There. I didn’t know if I had said anything exactly how my heart wanted to say it, but I’d said enough.

I felt suddenly tired.

Sam released a small sigh.

They pushed off from their desk and took my face in their hands.

“Lily,” they said affectionately, running a thumb over my cheek. “Of course Karaoke Lily is who you are.”

I started to protest, but they put a finger to my mouth.

“I mean, if we were all who we are at Moonie’s all the time, we’d all be exhausted.” They smiled that gentle smile. “You can’t fake who you are when you’re up on that dance floor with a microphone in your hand, Lily. It wouldn’t turn me on so much if it was fake. It might not be who you are seven days a week, but that doesn’t mean it’s not still a part of who you are.” They studied me, their eyes serious. “Look. Right before you came in here? This freshman, Eric, who’s only taking my intro class to fulfill an elective requirement, who thought it’d be an easy A, stopped by to tell me how much more he was enjoying the class than he thought he would.”

They paused, brow creasing.

“Okay, and to ask me for an extension on his next paper, because his grandma died. But he also had all these questions about the Dawes Act, which is understandable because the Dawes Act was fucking wild, but the fact that he was asking the questions, outside of class, that he felt something about injustice in 1887—”

Sam was still holding on to my face, and I didn’t know if they even noticed that they started squeezing my skin tighter as they talked, but—well, I liked it. A lot.

“Anyway,” they huffed out a breath. “Moments like that are my Moonie’s moments, you know? And they only happen every once in a while. I wish I could be a brilliant professor for them, for you, all the time, but I’m not. I know, though, at this point, that if I don’t let myself feel a little proud of Eric de la Rosa being real pissed off about the Dawes Act, I won’t have the energy to keep going.”

One of their hands caressed down my neck. Involuntarily, my eyes fluttered closed.

“Sorry,” they said. “I’m still running on a slight high from Eric. I just meant...we have to take our wins, Lily. You at Moonie’s?” I felt them lean in, their breath hot on my cheek. “You simply wouldn’t be able to sing like that if that voice wasn’t yours.”

What would Dolly and Carrie do? I asked myself.

What would Karaoke Lily have done, Saturday night?

And I thought—maybe—they’d all want me to look at Sam, and believe them.