Chapter 33
Keith hated the costume. It wasn’t even a costume.
It was underwear and a button-down shirt and some socks.
It was literally all from his own closet.
The elaborate costumes were more fun—he would have been happy being Bob Dylan every night.
Just wearing underwear seemed so cheap, like they were being cheap.
Keith understood—it felt good to give people what they loved.
That was the whole point, to give people something that made them happy and to be happy in return.
At least Maddy never saw him dressed like this for the fans, unless she’d seen it on YouTube. Keith exhaled. She probably had.
The John Travolta Disco was quieter than the night before.
This happened every year—a little lull on day three where people decided to catch up on a few hours of sleep before the crush of the last day.
Scotty was dancing, sliding around in his socks and yellow Crocs.
He had tied the button-down around his waist, and he had squeezed into a too-small T-shirt someone had tossed to him onstage that said Boys forever.
Keith had told Shawn that Pajama Night was a bad idea, but he didn’t listen.
Keith added it to the list of things that he had argued against and lost.
Shawn was leading about twenty Talkers in a line dance.
He didn’t really know how to line dance, but it didn’t matter.
He was making it up on the spot, and they were loving it.
Scotty was dancing too. Shawn shouted, “Do-si-do!” and threw his baseball hat in the air.
Someone caught it, and Keith watched as the women touched the hat as they passed it back to Shawn, as gentle and careful as if they were carrying an infant to safety.
There was a reason Frank Sinatra and Sammy Davis Jr. did Vegas.
In Las Vegas, you could sit down and have a drink, and the floor wouldn’t move underneath you.
In Las Vegas, the only people who took off their clothes were the showgirls, the burlesque dancers, and the guys at Magic Mike Live.
Keith didn’t want to go to Brazil. He didn’t want to go to the Philippines.
He didn’t want to go anywhere with Corey and Shawn.
He didn’t even want to do what he was already doing!
Boy Talk couldn’t do it forever—they just couldn’t, not like this.
Why did it feel so bad to say so out loud?
Shawn was going to go down swinging until the day he dropped dead, and he didn’t care if he killed Keith in the process.
On the other side of the room, Jonathan was dancing, his thin hips jerking side to side in what looked like drooping yoga pants.
Keith wanted to get off the ship and never get on again for as long as he lived.
He felt like he was doing an army crawl out of a battle zone, and his brother was holding on to his legs.
Shawn grabbed a microphone and shouted, his voice hoarse and faint, “Let’s rock this fucking boat!” And everyone jumped up and down, including Jonathan. Scotty pointed at Keith, who pointed back. They were all great at pointing.