Page 92 of Hidden & Held

Phoenix has already started sliding farther down the booth, making space for me.

As I shuffle into the polyester seat, she shifts slightly. The movement brings her knee within inches of mine. Close enough that I can smell the faint cherry blossom scent I recognize from the day I met her at the diner. Close enough that I remember exactly what it felt like to have her curled against my side while I read to her.

My pulse kicks up as I try to slow my breathing. Phoenix reaches for her water, and the back of our hands brush slightly. Neither of us comments. Neither of us moves quickly apart either. I clear my throat, trying to get my emotions under control.

Across the table, Becca is watching us like she’s observing a documentary reintroducing a wounded animal back into the wild.

“Don’t,” Phoenix says, reading the same look I do.

Becca grins, grabs her drink, and takes a sip, attempting an innocent expression while Nessa nearly falls sideways from giggling. The lead singer fumbles for the microphone at the start of a new song when the manager finally steps in.

“Thank you to the Ole Outlaws for singing for us tonight, but we are going to give them a break.”

Behind him, Darlene, in the same checkered flannel I saw last time I was here, ushers the band off the stage as a bus boy begins to change the setup.

“Which means we are open for karaoke tonight!”

There is an equal number of cheers and groans at this statement. The manager seems to expect this and moves his arms in front of him in a settle-down motion to quiet the group.

“I know, I know. But I hear that tonight we have a special guest. A man who graced the stages of many a school musical in his time”—he bites his lip, holding back a laugh—“and whose mom here says he has the voice of an angel.”

No. She wouldn’t do that to me, would she?

Looking to the side of the stage I see my mother practically vibrating with excitement, clapping her hands together in front of her face.

The manager checks that the setup is done behind him, receives a nod from the busboy, and begins, “Everyone, give it up to the choir boy, Jackson Mercer!”

Closing my eyes, I try to pretend this scene isn’t happening to me. When I open them again, Becca, Mack, and Nessa have started a chant of “Choir boy. Choir boy.”

A gentle nudge from Phoenix at my side has me turning toward her. “You scared?” She smirks. And that’s all the motivation I need.

Leaning forward, I brush my lips against her ear and say, “You wish, Sugar.” I see the goosebumps rise on her arm as I make my way to the stage.

Wagging a finger at my mother. “You are an evil woman.”

She leans up and plants a kiss on my cheek. “No, I am an evil genius. Trust me, you’ll thank me for this one day.” She makes her way back to the group.

The manager hands me the list of songs with a leer, commenting as he walks past, “Don’t know how many show tunes we have on there, but good luck.”

Flipping through the plastic-covered pages, I see the typical options. Song choice is more important than your talent when singing karaoke. It’s better to go with a popular one that everyone knows to keep the crowd engaged. And if you don’t sing something upbeat? Forget about it; you killed the vibe.

On the fourth page, I find what I’m looking for and can’t believe my luck. I show my choice to the bus boy, who has never even heard of the song but clicks the appropriate buttons for it.

All eyes are on me as I make my way on stage. But I couldn’t care if there were thousands of people; all I care about is one set of brown eyes.

“Thank you, Mom, for that lovely recommendation.” She whoops and receives a chuckle from the crowd. “This one goes out to the woman who brings sweetness to my every day just by sharing a wall with me. Thank you to my dear Proprietress for allowing me to have a roof over my head and the good fortune to bump into you on occasion.”

The upbeat keyboards mixed with bass guitar start playing, the older guests picking up on the song; the younger ones will soon. Grabbing the mic, I keep my eyes directly on Phoenix.

“Sugar,” I sing out, my register is lower than Ron Dante’s, but the tune of “Sugar Sugar” by the Archies is instantly recognizable, a solid choice for the crowd tonight.

The Zentrology girls have their phones out, recording my performance, but all I see is Phoenix’s reluctant smile, pink staining her cheeks even from here.

When I get to the line of promising to make her life so sweet, I put all my meaning into it, wanting her to see the truth, even in the ridiculous song.

I make my way back to the booth to a round of applause that is somehow both genuine and merciless. Nessa is already pulling up the video on her phone to watch again. Becca is fanning herself dramatically.

“Eh, seven out of ten,” Nessa announces. “The Archies have never been so personal, I’ll admit.”