“You okay?” she asks.
Something pokes at me, and I snap, “What the hell do you care anyway?”
Petra doesn’t speak to me again.
OLIVER
“THIS IS LITERALLY the best night of my life,” Brooke says, leaning against the counter beside me.
I snort. “Dear God, you need to get out more.”
Brooke pinches me, looking sullen for a mere second before another song starts up on the karaoke machine, and then she lights up again. “Holy shit!” she shouts in my ear. “They’re going to sing Spice Girls!” She’s bouncing up and down, and I’m ready to bop her on the head like a Whac-a-Mole.
“Yes, I heard Amy announce it. Can you take a fucking chill pill?”
“Stop being a sourpuss,” she says. “Go help Amy manage the list. Look at the line! This was our best idea yet!”
Over on the register, Morgan says, “Our idea?”
Brooke shushes her, and I actually do what she tells me to because Amy looks a little like she’s drowning as she hands around little karaoke CD cases so that people can choose songs from them. She’s been doing this all night, and she doesn’t even look tired, but it’s probably about time for me to relieve her, so I leave Brooke and move over to the sign-up table.
As soon as Amy sees me, she smiles, and I get that weird feeling in my stomach that I do every time she does that. “Doing okay?” I ask as two girls very loudly and excitedly decide they’re going to sing Queen. They hand the CD they were poring over to me.
“Sure,” Amy says, her face looking stuck in that position, with her mouth in a wide smile and her eyes alight. “I’ve never listened to most of these,” she says, reaching out for the CD in my hand. I give it to her, and she examines the front of it. “Ace of Base, Oasis, the Cure.”
“You’ve never heard of the Cure?”
Amy shrugs. “I’ve heard of them, but I’ve never heard them.”
I purse my lips, trying to measure my words. “I guess a lot of people only know the music of their lifetime.”
Amy freezes, her eyes on the screens against the back wall that are scrolling through the multicolored lyrics of “Wannabe.”
She turns, slowly, narrowing her eyes at me. “What is that supposed to mean?”
I put my hands up. “It’s not an insult. The Cure put out their first album in ’79. No one expects you to listen to them.”
Amy scoffs. “I know music before my time. Um, hello. The Beatles, Elvis, Michael Jackson, Aretha Franklin—”
She breaks off when the song comes to an end, and the girl who was singing steps off the makeshift platform. She hands Amy the mic, and Amy consults the clipboard sitting on the edge of the table next to us. “Okay, next up, we have Will, singing ‘Ain’t No Sunshine’ by Bill Withers. Everybody in the store, give him a big round of applause!”
When the applause borders on thunderous, I’m surprised to find that even more people have crammed in the door. It’s not that big of a shop, but karaoke seems to have the people excited. I’m suddenly concerned that this might not be a one-time deal.
When the guy on the stage, wearing glasses and sandals even though it’s on the verge of snowing outside, starts a surprisingly good rendition, I can’t help myself. I lean down to Amy and ask, “Do you know this song?”
She scowls up at me. “Are you going to ask me that every time a song comes on?”
I have to look away because I don’t want her to see me smile. I shrug. I like that she’s gotten defensive; I like that she doesn’t mind arguing; I like that her cheeks have flushed just a little, which means I’m getting to her.
“Fine,” she says. “You think you know good music? You give me your best, I’ll give you mine, and the first person to cave to the other’s musical genius loses.”
I cross my arms, trying to look intense, like this is a serious matter, because Amy looks serious, and honestly, that just makes me like her even more. Because she takes everything seriously, and now that she’s standing beside me, I definitely can’t avoid it anymore. I like her. A lot.
“What does the winner get?”
She tosses her hands in the air, while up on the stage, the guy, Will, is getting really into the song, which is acceptable. It’s the kind of song you get into. There’s a girl in the crowd pointing her phone at him, and he winks at it as the song moves closer to the end.
“Bragging rights,” Amy says. “Good enough for you?”
I shrug. “Sure thing.” And without thinking, I reach out my hand. She looks down at it for a second, and then she shakes it. I make a point not to notice the way it sends tingles all the way up my arm.
I risk a glance at her and find that she’s watching me, an odd expression on her face. “You’re passionate about something. Who would have known?” Her voice has a strangely reverent quality to it that makes me uncomfortable.
And then, in an attempt to avoid her comment and because I have completely lost my mind, I pick up her clipboard and scribble my name at the very top. I’m allowed to do that because I’m an employee, right? I look over to see if Brooke is paying attention, but she’s not, so I keep going even though I’ve just now really processed what I’m doing and my stomach is in knots. I can’t believe I’m doing this just to entertain a girl.
When I push the clipboard into her hand, Amy just stares at it for a second, and I see her eyes moving back and forth over the top of the page, like she’s reading my name once, twice, and then three times. Like she has to do that to believe it. And then she grins up at me.
Will’s song comes to an end, and he passes the mic to Amy, and she looks like a kid about to blow out her birthday candles as she says, “Next up, our very own Oliver York, singing ‘Friday I’m in Love’ by the Cure!”
Because I know what I’m going to see, I turn and look at Brooke. She’s standing completely still behind the counter, her eyes wide as saucers. And just as the music for the song starts, I see her mouth, Holy shit. Morgan, still ringing up customers, whoops loudly.
And then it hits me what an absolutely awful idea this is, because Amy is watching me, and she’s smiling really big, and I can’t decide if I love it or hate it, but it’s too late to make up my mind because now I have to sing.
I chose “Friday I’m in Love” because it happens to be the most iconic Cure song, and also my favorite. But I also like it because it requires very little vocal talent. I definitely don’t think I have an awful voice, but best not to push it when I have this many eyes on me, when I have Amy’s eyes on me.
I don’t even have to look at the lyrics scrolling across the screen. I know this song forward and backward. Instead, I scan over the faces of strangers, some of whom watch me sing, some who are actually shopping, and some who are just dancing to the music. It’s the kind that’s hard not to dance to. I’m stiff, mostly out of total discomfort, unable to move my limbs, but nobody seems to mind. During the interlude, I do a little back-and-forth step on the podium, and I hear Amy laugh over the music.
Throughout the whole thing, Morgan cheers, and halfway through, Brooke produces her phone, which she points at me, but Amy just watches with this look on her face, like she’s looking at a complete stranger, and maybe she is because this is definitely not the kind of thing I do.