well-guarded secret.”
FIVE
Jude leaves, and I try to focus on my paper. I only have a few more sentences to wrap it up, but it’s slow-going. Jude’s words are in my head and, to my endless annoyance, so are Quint’s. Loosen up. Have fun.
I can feel Ari giving me the occasional uncertain look. She’s the most empathetic person I’ve ever known and can always tell when someone is upset. But she also knows that I’ll talk when I’m ready, and to nudge won’t usually get her anywhere. So we work in silence—me finishing up the paper, and her jotting words down in her notebook. Well, silence is a relative term, given the various levels of singing prowess that continue to assail our ears. Some of the singers are actually pretty good. One guy performs the newest Bruno Mars single, then one of the women from the next table does a jaw-dropping Cher impersonation. But other performers are less than stellar. There’s a lot of mumbling and discomfort and staring awkwardly at the screen projecting the words.
I have a theory about karaoke, one I developed way back during our family karaoke nights. No one in the audience is expecting the next Beyoncé to show up onstage, but if you’re going to get up there, you have to at least try to be entertaining. If you have a great singing voice, awesome. Belt it out. But if you don’t, then you have to make up for it somehow. Dance. Smile. Make eye contact with the audience. Look like you’re having fun, even if you’re terrified, and it will carry your performance a lot further than you’d think.
“There,” I say, shutting the computer. “Last assignment of the year. Check.” I take a swig of my Shirley Temple, which I’ve been neglecting. It tastes a little watered down, but the rush of syrupy cherry deliciousness feels like a well-deserved reward.
I’ve barely been paying attention to Ari, but I can tell she’s gotten some new ideas. I’m about to ask her if she’s working on something new, or perfecting something old, when I hear her name being called.
“Next up: Araceli Escalante!”
We both look up, startled. Trish Roxby is looking at us, holding the microphone. “With a name like that, I think we’ve got our next superstar coming to the stage. Come on up, Araceli!”