Chapter Thirty-Two
The majority of prom was handled by a DJ—not a member of the Silver Cuties this time, since they’d played a short set to start the night off, but someone else who understood the assignment to play all nostalgic songs of that era, especially ones that had been featured on the show or that were good to dance to.
Micah would’ve loved to dance with John, to enjoy the prom just like they’d discussed last night.
But she was conscious that even in this area that had been turned into a makeshift backstage, they were still visible, and there were already people snapping not-so-stealthy pictures of the two of them in their outfits.
She tried to sip her water, pretending she didn’t notice, while John kept picking up one of the acoustics and strumming it before seeming to remember that he wouldn’t be able to hear anything over the music anyway, and then setting it back down.
The sign that they were about to go on came when the techs came to grab the guitars and set them up on the stage, together with two stools and the microphones.
Micah felt almost preternaturally calm, but she could tell that John was nervous.
Finally she went over to him and gave him a brief hug from behind, pictures be damned.
“It’ll be okay,” she said. “It’ll be great.”
He reached up to touch her hand, a ghost of a touch as she’d already started to pull away.
But then they got the signal that it was time to take the stage.
He was supposed to enter first—as silly as it had seemed to her at times, she’d always been the last one onstage, because it inevitably built the anticipation and got the crowd to scream even louder.
But she wanted to go together, and so she walked up with him, until she felt the heat of his hand against the bare skin of her lower back.
They took their seats, and Micah lifted the acoustic guitar where it had been set up next to her, settling the strap around her and grabbing the pick that had been stuck between the strings.
You Rock My World this one said, and she glanced over at John just in time to see a smile pinch the corner of his mouth before he got set with his own guitar.
She’d thought maybe she would say something when they were ready to perform.
Something more about how much this entire cruise had meant to her, about how proud she was of this song, about how glad she was that ElectricOh!
had had the chance to be a part of something this special.
But she’d already said most of that during their first concert, and she was conscious of being on a knife’s edge, emotionally, and not wanting to risk getting too overcome to even get through the song.
So she settled for just looking out over the crowd, all the people wearing their costumes and their sparkling dresses and their tuxedos, some faces she’d started to recognize from seeing them around the ship or during their impromptu sing-along the night before.
She even saw one of her bracelets on a woman’s arm, and she smiled down at her.
The sky was dark and clear and beautiful, the stars out like they knew it was a special night. She couldn’t see the water from where she was, but she felt very aware of it being out there, of existing in this suspended moment of sky and stars and ocean.
She looked at John, half expecting him to be taking it all in, too, but he was watching her. She leaned into her mic, her eyes still on him as she said, “This one’s for you.”
She strummed that first A minor chord, and she swore she gave herself goose bumps. But then she went from somehow outside the song to completely in it. Everything faded away—the crowd, the cruise, all of it, leaving only her and John.
Usually she would’ve sung most of the first part with her eyes squeezed shut, but she couldn’t do that because she didn’t trust herself not to lose her place on the guitar somehow.
Instead she kept her eyes on John, and she thought maybe she’d watch his hands, tracking them to make sure she was keeping the rhythm of the song, changing chords when she was supposed to.
But she didn’t need to do that. For one thing, she was setting the rhythm of the song.
He’d told her that a thousand times in practice.
She could play, and he’d be right there with her.
If you speed it up or slow it down , he said, I’ll be there. Just play through.
For another thing, she preferred to look at his face, his warm brown eyes so distinct, ringed with the eyeliner, his tongue touching the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on the buildup to the first chorus.
When he started singing, she suddenly became aware of the crowd again, the way she could feel their energy, like they knew this was something special and different.
She ended that first chorus with a high, wistful note that she would’ve never thought to add if not for him backing her up.
By the time they got to the bridge, she was barely even consciously thinking about playing the guitar anymore.
It was just an extension of her hands, of her body, and she didn’t feel like she could mess up anything more than she could mess up breathing.
She was very conscious of the lyrics to the song, though, which she suddenly felt like she was singing for the first time.
I was dreaming while awake / Then fell asleep and can’t remember / Things won’t ever be the same / Are you gonna come over?
The weird thing about writing songs is that they could be so personal to you in the moment, but then years went by and they no longer meant the same thing that they once had.
You performed them over and over, for radio shows, tour dates, festivals, various filmed specials and showcases.
She could sing something that had made her cry when she’d originally written it, that felt like ripping out her own heart and putting it on the page, and by the hundredth time she’d be thinking more about how hot the stage lights were or if that was a crackle in the left monitor.
She’d be thinking about whether she’d been flat on that last chorus, if her mic pack was coming loose.
She wouldn’t necessarily be thinking about the words .
But this was the song she’d written with John.
The song she’d written about John, when it came down to it.
It was all about longing, wishing things could be different, dreaming of a future you didn’t know was possible.
She’d heard that in the music and so she’d responded with words, trying to express what she knew she could never act on.
And then the song was over, seemingly almost before it had even begun. She sang the last line, her voice low, a hitch in the note that was half on purpose and half pure emotion. John let the last chord ring out, giving her a smile so sweet that it made her chest physically ache.
“Thank you,” he said into his mic. Then he stood up, setting his guitar down on the stool so he could turn to her, clapping the whole time.
The entire crowd was cheering, and she lifted her own guitar off her so that she could stand, too.
She could’ve taken a bow, or she could’ve turned to John and led her own round of applause for him.
But all she wanted to do was go to him—to touch him, to share this moment with him.
So instead she wrapped her arms around him in the tightest hug, squeezing him until she felt his arms come up and wrap around her, too, his hands on her bare back.
It felt so good to be in that warm embrace, and she could’ve stayed that way forever.
“We did it,” he said into her ear.
“Did you have any doubt?”
But she didn’t let him answer, because then she was kissing him, her hands at his cheeks, all her love and everything she’d ever wanted to say in the feeling of her mouth on his.
She was only dimly aware of the reaction from the crowd as he lifted her slightly, her toes in her favorite platform boots almost leaving the stage.
“Whoa,” she said.
“My thoughts exactly,” he said, squeezing her one more time, giving her a kiss on the corner of her mouth. “Should we get off the stage?”
“I think contractually we’re supposed to.”
He grinned at her, taking her hand, not sparing another glance toward the crowd as they made their way down the steps.
Micah knew they were about to be stopped by a bunch of people—not just other cruisers or Nightshifters fans, but possibly photographers, press, their fellow bandmates, members of other bands—and she just didn’t want to deal with any of them.
She wanted to get John alone, where they could really talk, because suddenly she thought they had a lot to talk about.