He’ll be here. I’m sure of it.

And that is where my nerves are coming from. Quint and me. Outside of school, outside of volunteering, just hanging out at karaoke night. And yeah, we’re supposed to be making plans for the gala, which is a totally legitimate reason to spend time together.

I know I shouldn’t read into it, but I can’t help it. Reading into things is what I do.

As a waiter stops by to deliver our drinks, I realize I’ve become fidgety with nerves.

Trish stops by and hands us a song binder plus a stack of paper slips for us to write down our song choices. “Happy to see you all came back,” she says, grinning. “Your head doing all right, sweetie?”

“Just fine,” I say, feeling the back of my scalp. The bump faded away weeks ago.

“Good, good. I hope you sing again. Your performance of ‘Instant Karma!’ was great.” She leans forward, beaming at Ari. “And you. I’ve had Louis Armstrong stuck in my head all month thanks to you. You’re singing again, right?”

“Planning on it,” Ari squeaks.

“Glad to hear it. Remember, if something isn’t in the binder, I might still be able to find it online. Y’all just let me know what you need.”

She winks and walks off. Ari inhales a deep breath and grabs the top slip of paper. She immediately writes down her name and the song she wants to do. “Okay, I’d better give this to her before I talk myself out of it,” she says, sliding out of the booth.

“Ari’s gonna sing again?”

I jump, my head snapping around.

Quint, startled by my reaction, takes a surprised step back. Then laughs. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No! No. It’s just…” I check my watch: 5:59 p.m. “I didn’t expect…”

“Hey, I value punctuality,” he says.

I raise an eyebrow at him.

He shrugs. “At least, I’m starting to.”

Quint and Jude share a fist bump and some muttered boy-ish niceties. Ari has left a spot open on the other side of the booth, next to Jude, but Quint slides in next to me.

I swallow and scoot in a little farther to give him space.

Ari returns, bouncing nervously on her toes, and they all start talking about karaoke and Ari’s song—neither Quint nor Jude has heard of it, either—and Ari sighs dramatically when she hears this.

“It’s so good. I can’t understand why it wasn’t a single.”

“I look forward to hearing it,” says Quint—and I think he means it.

“Are you going to sing?” Ari asks him.

Quint guffaws. “Nope. There is zero chance of that happening.”

“Come on,” says Ari. “You can’t be that bad.”

“And even if you are,” I add, “it isn’t about being good, necessarily. It’s about letting go of your inhibitions for a few minutes.” I drop my arms to my side and give them a shake, a charade of “loosening up.”

“Okay,” says Quint, giving me a sidelong look. “Then what song are you singing?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Nothing.”

“Aha.”

“Anyway, this is a work meeting.” I nudge my notebook toward him.

“Ah, the Prudence idea journal. I should have known I’d be seeing this again.” He starts flipping through pages, but then Carlos arrives to take his drink order. “Oh, what was that thing you guys were drinking last time? With the cherries?”

“A Shirley Temple?” says Ari.

“Yeah.” Quint snaps his fingers. “I’ll have a Shirley Temple, please.”

“You got it,” says Carlos. He shoots a sly, semi-curious look at me, and I know he’s wondering whether this is my boyfriend. But thankfully he doesn’t say anything. I don’t think I could keep from looking mortified if he did.

As Carlos walks away, Quint turns to Jude. “So you said you guys used to do karaoke as a family?”

“When we were kids,” says Jude. “But it’s been a while.”

Quint’s eyes twinkle. “Maybe you guys should do a duet or something. For old times’ sake.”

“Oh!” says Ari, clapping her hands. “How about ‘Stop Draggin’ My Heart Around’ by Stevie Nicks and Tom Petty? I love that song. And you’d be so good!”

“Ew, gross,” I say, at the same time Jude sticks his thumb at me. “Sister, remember?”

Ari deflates. “Oh. Well…” Her eyes light up again. “Maybe Pru and Quint should do it!”

“No, no, no,” says Quint. “Count me out.” He glances at me. “I wasn’t kidding when I said that the idea of doing karaoke is pretty much my worst nightmare.”

A waitress brings his beverage, all fizzy and pink.

I pull my own glass toward me, a soda, slick with condensation, and take a sip from the rim.

“There’s nothing we can say to get you to go up there?” says Ari. “You might like it?”

“Nothing,” says Quint. “I have many enviable talents, but singing is not one of them.”

“Me, either,” I say.

Quint gives me a look. “Maybe not, but you were pretty cute up there all the same.”

I go still. In fact, we all go still. Except Quint, who picks up his spoon and starts trying to fish out one of the cherries from his glass. His tone was casual, but now he’s staring at that cherry like it’s made of solid gold.

“Thanks,” I say. “That’s nice of you to say. If also faintly condescending.”

He spins toward me, horrified. “It was a compliment!”

“And I said thank you.” I grin to let him know I’m teasing. I feel bright, like I’ve been lit up on the inside. Cute. He thinks I’m cute … at least when I sing. My heart is tap-dancing in my chest. Maybe I should do another song tonight after all. “Cute is nice. It’s not great. I mean, you could have said that I was radiant. Or…” I search for another adjective. “Fetching. But cute is okay. Could be worse.”

“‘Fetching’?” he says slowly. “Honestly, Prudence, there are times when I wonder if you might be a time-traveler from a different century.”

I laugh. “The old-fashioned name gave it away?”

“Maybe a little,” says Quint.

Jude loudly clears his throat.

Quint and I both startle and look over at Jude and Ari. They’re staring at us—Jude looks mildly embarrassed. Ari has a hand pressed over her mouth, but she can’t conceal her impish smile.

Jude gestures at a table that just opened up across from our booth. “Should Ari and I give you some privacy or…?”

I flush. Quint laughs, but it’s tinged with discomfort.

“Welcome to Karaoke Tuesday at Encanto!” Trish howls into the microphone, and even though most of the restaurant patrons ignore her and continue on with their conversations, the four of us are more than happy to give her our full attention. Like last time, Trish explains how karaoke night works, then kicks things off by singing Shania Twain’s “Man! I Feel Like a Woman.”

She’s good. Really good. Her voice is powerful and raw, her presence hypnotizing. At one point I glance toward the bar and see Carlos leaning over the counter, a dish towel forgotten in his hand. He’s watching Trish with what could almost be categorized as a dreamy stare.

I reach across the table and nudge Ari, then point. When she sees Carlos, she claps her hands over her heart, swooning.

Always eager to see love, no matter where or when, or who. Even if Carlos has been her older-man crush for months, I can tell she’d be thrilled to see him find someone.

That’s one thing I adore about Ari. She finds so much happiness in the joys of others.

Trish finishes the song to enthusiastic applause from the audience. She does do a good job of warming up the crowd, I have to give her that.

Next up is a guy who sings a hip-hop song I’m not familiar with, followed by a man and woman who perform a saucy duet. They’re all pretty good. Not great, but not bad. The songs have been fun and they’ve all done their best to work the crowd.

Then Trish calls Ari to the stage, and suddenly, I’m nervous for her. Ari’s voice might be beautiful, but her stage presence is … less impressive.

I hold my breath, silently rooting for her as she takes hold of the microphone.

The music opens with a melancholy guitar riff.

And Ari starts to sing.

The song is, indeed, haunting and lyrical, and Ari’s voice is captivating. My heart swells with pride, to see her, to hear her. I can’t wait until the day that it’s her songs people are belting out through that microphone.

“She’s really good,” whispers Quint.

“I know,” I say, wondering if the tiny twist in my stomach is envy. Except, thinking it only brings back Quint’s earlier words … that I’m cute. Grinning, I lean closer to him. “Some would call her fetching.”

He meets my eye. A shared smile. A shared joke.

I don’t want to look away, but Ari’s voice comes and goes in sweet but powerful eddies as she moves from the verse into a chorus. I devote my attention to her, and a strange contentment comes over me. An overwhelming sense of belonging, in this moment, in this place. To be here with my brother and my best friend, with Quint’s elbow pressed lightly against mine, to have this unfamiliar yet beautiful song speaking to my soul.

And I guess I can understand why Ari longs to create music. It does have this uncanny way of bringing a moment into focus. Of making the world seem suddenly brilliant and magical and right.

I don’t know if I’m the only one feeling it. But I do know that when Ari is finished, we all applaud our freaking hearts out.

THIRTY-FIVE

There was a time when I was a regular visitor to the pawnshop on Seventh, though I was never on a first-name basis with the owner, Clark, like the beachcomber is. The shop is the sort of place that regularly takes in music memorabilia, so my parents used to stop in every few months, dragging us kids along, to see if they’d gotten new Beatles posters or merchandise, or if there were vinyl records they could get for cheap and sell at a higher price back at the store. Years ago my mom found a set of plastic Beatles picnic plates that we still use to this day.