Page 8 of Love Felt Like This

Finally, he leans forward and whispers, “You know there isn’t a door here, right?”

This time the audience bursts into cackles, and I bark out a short laugh, too, the noise odd and uncomfortable.

Bernie set me up. Well, she did.

I glance down at the woman by my feet. She’s looking up at me with a beaming smile. Flushed cheeks and twinkling eyes. Pure joy.

The cymbal in my chest rings out again.

Music starts. Saxophones, drums, jazz.

Suddenly, the host shimmies beside us into the tight space behind the partition, cheesing for the camera.

“Everybody, Bernie Bird and Griffin Harvey!”

The crowd claps like crazy. My nerves are shot. Everything is numb. Offstage, Jimmy is whistling. I can feel the phone in my pocket buzzing.

Despite it all, I can’t help but steal one final look at the woman hidden from the audience behind the partition. She’s grinning down at the monitor—at the television showing me, the host, and the bird.

The corners of my lips rise at the sight. Her proud smile is contagious. I bet she’s basking in the energy of a good performance—the creation of something new. I understand that feeling. God, I miss that feeling.

I look at the monitor again.

Me and Bernie.

A juxtaposition of cobalt blue feathers and a goofy open-beaked grin beside my long brown hair and furrowed brow.

Deep in my gut, I have a feeling this won’t be the last time I see us together.

Chapter Three

Freak Accidents

Beverly

“One million views in less than twenty-four hours.”

I blow out an unsteady breath. “Oh my God, stop. I’m gonna vomit.”

“Bev, look.”

I turn from the limp fleece in my hands to Finch’s cocked head. He extends his tablet toward me, with its size fifty-thousand font and blinding backlight.

“Finch, I don’t—”

“Just look.” There’s a little line between Finch’s brows that says he’s not mad at me for refusing the tablet, just disappointed. That’s somehow worse.

I take the tablet. On the screen is a still frame of Griffin Harvey and Bernie Bird.

After the variety show, I slept just long enough not to hallucinate while driving, and when I woke up, this video had exploded. It was sent to me by anyone I’ve smiled in the direction of since high school, and I’m a very generous smiler. I have texts from most of my hometown of Elk Grove, including my nana, who sent it twice just in case you ignored it the first time.

In the video’s snapshot, Griffin’s lips tilt up, showing just a sliver of his white teeth behind the rugged beard. Bernie’s feathery hand—well, my hand slipped inside—rests on his forearm.

Griffin and Bernie do not match in any sense of the word. Griffin’s long hair and black shirt are the antithesis of Bernie’s blue feathers. Griffin looks hesitant to be happy. Bernie is ecstatic to be brought to life.

“It’s incredible,” Finch says.

My stomach twists into a tangled mess, and a swallow catches in my throat.