Open Road Summer(23)

“Check,” he says into the microphone. “Check.”

More squealing and whistling. Most of the guys in the building are clumping toward the back of the bar or locking themselves into their own conversations, making it clear that they’re not here for Matt. It seems that his fan base is primarily made up of adoring girls.

“Okay,” Matt says, smiling. “Hey there. I’m Matt Finch.”

They woo-hoo and clap like banshees on nitrous oxide. The people who scream for Dee are teenage girls and younger. But with Matt, the girls howl like a bunch of starving street cats about to get table scraps. It’s unseemly.

“Thanks.” Matt runs a hand through his hair. “Thanks for having me. You all are my trial run for a set I’m playing on tour. Have you heard of a little lady named Lilah Montgomery?”

The crowd cheers again, and this time the guys in the bar add some whoops.

“Oh, that’s sweet,” Dee whispers, smiling.

Matt starts strumming, feeling around for his first chords. “Well, I’m opening for Lilah tomorrow night, and this is a preview. Here we go.”

He launches into his first song, a popular one from his Finch Four days. I like it better with just him. The girls sing along at the chorus, swaying like . . . well, like drunk girls. When he hits the final notes, he follows up with a cover of “Carolina in My Mind” by James Taylor. Everyone in the bar goes crazy, singing along and cheering. Dee and I seem to be the only people who aren’t Carolina natives, though Dee could pass for one, enthusiastic as she is.

By his fifth song, I almost forget that Matt Finch onstage is the same guy who’s been giving me a hard time for the past week. He seems more like himself somehow, more open and subdued. He’s performing, but it feels like he’s not performing at all. More than once, I catch myself envying the microphone, so near his mouth.

He introduces “Human,” the song that had struck me before I even met him. I feel that same deep stir, the chords gushing like a tide across my insides—up and back, up and back. For a moment, the world around me blurs so that only Matt is in focus. He goes somewhere else once he starts singing, his eyes closed. It feels like he’s playing the guitar alone in his bedroom, and we’re all just random voyeurs.

The hurt in his voice is so real that I can feel it settle in next to my own, somewhere in that aching part of my chest. Seeing this piece of Matt makes me want to be near him—to see his scars up close and find out if he’s as broken as me.

That’s ridiculous, of course. But more than ever, I feel a craving—stronger than the dull buzz of nicotine or the rush of a fourth beer. I’m hungry for newness, a fresh start, a do-over. I want to reach back into my history with a grade-school pink eraser, scrubbing away my decisions like mistakes on a math test. Too bad I drew my mistakes in ink.

In my mind, the song lifts me out of this uncomfortable wooden chair, and I’m somewhere else, too. I’ve forgotten about all the other people in the room, until a few of the drunker girls began to sing along during the last chorus. It takes all my self-control not to douse them with my ice water.

Matt pauses to take a drink from his water bottle. “How we doing, Charleston?”

The ruckus that follows is proof that he’s won them over.

“All right,” Matt says, placing his hands back on the guitar. “What you’re about to hear is brand-new. I hope you like it. It’s called ‘Yet.’ ”

The first chords are upbeat. Hopeful. When he opens his mouth, I run the lyrics through my mind, processing their meaning as quickly as he can sing them.

It’s been the longest time

Since I’ve been in this place,

Where I spend my whole day

Hoping I’ll see your face.

Then I script things to say,

And maybe what you’d say back.

You don’t know it yet,

But, girl, it’s a fact

I feel my face getting warm, and it’s not the heat of the stuffy club around me. Did he write a song about Dee?

That I can see us

Staying up late,

Talking all night,

But I guess I’ll have to wait.

’Cause it’s brand-new,

Yeah, I know we just met.

I want to be there with you,

But not just yet.

“Just met”—so apparently not Dee. Maybe it’s a purely hypothetical song. I mean, technically, Matt just met me. But he wouldn’t write a song about me, much less invite me here and play it in front of me.

“This is so good,” Dee whispers. Matt shuts his eyes as the guitar gets louder, breaking into a second verse.

Girl, you’ve got that look,

Like you’re hard to impress.

So I’m bumbling with words,

’Cause my mind is a mess.

You were out of the blue,

And you caught me by surprise,

With a slight smile, that long stare,

And a challenge in your eyes

Maybe he wrote this song to lend credence to his sham relationship with Dee. That has to be it.

I could feel all this

In that single look,

Like you could see my soul.

You could read me like a book,

And I think it’s something.

Though I know we just met,

I’m gonna get there with you.

You just don’t know it . . . yet.