“There’s a hole in the world like a great black pit. And it’s filled with people who are filled with shit. And the vermin of the world inhabit it. But not for looooooooong.”

Imogen glanced down at her arm, then raised it for me, just so I could see that every tiny hair was standing on end.

We watched it all the way to the end. Or rather, I watched Imogen watch it all the way to the end. Her reaction—fear, shock, elation—was far more priceless than anything I had ever uploaded to YouTube.

The song ended with Sweeney at his most unhinged.

“And my Lucy lies in ashes! And I’ll never see my girl again! But the work waits! I’m alive at last! And I’m full of JOOOOOOY!”

That last note sounded like anything but joy. It was murderous rage spilling freely, pooling out into a halo of blood.

The video ended abruptly, like death.

“Oh. My. Freaking. Gosh.” Imogen had both hands pressed to her head to keep the contents from exploding out. “You can sing.”

“I really can’t,” I said. “I literally just mimicked Depp’s whole thing.”

“Your pitch is dead-on.”

“Johnny’s pitch is dead-on.”

“Aaaaaauuurrghhhh!” said Imogen, grabbing clumps of her perfect, straightened prom hair. “You are seriously not giving yourself nearly enough credit. People don’t just copy something this good. You and Johnny Depp don’t have the same vocal cords. You had to improvise to make those notes work, and you made them freaking work! You slayed them! Like all those poor people who are going to be baked into meat pies!”

“So you liked it?”

“Did I like it? Ezra, it was phenomenal! Does Wynonna know about this?”

“Well, yeah, but—”

“AND SHE DIDN’T TELL ME?” Imogen practically fell backward, reeling. “That traitor! She knows I would’ve eaten this up! I can’t believe she kept this to herself, that greedy little—”

“Actually, I asked her not to.”

Imogen blinked. “What? Why?”

This was the part where it was difficult to put feelings into words. But I tried anyway.

“Have you ever had something that was so special to you, that you were afraid no one would understand it? That somehow, their words would cheapen it? Or worse, someone you cared about just wouldn’t like it, and it would shatter you, because in a weird sense, it’s basically like they don’t like you?”

I looked at Imogen for some hint that she understood. Instead, she just looked mind-blown.

“Anyway,” I said, returning my attention to my heels, “it’s kinda like that.”

“How many people have you shown this to?” she asked, softly.

“Um. Well, Wynonna found it because she was snooping on my computer. So… I guess you’re the first?”

A rush of emotion flooded Imogen’s face. She leaned toward me. Grabbed my hand on the concrete. Squeezed it.