Chapter 25
TWENTY-FIVE
FORD
AGE FIFTEEN
Our entire school had gathered in the gym to watch the talent show.
Personally, I thought it was childish to still have to go to these, and now that I was in high school, I had hoped to skip it. In fact, I had told Connor I was going to leave at lunch to avoid this event. He, of course, told me he’d be front and center for Royce. He wanted to show her support.
Because, of course, he did.
Royce had many talents, but singing wasn’t one of them, and the fact that someone had put it into her head that she could was a travesty.
Maybe she thought because her mom could sing, she’d try it too…
or maybe it was one of her dumb friends that convinced her, but either way, I knew Royce would not like the outcome of this show.
I suppose deep down I slid onto the wooden bench for the same reason that Connor had decided to show up.
More than supporting her, I wanted to see her step up to the microphone and open her pretty lips.
I wanted to see what outfit she wore. I wanted to see how her hair looked under the house lights.
I couldn’t seem to stop this small obsession that I had with her, and adding this mental image of her standing on that stage was a necessity.
I already knew Connor was sitting down on the gym floor in one of the chairs. I stuck closer to the back where Royce wouldn’t catch me staring.
There were a few acts ahead of her, each of them boring and none of them pulling me away from my sketchbook long enough to watch all the way through.
Then I heard Ms. Mulligan introduce the only girl I’d ever watched so carefully that I knew exactly when she planned to laugh, or cry, or hit someone.
I knew every twitch of her lips, every meaning behind that left brow raising.
This unfortunately meant I knew when she liked what Connor said to her.
She walked onto the small stage wearing a pink dress that fell to her knees.
The top was strapless, which made her insecure because she kept pulling it up every few seconds as she walked.
Her golden hair was curled and bounced against her back, which meant her little sister had done it for her.
Anytime Royce did her own hair, the curls didn’t last, and they looked too frizzy.
I, unfortunately, found it endearing and it made me like her more.
She closed her eyes as she stepped up to the microphone, then wet her lips.
Before she even opened her mouth, I knew what tune I’d hear.
Mostly because I knew her, but it was no secret that she had a deep obsession with music from the ’90s.
Sure enough, she began singing along with the guitar to the dramatic tune to “Iris” by the Goo Goo Dolls.
She started off strong, but as the song transitioned, her voice couldn’t quite carry the right tune, and then her voice cracked.
I could see her face flushing even from where I sat, but things got worse when a group of guys started laughing.
I glared at the backs of their heads as they crowded together and joked. One of them pointed and then yelled. “Isn’t her dad in jail or something? Is she singing for tips?”
“She’s fuck hot, but her voice sounds like it got trapped in a garbage disposal.”
I was two rows above them, but I sat my sketchbook to the side and then shifted down a row, shoving between two girls. They glared at me, but as Royce continued singing her song, her voice went shrill, making the cluster of boys laugh even harder.
From where I was now, directly behind them, I shoved my foot forward, kicking them in the back.
It forced them to fall forward into the other kids.
One of them stood up and tried to swing at me, but I ducked and threw my fist into his nose.
Another one flew at me, trying to get my stomach.
I lifted my knee and hit his nose, making blood spray smear his face.
The last kid began screaming at me, “If you want her so bad, just say so. You don’t have to pretend to like her voice or attack us for calling it like it is.
She sucks!” I stood up and threw my forehead into his face, and several kids gasped and that’s when I realized Royce had stopped singing and the school police officer was heading toward us.
Everyone was watching me, including Royce, whose gaze held a look of hurt and confusion.
The principal and the dean of students were angrily making their way up the bleachers.
Royce held her elbow while everyone ignored her and watched me.
Connor ran up to the stage and put his arm around her, helping her off.
I stood there, staring at their retreating forms, wondering if all I’d ever be was the guy who messed up.
I’d be the villain in Royce’s life while Connor and every other guy in her life remained the hero.
Just one time I’d like to be the one who saved her. Just once, I’d like to be the hero in her story.