Chapter Six #2
Frankie laughed. “I would pay actual cash money.”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Micah said, finally finishing her makeup and putting everything away. “If we can think of this gig as just like, us covering ourselves. Maybe it would take the pressure off.”
“Are you feeling the pressure?”
Aren’t you? Micah wanted to shoot back, but apparently not. “No more than usual,” she said. “It’s always nerve-racking, getting up on a stage. No matter how many times I’ve done it, I feel those butterflies right before I go out there.”
“But then…” Frankie smiled, closing their eyes as if in sheer bliss. “God, what a rush.”
It really was. There was no other feeling like it on the planet.
The problem was you could get almost addicted to it, could crave it, and then when you stepped back off the stage your life felt almost depressingly flat afterward.
Sometimes Micah thought if she could somehow stay on the stage sixteen hours straight, stumble off just in time to catch some sleep, then go right back to it the next day, she could get through life so much better.
Just constant performing, performing, performing with no downtime to think about a single thing outside the lights and the beat and the faces in the crowd and the music coursing through her.
Instead she’d crafted the opposite life for herself, where she was alone with her thoughts all the time and hadn’t been on a stage in years.
She didn’t let Hailey pay her for the work she did for the salon—it didn’t seem right, when Micah still made enough from her co-writing credit for “If Only” to keep herself afloat and kick in a little extra toward the opening of the salon in the first place.
But sometimes Micah wondered if that would’ve been a better life for herself, one where she’d never gotten a taste of that performance rush, one where she could sweep hair off the floor and answer the telephone and only every once in a blue moon think Wait, didn’t you used to want to make music?
“All right,” Micah said, pressing a hand to her stomach. She was feeling a little queasy, but she couldn’t tell if it was the cruise or lingering nerves. She hoped the fresh air would help either way. “I’m ready. Let’s go listen to a bunch of beautiful people talk about a show I’ve never seen.”
“Oh, you never watched it?” Frankie said.
“I binged all seven seasons. The college years get insane . Don’t bother with the sixth season—it goes off on a whole tangent where everyone thinks there’s a murderer targeting girls on campus, but actually it’s just one of the shifters people keep seeing skulking around Greek row?
But like, they never do figure out who was murdering all those girls, then.
Imagine, three girls turn up dead at the same quaint liberal arts college and they’re just like, oh well, best left unsolved.
Also there might be a creature on campus, don’t worry about it. ”
“Well, people loved the show enough to give us this ,” Micah said, gesturing out at the people as they stepped out onto the pool deck.
As Bobbi had promised, there was a roped-off section where they could stand separate from the rest of the crowd, which Micah especially appreciated once she saw just how many people were out there.
The main deck was totally packed, people pressed together dressed in their T-shirts with character images on them, a couple even dressed like the characters themselves—post-shifting, Micah assumed, since their costumes came complete with headbands of furry ears and tails attached to their pants.
There were people already in the pool on the other side of the deck, drinking and laughing and seeming like they barely knew a panel was about to start.
Then there were people wrapped around the deck above, leaning against the railing to look down at the stage that had been set up with six chairs.
John and Steve had already arrived and were standing over by a stack of chairs, talking. Steve had a brightly colored cocktail in his hand, and John held a cup of something of his own. As if sensing her gaze on him, John turned his head, and Micah slid her sunglasses down over her eyes.
“Why don’t you just talk to him?” Frankie asked.
Briefly, Micah thought about playing dumb, saying What do you mean? or Who? But that would be a waste of time.
“Did he ever mention me?” she asked instead. “When you two kept in touch.”
Frankie paused in a way that told Micah the answer before they had to say it. Don’t ask a question you don’t want the answer to . She should’ve remembered that.
“You know John,” Frankie said. “He keeps things pretty tight to the chest.”
“Right.”
“But you know he would talk to you. He’s always been yours.”
That made Micah whip her head around. “What does that mean?”
“You were friends first,” Frankie said. “Before any of the rest of us.”
Oh. Well. That was true.
The wind had picked up, and even under the cover of the overhang above them, Micah could feel it start to slice through.
She wished she’d brought a jacket, but instead all she had was the thin black-and-white-striped T-shirt she’d chosen because she felt like that was the closest to nautical she could get.
The boat was also moving more than she had expected.
Wasn’t that supposed to be one of the benefits of a cruise?
The ship was so large that it was steadier on the water, and you could walk around like you were hanging out on land?
Instead, Micah felt like she could feel the sway under her feet, had to brace slightly to keep her balance.
It wasn’t too late to bail on the panel. Technically, she’d made an appearance. She was just about to get Frankie’s attention when the stage lights kicked on, a roar went up from the crowd, and the cast of Nightshifters started filing out onto the stage, waving as they took their seats.
Micah glanced around. No one was looking at her. Probably nobody cared if she specifically was there or not.
But she knew there was no getting around it. She was trapped.