But why were they all by their lonesome at that little table in the corner tonight? They—and I was pretty sure they used they, because sometimes they wore a black jean jacket with a they/them pin on it—often seemed to be the first one here of their group, but eventually their friends would join them. I liked their group; it felt like theirs and ours had this unspoken Moonie’s camaraderie. We cheered and danced for each other’s songs, respected each other’s favorite tables if one group got here first.

But I had always secretly found this stranger, the one currently sitting alone in a corner, to be particularly adorable. They seemed shy; never sang by themselves, always dragged up with one of their friends later in the night. And even then, they refused to look at the crowd, staring only at their friends as they shuffled awkwardly around the dance floor with one hand in their pockets, grinning. Having fun but embarrassed, face flushed bright red. I always wanted to run up to them afterward and squeeze their cheeks.

And then maybe squeeze their ass, if they let me, just to see how they’d react.

They also consistently knew the songs, which I respected. That was the thing about karaoke: everyone thought they were safe throwing any song up, since the words were right there on the screen in front of you. But if you didn’t really know the lyrics, the beats to come in on, the rhythm of the lines—you were screwed.

Cutie in the Corner didn’t have a great voice, and might have blushed and shuffled while they sang, but they always knew the words.

When I caught their eye tonight, though, their face wasn’t red, and they weren’t grinning. They were...looking at me like I was the only one in the room, eyes dark and serious.

And I was almost done with the song, so the claws of Carrie’s confidence were firmly implanted now. I felt sexy and strong and good. And their eyes on me felt right. Like maybe everyone else in the room were the real idiots, for not looking at me like that. And so I kept staring back.

And, well, damn. Singing at Moonie’s was always a bit of a rush, but maintaining eye contact with a stranger while I did it was...was...kind of hot. And really fucking intense.

I kept thinking they’d look away. Or that I would. But I found I couldn’t. Or didn’t want to. Or both.

The Power of Carrie must have been strong tonight. Because while they looked at me, and I sang about getting my revenge, it almost felt real. Like I could be a star. Like I had someone waiting for me in the crowd who thought I could be a star, too.