Page 57 of Rebel Moon

They’d set the show up in the big barn, cleared and swept and strung with lights, a little plywood stage at one end and hay bales and folding chairs for the audience.

Ivy went first. She came out in a tracksuit, of all things, delivered a little speech about being a proud country girl, then tore off the sweatshirt and pants in one dramatic motion to reveal workout clothes underneath. I’d not noticed before but Soren had hung a temporary pull-up bar from a rafter. I knew exactly what she was about to do before she did it and I was right. She proceeded to crank out ten flawless pull-ups, her tiny body bulging with muscles. We all lost our minds. Country music’s glossy sweetheart, pumping out pull-ups like a boss was not something one saw every day.

Ivy dropped down, flushed and grinning, gloriously pleased with herself. “That, my friends, is my only other talent besides music.”

Her father was on his feet, cheering. “Good job, honey. You show ‘em how it’s done.”

“Thanks, Daddy.” Ivy did a little curtsy, then flexed her guns. “All those days stacking hay bales in our barn paid off.”

“Holy smokes,” Knox said beside me.

“That was incredible,” I said. “But I’ve seen it before. We have the same trainer.”

“Can you do that?” Knox asked.

“No way. I can’t even do one. I blame my long legs.”

“Your legs should not be blamed for anything,” Knox said.

Well, that was nice.

Beck went second, performing a one-man skit called, “A Moment on the Tour Bus,” in which he played every member of the band in turn, and it was so funny and so loving and so accurate that Rhett laughed until he cried at his own portrayal. It was only later, thinking about it, that I realized Beck hadn’t put himself in it at all. He’d done all four of them and left himself out, like it hadn’t occurred to him he counted.

Finley looked down at her list and said, “Madeleine, you’re up.”

My stomach dropped through the floor of the barn. I went up anyway. Like everything in life, one must face whatever comes, even if it’s the worst idea ever. My hands were shaking and my knees knocking as I stood in front of my friends.

“I’ve written a tanka,” I said. “It’s a type of Japanese poem. Thirty-one syllables—a little longer than a haiku, which I didn’t know until this morning.”

Everyone laughed.

“For all the songwriters in the room, I apologize in advance. This is called Afterlight. One word because it sounded pretty, which I’m sure you’ll all understand.”

“Go Mads,” Rhett yelled from the audience.

I gave him a look, then plunged in, anxious to get it over with.

A star burns, then dies.

Years later, it streaks across

a moonless dark sky.

We wonder, can it be real

or just reckless afterlight?

Everyone clapped politely. Ivy and Blake complimented me. However, I couldn’t look at Knox. When I’d written it, I hadn’t really been thinking that other people would actually hear it. Now, I realized how it opened me to exposure. What was I thinking? Writing a poem about how uncertain I was about Knox and whatever it was we were doing under the moonless sky of Montana? Terrible idea.

I thanked them and stepped down and back to my chair next to Knox and folded my hands, staring straight ahead.

“It was beautiful,” Knox said into my ear. “Well done.”

“Mortifying,” I mumbled.

Luci went up in a rainbow clown wig and a coat three sizes too big. She announced she would be performing magic tricks, explaining that she used them to cheer up frightened children at the clinic. She called Grant up out of the crowd to be her patient.

The magic tricks were simple but adorable, mostly because they made giant Grant giggle.