Knox waved me over to the empty seat beside him a few seats into the row. Everyone stood, letting me pass. The too-small, hard wooden seats seemed designed for torture. I wedged myself into the seat, which groaned, just as unhappy about me sitting there as I was.

“Who’s going to burn the place down this year?” Knox braced his heels against the back of the chair in front of him, rocking backward like he was trying to snap the seat back in half.

I searched the sound booth and the wings of the stage for Bay, but it was too dark to see anyone.

“Who are you looking for?” Knox drummed on his legs with two pencils.

“No one.”

Mrs. Trip tapped the mic, shooting wild feedback through the room. If Bay had been handling it, that never would’ve happened. She introduced the first acts. Off-pitch singing, barely passable breakdancing. Someone attempted magic, which ended with a rabbit hopping across the stage.

Every time the screen of my phone dimmed, I tapped it to light it back up, waiting for Bay to check her phone and get back to me. My knee bounced up and down.

“And next, we have an original song performance by Bay Bishop.”

My head jerked up. I barely kept myself from shooting out of my chair.

The stage remained empty. Maybe they’d gotten it wrong.

But then she came out with her head bowed, holding the guitar in one hand and the stool in the other. The guy I’d seen her with outside the auditorium ran beside her and hooked up the microphone. He squeezed her shoulder and whispered something to her.

My blood pressure spiked, and there was a roaring in my ear.

“This song is called ‘Hurt’ and it’s written for someone very special to me.” She cleared her throat and played a familiar melody, but the words were different. They weren’t the ones she’d sung before.

When you look at me

I’m whole

You’ve given me my voice

The fire in your eyes

The fire in your soul

The bruises on your body

They were never in your control

“Oh shit.”

The verses and chorus continued, but the sound wasn’t reaching my ears.

Everything in me froze, like prey caught out in the wild.

A sea of people around me were being dragged into the depths of my own personal hell. A few heads turned in my direction. Whispers rippled through the crowd and I felt like all eyes were on me. Everyone was talking about it. After all these years, keeping it all wrapped up tight, never letting a word out, she was flaying me on stage, ripping out my soul for everyone’s amusement.

I shoved out of my seat. The low-grade shock I’d been feeling had turned jumper-cable hot.

34

Bay

Puking wasn’t an option. Not standing on the edge of the stage with my guitar in hand. But it certainly felt like a possibility. Bile raced up my throat.