Somewhere Only We Know(61)

“Fern!”

I ignored Jack and gave the DJ my song request. He gave me a thumbs-up sign. “You have one person ahead of you,” he said.

Jack was fretting next to me. “Why are you trying to bring more attention to yourself?”

“Jack. It’s okay, I’ll be fine. Let’s go get a drink.” I led us to the bar, trying to distract him.

Jack was still tense when I ordered myself a drink. “Are you sure about this?” he asked.

“I’m getting a Coke!”

“I meant, the karaoke.” He crossed his arms.

I grabbed the frosty Coke can handed to me by the bartender. “I’m sure, Jack. I promise. Thanks for the soda,” I said with a grin before taking a swig, keeping my eyes on him.

He flushed and paid for the drink and guzzled a glass of ice water himself. “You’re welcome.” Then he reached over quickly and pressed a cold kiss on my mouth.

It was his silent support of my decision and I appreciated it. And enjoyed it.

We watched two women onstage sing along to “Crazy in Love.” Then the duet slowly turned into a slow dance and the crowd whooped. They grinned, and at the end one of the women shouted into the mic, “We got married today!” More cheers were had and the bartender uncorked a bottle of champagne.

It was sweet. There was this vibe in the air—I had felt it the second we walked in. I liked this crowd. I trusted this crowd.

Then it was my turn to go up.

I gulped down the rest of my Coke and grinned at Jack. “Here I go.” He tried to smile back but I could see the worry etched on his face.

I love you.

The words flew into my thoughts and I almost fell as I stared at Jack’s now-familiar face.

Oh my Lord, WHAT?

I stumbled away from him toward the stage. Lucky. You cannot. You cannot possibly have those levels of feeling for Jack. I barely knew him! I was … caught in the throes of today. The romantic veneer of it. That’s all.

The confusion and tumult inside of me calmed the second I was onstage. The heat from the lights, the crowd of faces shrouded in darkness, the microphone resting in its stand in front of me. Even though the stage was tiny, it felt familiar.

And I had the nerve to choose one of my own songs.

When I had gone up to the DJ, the word had tumbled out of my mouth, unplanned. I thought that I was trying to escape Lucky-the-K-pop-star when I agreed to spend the day with Jack. But in all honesty, I was looking for the real version of myself all day. And, as unhappy as I was, the real me was still tied to K-pop.

I needed to test myself right now. Sing “Heartbeat” after everything I had gone through. See how it felt. What was different.

The music started and the monitor lit up with the lyrics. I ignored it, of course.

At first, I sang “Heartbeat” like I had been doing at my concerts—going through the motions. Going on muscle memory, keeping every note perfectly to the way it sounded on the recording.

I found myself doing a compacted, abbreviated version of the dance moves, too, keeping my microphone on the mic stand.

Someone hooted in the crowd. “Lucky!” I could see Jack sit up straight and look at me in shock. Good gravy. Jack didn’t know my biggest hit. It made me smile.

A few people tittered.

Yeah, haha, I kinda sound like her, right?

I remembered when this song was fun. And wow, were these dance moves easier in sneakers. My limbs relaxed, my voice grew louder.

When the chorus came in, I grinned because I was going to go for it. These people had no idea.

The choreography here required a vicious hair flip, so I did it, sending my cap flying off, my hair unfurling.

Then I threw off my glasses and shot my signature smile and wink into the crowd, directly at a girl in the front row. I saw her tortilla chip drop onto the table.

And for the first time in over twenty-four hours, I was Lucky again.

The murmurs in the crowd grew louder and people started taking photos. For a split second, I felt panic set in. It was instinctive, I realized. This fearful reaction. I’d let myself get controlled by it, withdrawn from my fans. And my reasons for doing this—for them, for me—had been buried.

I was so done with hiding out. Pretending to be someone I wasn’t. Tucking away parts of myself under a baseball cap.

I had been myself and not been myself.

I closed my eyes and sang at full force, using the voice that I used to unleash in auditions. In the shower. In concerts for school, for church. It had been gone for years.

When I opened them, I saw a figure standing in the middle of the flashing lights.

Jack. Watching me, mouth dropped open.

The shape of him was so distinct to me now. The broad shoulders, the loose way his arms hung by his sides, the slight tilt of that head—all as familiar to me as someone I had known my entire life. A day with this guy and he had burned himself into my bones, the stuff that ran through me, the stuff that made me a living being.

He had encouraged me. Believed in me. Made me examine myself, all the fears I had hidden deep inside.

The music was familiar, but this feeling was new. I sang the chorus, the only English words in the song:

I miss our heat

I miss your heartbeat-beat-beat

All the ways I wanted to show you

How to thank you

When I sang them here on this stage, looking at Jack, suddenly it was a brand-new song. And the way I sang it was new. I dropped my voice down a few octaves, entering a husky range that I never got to use. I slowed down the words the tiniest bit, dragging out syllables, finding different meanings in every single line.