Then the team launched into what I could only assume were the capoeira moves Will had been describing earlier, since the many spins and jumps in the choreography sent the girls flying off the stage and onto the deck. Those seated nearby had to duck for fear of having their heads kicked off.
The crowd loved it, however. Jasmine wasn’t the only person who raised her phone and began filming. I clapped along with everyone else, but when the performance ended—with the girls performing flips off the stage and landing in perfectly timed splits to the theme song of Salem Prairie, Kellyjean’s series on Netflix—I still had questions.
“‘All She Wants to Do Is Dance’ is based on a book?” I shouted at Will. I had to shout because the crowd had burst into a standing ovation. I was standing along with them, clapping loudly enough to hurt my hands. The girls deserved it for their grand finale alone.
“The Great Gatsby,” Will shouted back, looking as proud of his little sister’s ingenuity as he was her athletic prowess. “And The Ugly American. Oblivious rich Americans dancing as the world around them burns—sound familiar?”
“Oh.” I couldn’t believe I’d listened to this song so many times and not realized the Molotov cocktails referenced in it were actual bombs and not drinks. “Of course.”
“Totally putting this on the ’gram,” Jasmine was yelling to no one in particular. “Otherwise no one’s going to believe me back home when I tell them about it.”
I knew how she felt. Not that I hadn’t loved every minute of it. I wasn’t the only one, either.
“Oh my God, Jo!” Frannie and Saul appeared at my side. “Can you believe this?” Tears of laughter glistened in the corners of Frannie’s eyes. “I swear they were better than the Knicks City Dancers!”
“They were,” I agreed. I’d never been to a Knicks game, because sports—aside from cooking competitions on the Food Network—were not my thing. But I knew Frannie had never missed one, so if she thought this, it had to be true.
“This is some book festival.” Saul had a bright orange streak of buffalo shrimp sauce on his black shirt, in sharp contrast with his image as the king of horror fiction. “Way better than Novel Con. The meals and entertainment are much higher class, and you don’t have to fight for taxis afterward to get back to your hotel. The lines for booze are shorter, too.”
I had to stifle a laugh at this. A quick glance up at Will showed me that he was holding back a chuckle as well. His gaze, bright with suppressed mirth, met mine.
And suddenly that same odd sensation I’d felt before—first when I’d stepped off the plane into the hot, humid air and onto the rickety steps leading to the Little Bridge Island tarmac, and then when I’d kissed Will—swept over me again. A certainty that this was where I belonged … a conviction that I was home.
Which was completely absurd.
What was happening to me? I wondered as I tore my gaze from Will’s and searched once again for Bernadette in the crowd. Was I drunk again? No, that wasn’t possible. I’d only had one glass of champagne.
Food poisoning, then. My God, Frannie had been right all along. Why had we eaten the locally sourced seafood?
“Are you all right?” Will asked curiously.
I realized the horror I’d been feeling at my shocking self-revelation—that I liked this island, and even more startling, was beginning to like Will—must have been showing on my face.
“Oh, fine,” I said, waving away his concern. “I’m fine. Just—” I looked around quickly for an excuse and found it on the table. “I’m so thirsty.” I snatched up my empty champagne glass.
“I think I can rectify that for you.” Smiling, he signaled once again to one of the servers.
Phew. That had been a narrow escape. Now so long as the girls at our table kept their mouths shut about how Will and I were trending as a couple on social media, I might actually make it through the rest of the evening and back to the hotel without—
“What’d you think?” Chloe came bounding over, her pompoms clutched tightly under her chin, her expression anxious.
“You were great!” Will threw an arm around her shoulders and kissed the top of her ponytailed head.
“You really were,” I said, meaning it, as Frannie and Saul and Lauren and her friends all added their kudos as well.
“I don’t know how you remembered all that choreography,” Lauren said.
“Oh.” Chloe beamed. “We practiced tons. I’m glad you liked it.”
“I’m going to incorporate some of your moves into Felicity Feline’s next cheer routine,” I said, only half joking.
But Chloe took me seriously, her mouth falling open. “Oh, Ms. Wright, do you mean that? That—that would be amazing! That would be the biggest compliment ever!”
I glanced uncertainly at Will, only to see that he’d covered his mouth with a hand to hide his grin.
“Well, yes, I mean it,” I said to Chloe. “If I have your permission to steal your moves. I know people can be a little sensitive about—”
“Oh, you totally have our permission! We’d be honored! Which moves do you mean? I can make a list for you, if you want. I think it would be great if in your next book, Felicity is working on a back handspring—”
“Wow, folks, wasn’t that great?”
We were all startled by a man’s voice coming from the speakers on either side of the stage. I looked over to see Garrett standing in the stage lights, his hair looking wind-tossed and a bit sweaty from the island humidity—probably because he was wearing a cape, and the temperature was in the seventies.
“Let’s give those girls another round of applause, shall we?” Garrett beamed as everyone in the audience, looking confused, stared at him, then finally let out a polite patter of applause. “That was really great. For those of you who don’t recognize me in this amazing ensemble.” He did a full turn to show off the pirate outfit and cape. “I’m Garrett Newcombe, bestselling—and award-winning—author of the Dark Magic School series for kids.”
A number of children who were in the audience let out appreciative little shrieks and darted forward, eager to push through the crowd so that they could see the author of their favorite new series doing—well, whatever it was Garrett was about to do.
“Thank you,” Garrett gushed with what I felt was completely fake modesty as these same children sank to their knees in front of the stage. “Thank you so much. And thank you, too, to the board and staff of the Little Bridge Island Book Festival for hosting such an amazing event tonight. Are you all having as much fun as I am?”
The kids kneeling in front of Garrett exploded into appreciative cheers, and that same sentiment was echoed around us—except by Bernadette, who’d come weaving through the crowd toward us, Kellyjean and Jerome trailing not far behind her.
“What the hell is he doing up there?” Bernadette hissed into my ear as soon as she reached my side.
“I have no idea,” I whispered back. “I thought you would know. Is this part of his shtick?”
“How should I know?” she asked, slipping into a chair beside me. “I thought magic was his shtick.”