Page 79 of Somewhere Only We Know
The choreography here required a vicious hair flip, so I did it, sending my cap flying off, my hair unfurling.
Then I threw off my glasses and shot my signature smile and wink into the crowd, directly at a girl in the front row. I saw her tortilla chip drop onto the table.
And for the first time in over twenty-four hours, I was Lucky again.
The murmurs in the crowd grew louder and people started taking photos. For a split second, I felt panic set in. It was instinctive, I realized. This fearful reaction. I’d let myself get controlled by it, withdrawn from my fans. And my reasons for doing this—for them, for me—had been buried.
I was so done with hiding out. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t. Tucking away parts of myself under a baseball cap.
I had been myself and not been myself.
I closed my eyes and sang at full force, using the voice that I used to unleash in auditions. In the shower. In concerts for school, for church. It had been gone for years.
When I opened them, I saw a figure standing in the middle of the flashing lights.
Jack. Watching me, mouth dropped open.
The shape of him was so distinct to me now. The broad shoulders, the loose way his arms hung by his sides, the slight tilt of that head—all as familiar to me as someone I had known my entire life. A day with this guy and he had burned himself into my bones, the stuff that ran through me, the stuff that made me a living being.
He had encouraged me. Believed in me. Made me examine myself, all the fears I had hidden deep inside.
The music was familiar, but this feeling was new. I sang the chorus, the only English words in the song:
I miss our heat
I miss your heartbeat-beat-beat
All the ways I wanted to show you
How to thank you
When I sang them here on this stage, looking at Jack, suddenly it was a brand-new song. And the way I sang it was new. I dropped my voice down a few octaves, entering a husky range that I never got to use. I slowed down the words the tiniest bit, dragging out syllables, finding different meanings in every single line.
His eyes never left my face the entire song; I felt them when I danced across the small stage. I saw them when I looked up.
When the song ended, I didn’t dangle my head like a rag doll, a pose that insisted on my vulnerability and submission. Instead I stared out into the audience, directly at everyone. And smiled.
The room erupted in applause and wild cheers. “ANOTHER ONE, LUCKY!”
Jack whipped around, tense, ready to fight. But the crowd wasn’t rushing me, it wasn’t demanding anything from me except another song. They were with me, and I was with them. A silent agreement between us—this was special. Let’s stay right here in this moment, in this place that no one else knows about.
It was a rare moment that they happened to stumble upon. They didn’t know how much it meant to me. How much I needed it.
I’d never had it before. This was a different way to connect with people through music. Not through seven million views on YouTube. But in a quiet, dark bar.
I felt elated. Weepy. Powerful at the realization.
So I sang a couple more songs, not caring that people were recording me, probably uploading this to the Internet. Bringing my company and security guards closer to me with every passing minute.
It was worth it to perform on my own terms after so many years of accommodating everyone else.
I felt like I was brought back to life.Welcome back.
CHAPTER FIFTY
JACK
I fully understood at that moment, watching Lucky onstage, why K-pop stars were called idols.
