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“Help her, Seby!” Gran says.
“Get up there, son. You know this song!” Gramps says.
Anna keeps going, but barely. She’s saying the words in this strange, high voice that isn’t even on key. The room has quieted, but not the right way. I thought Anna was good at this. People watch, openmouthed, as she sways side-to-side, limited by her ankle.
“What are you waiting for?” Gran pushes. I know I shouldn’t get more mixed up with her, but I can’t watch her go through this alone.
“Jamie, will you take my Gran?” I shove my phone at him and drop my earbuds into his hands before squeezing down our row and running up the aisle. There aren’t stairs to the stage here, so I treat it like a vault. When I take the running leap, Anna’s eyes lock onto mine. I hold her gaze as I stand.
The salsa beats are louder up here, music blasting from the speakers. I don’t know what I’m doing. As the bold “Conga” trumpets blare again, I make what I think are jazz hands, and strut towards Anna. Her brown eyes are enormous. She doesn’t know what I’m doing either. But, as if by force of nature, or the will of god, I take the microphone out of her hands, turn towards the crowd, and sing the words myself. This song goes out to my Gran.
CHAPTERSIXTEEN
ZOEY
Oh,my god. Sebastian is singing and swinging those hips like he’s a seven-time Grammy winning Cuban diva himself. What the hell is happening? He has a shockingly gorgeous baritone. And his ass looks adorable when he swivels it side-to-side in front of me, though that part isn’t shocking at all. I am so relieved he is up here with me. When the song started, I thought I might pass out. I’ve never had stage fright before, but tonight I had just a couple of hours to listen to “Conga” on repeat in my earbuds, while slowly starting to panic. Now that Sebastian’s here, the crowd is cheering again and whatever had locked up in my chest is loose again.
“Come on, shake your body, baby, do the Conga,” Sebastian belts out, and the crowd howls like before, when they thought I would sing like Meghan Marconi, not merely look like her. “I know you can’t control yourself any longer,” Sebastian sings. Watching him, I agree with Gloria.
I can’t do much with this ankle, but I know how to shake my booty, so I bend my knees and go for it with the swivels, and the next time Sebastian shakes his way past me, I slap his rear. The crowd cheers. He turns to me and grins, dragging his hand around my bare shoulders while he circles me. And then his arms are around my back and under my knees, and he’s lifting me off the floor.
“You ready for this?”
“For what?” My heart rate kicks up.
“Take the mic and hold it up to my mouth so I can sing,” he says. I do as instructed, if for no other reason than I want to find out what he does next.
We’re spinning around and I kick my legs out, letting my head fall backwards. Next, Sebastian shifts his arms and somehow throws me over his shoulders, before grabbing my elbow and looping me around his neck like a scarf. I straighten my top leg and free arm into a star above him. More cheering.
No one seems to care that not even half Sebastian’s words are making it into the actual microphone. They love us now that we’re dancing together, and the more they cheer, the bigger we make our moves. We get so into it, I’m surprised when the song nears its end. Sebastian lifts me up in front of him and I fling my legs out behind me, and then, on my descent, I wrap my legs around his waist. He grins as we lock eyes.
“You ready for a big finale?” he whispers as the crowd stands for us. I nod, and he walks his hands from under my armpits to my waist. I lean backwards, arching my back so my head tilts towards the floor, and I blow air kisses at the crowd from upside down.
Eduardo runs on stage. I pop back upright, my legs still locked around Sebastian’s waist.
“What a surprise act that was!” he says into the mic. “Sneaky, sneaky, you two!”
As Sebastian carries me off, I wave to the crowd until we’re backstage. We rush past a group of older women in gold jumpsuits, who are lining up in the wings. They’re all wearing hats with fruit on them, like Carmen Miranda, and they’re each carrying a giant plush stuffed banana.
Sebastian slows when we reach the back wall, where the light is dim. His chest is heaving. My arms are tight around his neck. He smiles, so close I can see yellow glimmers swimming up from the dark depths of his eyes.
“You did all that for my Gran?”
“I’m so sorry I couldn’t sing properly for her,” I say.
“Yeah, about that…” He laughs. “How did you get this big reputation as a singer?”
I shiver and unwrap my legs from his waist. His face goes serious, no doubt reflecting mine. He lets me down to the floor, but I don’t take my arms from around his neck.
“I’ve been trying to tell you something the last few days, Sebastian.” I bite my lip. “I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry?” His forehead wrinkles. “I should be the one apologizing for kissing you.”
“You don’t have to apologize for that,” I say. He frowns.
From the stage, Eduardo’s voice announces, “Up next we have the Banana Boat Bunch, dancing a routine to the original Chiquita Banana jingle from the 1940’s!” Old timey, upbeat horns start up and the women shuffle out of the wings.
“I’m not who you think I am.” I force myself on. “I’m not Anna. I’m her sister: Zoey.”
