Midnight Sun(47)

“Oh, you mean those guys?” Charlie asks, flicking a thumb in their direction. “They’re here for you.”

A cool bearded dude approaches us before I can even begin to process what Charlie has just said. “You Katie? Let’s do this.”

“Oh my God, no, no, no—” My eyes get huge and I have the sudden urge to go plan a fake cat funeral. I make a break for the door, but Charlie blocks it.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes.”

“How did you? What are…? This is crazy!” I stammer. “How are we paying for this?!”

Charlie shrugs. “Don’t worry about it.”

This can mean only one thing: He basically just spent his life savings on me. Money he worked so hard for this summer and the summer before that and the summer before that. I know how much a professional recording costs. Way too much. I’m overwhelmed by his generosity. Tears, which are always close to the surface lately, start pooling in my eyes.

“Charlie, no! That’s your truck money! You worked so hard for it. I can’t let you do this!”

“It’s already done,” he says, grinning at me. “Besides, most colleges don’t let you have a car on campus as a freshman.”

“Berkeley called?” I say, reaching out and putting a hand to his cheek.

“Not yet,” he says. “But I’m feeling pretty confident they will.”

“I’m really, really proud of you,” I tell him. “Whether it’s at Berkeley or somewhere else—you’re going to set this world on fire someday, Charlie Reed.”

“And you already are, Katie Price,” he tells me. “Now go. Do this. You helped me figure out my dream. It’s payback time.”

He starts pushing me gently toward the studio. I stop him and hold up my hands. They’re shaking.

“I can’t play anymore,” I whisper, my stomach a hot pit of fear and shame.

He takes my hands in his and stares into my eyes. “Just sing. Pretend it’s just me.”

I nod and try to tap into all the positive vibes he’s sending me. He spins me around and pushes me toward the studio. I step through the door into the center of the room. I feel unsure and nervous. I guess I can blame my shaking on that instead of the real reason. Then no one has to feel sorry for the poor dying girl and lie to her about how great her song is if they really don’t think so. Maybe I’ll finally get some honest feedback from real musicians—people who really know talent.

The guys in the band nod hello as they finish tuning their instruments. The engineer clicks on the speaker from the other room. “Whenever you’re ready, Katie, let’s lay one down…”

I’m ready now except for one thing. The song choice. I have no clue what I’m supposed to sing. “What are we playing?”

The guitarist, a tattooed, pierced linebacker of a guy, hands me the sheet music everyone in the studio has. I read the title. “Charlie’s Song.”

“This—this is my song. I’ve been working on this!” I exclaim, almost to myself. I look up to see Charlie smirking at me through the window of the control room. “How did you get this?”

Charlie clicks the speaker on. “I stole your notebook again.”

“You wrote this song?” the guitarist asks.

He looks like he doesn’t quite believe me when I nod.

“Not bad,” he says with a smile.

I smile back at him and put on my headphones. The drummer counts off a beat and the band starts playing. My song. Charlie’s song. It sounds even better than I ever imagined it could.

Music swells around me, and then it’s time for me to come in. I step up to the screened mic. I start to sing, softly at first. But with every note, I gain a sense of confidence I didn’t even know I had in me.

I close my eyes and sing for everyone I love. I picture my dad developing awesome photos from an exotic trip he takes not too far off in the future. Morgan and Garver still together, even after they head off to different colleges in the fall. Charlie gliding effortlessly through the pool at Berkeley, racking up just as many records there as he did in tiny little Purdue, Washington. And my mom playing her favorite song by Crosby, Stills, Nash & Young.

“I have walked alone, with the stars in the moonlit night,



I have walked alone, no one by my side.



Now I walk with you, with my head held high,



in the darkest night, I feel so alive.”



When the song ends, I know I’ve nailed it. Charlie is watching from the control room, recording it all with his iPhone. He nudges the engineer, who nods. Do I even see amazement in their eyes? Because I’m amazed at what just came out of me, too.

On the ride home, Charlie and I are both still giddy with excitement. Neither of us wants the night to end, which is how we always feel. Charlie pulls off an unfamiliar exit well before we’re back in Purdue.

“Where are we going?” I’m resting my head on his shoulder. Feeling at home. Like somehow everything is right in the world despite everything that’s wrong in mine.

“I want to show you somewhere I come to think sometimes,” he tells me.

The truck climbs higher and higher until Charlie pulls over and cuts the engine. He gets out of the cab and comes around to my side, opening the door and offering me a hand.