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37
When the majority of people leave backstage, I peek through the curtains at the awaiting audience. The front row consists of reporters, including the woman fromTattle, and the seemingly more high-profile guests. Luke’s burly guards sit on either side of him, with Becca directly behind them. Luke seems distracted, and I have to wonder if he’s still thinking about our brief conversation. The way his hot gaze had lingered across my body… I hold back a shiver. I’d feltseen.
It’s funny how the less you wear, the more you’re noticed.
I try to search out Danny for some joy in the world, but he must be in the thick of it, somewhere in the middle of the hall.
At the back of the hall, Dr. Moncrieff keeps jumping to his feet to let in more people. It strikes me as odd, just how many folk seem to want to show up at the Lochkelvin talent show. My stomach does somersaults as I take in the number of faces in the audience. I’ve performed in front of large crowds before, but never since that last horrific time at Greenvale…
Beside Luke’s guard is Oscar Munro. Now that I can see him better, I note that he’s a handsome man, the absolute image of an older Rory. But where there’s often a playfulness in the tilt of Rory’s mouth and the laughter of his eyes, there’s nothing but a calculated hardness in his father’s gaze. It’s the kind of gaze that can take down entire countries and trick enemies, all from the opposite end of a meeting room.
I know Rory well enough by now to know it’s a quality he lacks.
“I don’t know what you’re planning,” a voice I don’t expect hisses in my ear, “but you better keep things decent for your own sake.”
Li.
If Li’s threatened by me, then I don’t know why. She’s as gorgeous as she was on Hallowe’en, this time wearing a short red minidress decorated with white fur trim. Her black bob has grown out slightly, lengthening to almost graze her neck. Red is definitely her color, whereas I’ve diligently had to apply makeup to my face in order to get rid of the last of the red cuts that are still slicing it up.
I close the curtain. “Decent?” I ask lightly, wondering if she’s about to decently beat me up for my own sake.
“Yes,decent. It should be an honor to perform for so many well-connected people, and you’re walking around in adressing gown. I know you didn’t have much of one to start with, but have you lost your damn mind?”
Before I can say anything, Finlay inserts himself between us. He’s gripping the neck of his acoustic guitar and thrusting the base of it at Li. “Back off. Or don’t ye have dugs tae try and lure wi’ yer singin’?”
Li scowls at him. “At least Icansing, emo boy.”
She stalks off with her nose in the air, flicking open her mirror to check her flawless complexion.
“Though she does have a point,” Finlay says, looking curious as he takes me in. “Is there a reason ye’re wearin’ a dressin’ gown and…” He reels his head back, adjusting his gaze to slant down at my feet. “Aye, so you really are wearin’ nae shoes.”
My lips quirk.
“Because what I have under here is so much worse.”
It doesn’t come outseductiveexactly, but it’s the closest I’ve ever felt to it in my life. Finlay’s green eyes widen at my words, and he focuses hard on my black robe, as though desperately wishing he possessed X-ray vision.
“Whit are ye plannin’, sassenach?” He looks nervous in a way that heartens me. There is no room for nerves in my body tonight, no room for the bad memories from when I did this last. All I can do is focus on what I’m good at.
Dancing.
But I’m not the opener. They’ve shoved me toward the end of the night, and I get the feeling I’ve been saved for when the audience has fallen asleep and I can’t wreak as much havoc as I want.
So many acts come before me, and I watch them leave the backstage area one by one.
Every so often, I’ll look up and catch Finlay’s eye. He doesn’t talk much before going on stage, and I wonder if it’s nerves. I wonder if what Li said — “at least Icansing, emo boy” — actually got to him. I realize I’ve never heard Finlay sing, and it’s one of the only few points of excitement I have for tonight.
BecauseGod,talent shows are tedious. I’ve been part of one every year of my school life, and it doesn’t matter whether you’re in a basic American high school or a small elite academy in Scotland, it’s all the damn same. People who think they’re big stars, people who over-emote and over-act and over-sing, everyone going, “Look at me! Look at me!Pleaselook at me!”
Backstage, we listen to one of the gremlins reciting jokes that I’ve definitely heard on TV. I scratch my mind for why I know it, and then I realize he’s basically copied Conor McLelland’s stand-up routine fromLate Night with Dermot O’Rourke. Sometimes being American has its benefits. I mean, did he honestly think he would get away with that? It was huge news at the time.
But no one else recognizes it for the blatant plagiarism it is, possibly because the gremlin butchers the delivery of it so badly that no one’s really paying attention. The worse the reception, the louder the gremlin yells into the mic, until the main power supply has to be turned off on account of him deafening the audience.
As an opener, it’s awful, but someone in the audience applauds like it’s the greatest performance that’s ever been on stage. They must be related.
Finlay meets my gaze with a grimace and I hold back my laugh. Normally, he’s a wild ball of energy, but there’s something deliberately calm about him tonight. I get the feeling he’s in the zone, totally focused on the present, and I try not to watch the curl of his fingers as he gently wraps them around the neck of his guitar.
Li huffs loudly at the gremlin as he passes her. “Great, now I have to drag the atmosphere back up after that diabolical start.”
