Page 159 of Secret Obsession
Like I’m about towhat? Ms. Masen sent an arrangement. That’s Nora, the sweet woman who has been helping me with singing formonths. The one I was with when Miles discovered where I was working. And that I sing.
“What did you do?” I ask in a calmer voice.
“You’re going to sing the national anthem,” he says. “And you’re going to kill it.”
I stare at him. “I’m going to killyou.”
This sort of thing takes prep. Practice. Rehearsal.Sound check. And while they were preparing for this, I was—I was eating a burger. Drinking lemonade.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” My mind is going in endless circles, thinking of a way I can get out of this. “There’s an arena full of people out there.”
“I know.”
“Oh, great, maybe you should go out there and—”
“You’re going to be great.” He leans against the wall. “But I suggest you do your warm-ups before that lady comes back.”
I glower at him and turn away sharply. I grab a bottle of water from the fridge and down half of it, although I already have the urge to piss my pants.
That’s nerves.
But if I can’t get out of this, then I need to do my best.
Right?
I face the wall and run through my vocal warm-ups quietly. Trills and octave runs and whatever else I can think of, although my brain is static. I can barely remember my last lesson with Nora. If I knew I was going to be singing in front of more people, I would’ve remembered it better. Or done my homework more seriously.
“Ms. Reed?” The door swings open, and the assistant is back. “We’re ready for you now.”
I swallow.
Miles grabs my shoulder and pushes me ahead of him. He has to, otherwise I wouldn’t fucking move. I don’t know how I’m supposed to go out and sing one of the hardest songs, without practice….
“This is why you didn’t fuck my throat,” I groan, smacking my palm to my forehead. “You’re such an asshole.”
He chuckles.
The woman’s mouth quirks, and I press my lips together.
And then I get my first look at the rink.
It’s all dark, and music blasts out across the arena. Colored lights swing around the ice, the stands, and finally, a spotlight comes on the door beside the home team’s bench.
An announcer booms, “Please welcome…”
I block it out and focus on the woman in front of me. She’s saying shit that I don’t know, don’t understand, and a carpet is being rolled out on the ice. Someone brings out a set of microphone stands. Children file past me, and I watch them with confusion. They line up, and their teacher, or some adult, kneels in front of them.
They singGod Bless America. It’s cute, but my palms sweat more. The crowd seems to enjoy it. They give their wild support, which makes sense. They’re children in need of encouragement, not… me.
And then they’re done. Filing off the ice.
Someone says my name, and it’s echoing over the arena.
Miles propels me forward.
I lick my lips and step out onto the carpet. The spotlight is blinding, and I fight the urge to squint. There are people behind me, and the starting players are on the ice. They’re lined up. Six visitors on the far line, down by their goal. Five on the one closer to me. And the goalie, even with where I stand.
I meet his eyes, then shift my attention to the microphone on the stand. I wet my lips again and step up closer, until my lips are almost touching the mic.
