12. Tyler #2
“What? What happened?” Miles asks, closing his laptop. I didn’t realize it before he hinted at his crush on Alyssa at the gym. But since then, I thought of the times he’d gaze at her or try to grab her attention. It all clicked now.
I drink my water slowly, letting him sweat it out a bit. “Spit it out!” he says impatiently.
I finish my water and set it down. “I interpreted it wrong. She didn’t ask me out—she just wanted to know if I’d read over a paper she was trying to publish on physical therapy.”
“Why did she ask you?” he says, seemingly offended. I’ve dug the hole of the lie, and now I need to jump into it.
“Well, I suppose I do have one of the highest grades in the class.”
“Mine is higher than yours!” he exclaims.
“Maybe she’ll ask you to look too, I don’t know. She told me what it was about, sent me the link, and had me read it there in front of her. It was the most academic encounter I’ve had with a girl,” I say, hoping Miles takes the bait.
His eyebrows rise, and he nods, going back to his seat. “Sounds like a lame date,” he says, cracking a smile, relief washing over me.
I can’t let him know what actually happened because Alyssa made me promise not to.
I don’t know why I feel obligated to keep my word, but I guess I’m a bit of a romantic in that way.
It makes me excited to have a part in playing matchmaker.
I didn’t take Alyssa as the shy type, but apparently, she’s had a thing for Miles for the entire school year.
They were in a project together at the start of sophomore year, and ever since, she’s had hearts in her eyes for him.
I suppose he has, too. I told her about karaoke, and I just had to get him up at the mic for it all to pan out. I hope it won’t be too difficult.
We can hear Griff belting out a song from inside the college bar before we walk in the door.
I am more of a fan of the open mic nights this place hosts than karaoke.
Miles recently urged me to try it. He admitted that he could hear me singing and playing guitar in my bedroom, even though he said that he couldn’t all the times I asked.
So, nervously, I signed up and went on stage, strumming some acoustic version of the song “Linger” by The Cranberries to a nearly empty bar on a Tuesday night.
Of course, Griff and Miles were both in attendance, along with a few other people from the rock gym, and I got the biggest applause that night.
I don’t think I have the best voice, but I love playing guitar.
Like climbing, it’s one of the times when I can completely zone out on everything else and focus on the instrument in my hand.
The bouncer checks our IDs, and we shuffle into the narrow bar.
Karaoke nights are by far the most popular themed events this bar hosts.
I’m often faced with the reality that there are other people at college with me besides the ones I see all the time in class.
Miles and I snag a small table near the stage just as Griff is finishing a rumbling version of “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” by Green Day.
We holler and cheer as he finishes the last note.
“Nice work, Griff—how long have you been here?” Miles asks, reaching over to another table and grabbing the songbook that’s seen better days.
“Oh, I just got here a minute ago,” Griff says, taking a swig of his beer. “I can go grab some drafts for you guys while you pick songs.”
“Wait a sec. Isn’t that song at least four minutes long?” I ask.
“Yeah, someone started singing and then got embarrassed and walked off, somber stuff. But the music was still playing, so I jumped up to the mic and took it over. I didn’t even know the words!
But that’s the fun thing about it,” he explains.
“I’m going to get you two some IPAs.” He knocks on the table and heads to the bar, the crowd parting for his large size.
“Hey, it would be fun if we picked a song for each other,” I say, remembering the plan for the evening. Miles looks up from the book with a horrified look on his face.
“Fun! That sounds exactly the opposite of what it would be,” he retorts.
“Come on, live a little.”
“Who am I even talking to right now? Mr. Routine. You eat the same breakfast every day.”
“Well, maybe I’m inspired by Griff’s spontaneity,” I say. Miles shifts in his seat a bit, pondering the thought as if it’s life or death.
“Fine, but go easy on me.”
“I could ask the same of you,” I say, taking the book and flipping to the song that Alyssa asked me to have him sing.
We both scribble out the songs without the other knowing, putting the other person’s name on top and handing the song to the DJ. Griff comes back with our drinks, and we sit back, singing along with the terrible voices until our names are called.
A girl singing Spice Girls is about to finish, and I see my name flash on the monitors with the header “Up Next” above it, along with the song Miles chose for me: “No Scrubs” by TLC. I look over to him, and he bursts into laughter.
“I heard you singing this while you were in the shower. I had to, dude.” I can feel my face flare up in red, but soon enough, it’s my turn to take the mic.
“You gotta stop listening to me singing in private—it’s creepy,” I say, standing up and pushing his shoulder playfully.
I walk up and stand at the small stage in front of the crowded room while the intro starts, and the crowd starts whooping.
I take a breath and sing the beginning line, trying to loosen it up.
Just as I hit the bridge, I hear two voices join in harmony, singing the “No” parts, and I look over to see both Griff and Miles with mics.
They come on stage behind me, and we sing the chorus together.
The crowd is going crazy. We alternate singing the parts as if we are TLC, and by the end of it, I feel like I haven’t laughed this hard in ages.
We exit the stage to high fives from the crowd, and I realize Miles is up right after me, and the song I chose for him also happens to be a duo.
The beginning of “You’re the One That I Want” plays, and Miles looks over at me with a red face and mild confusion.
But knowing him, he never backs out of an agreement and immediately gets into his best Grease Lightning persona and starts belting out the beginning of the song.
I can see that he is concerned that I chose this song for him, and I can barely contain my laughter at him thinking I’m joining him in singing Olivia Newton-John’s part.
I hold the mic out, and Alyssa grabs it, seamlessly continuing the song.
Alyssa starts strutting toward the stage wearing a black jumpsuit and singing to him.
He looks like he’s about to collapse, but as she approaches and the chorus starts, he snaps out of it and sings along with her.
It is the biggest thrill to see a friend you care so much for experiencing a huge life moment right before your eyes.
I look over to Griff, and he’s got his sunglasses on, occasionally wiping his cheeks.
Miles and Alyssa continue the song, singing to each other. They both have huge smiles and, toward the end, are holding hands, dancing together as they sing the “Oohs.” The song ends, and they stand still, looking at each other.
“Kiss her!” I hear Griff grumble, then he lets out a choked laugh, pushing his sunglasses up and rubbing his eyes. Miles tenderly grabs Alyssa’s face and kisses her, and the room erupts into cheers.
It feels overwhelming to be in this space, not because of the number of people but because of the consuming feeling that this part of my life is so fragile.
I may not experience moments like these ever again—moments of new, fresh, young love.
I suddenly want to absorb everything around me.
Miles and Alyssa come back to the table, but Miles says they’re going for a walk.
Griff and I nod and motion them to get out of here.
We don’t stay too much longer afterward.
A few more people sing, and Griff’s selection, “Dancing Queen,” by ABBA, gets the entire bar singing.
The happiness is infectious, so I tamp down the nostalgia I feel for a time I’m currently living in.
How I’ll miss it before it’s even over. Instead, I try to enjoy the walk back to my apartment, knowing these are the best years of my life.