After the sound died down, he said, "I came to Morgantown to pay someone a visit, and I thought I could stop by and give you a short concert—’’
More screaming. Even louder this time, if that was possible.
He smiled and called out, "Let’s get it started!"
And just like that, he and the band moved on cue. He wasn't a person now, he was an entertainer, fluid with the beat. When he sang, the music vibrated through me and I couldn’t think of anything else. I watched him song after song, mesmerized.
Why had he come here? It seemed like a long way to come to pay a visit. Did it mean he'd forgiven me for lying to him, or was it something else?
As I stared at him, I tried to catch his eye, any little shift of his gaze that would show he saw me. Sometimes when he did more singing than dancing, his eyes seemed to rest on my section of the bleachers, but then the next moment he’d look somewhere else, so I couldn’t be sure. Maybe he had trouble picking me out of the crowd with my brown hair.
After about forty-five minutes of performing, he said, "We’re going to slow things down now. This is a song I wrote for someone who means a lot, and it would mean even more if she sang it with me.” Then he looked directly into my eyes; he’d known where I was all along.
"Alexia," he said, "do you want to come down here?"
En masse, every pair of eyes turned and looked at me. Grant smiled, and I felt myself blush bright pink. Lori nudged my arm. "Oh, my gosh!" she whispered. "Go!"
I stood up, still blushing, and made my way down the bleachers. My heart pounded so hard I could hear it in my ears. I told myself I shouldn't be so rattled. I'd been up in front of bigger crowds than this during the last month. But this was different. I wasn’t standing up in front of an audience as Kari Kingsley. I couldn’t hide behind her image here—I was facing them as me.
As I made my way across the floor, Grant said to the crowd, "I sent Alexia the music to this song a week and a half ago. We’ll see how well she’s practiced it.”
I went and stood beside him, feeling his blue-eyed gaze resting on me. I couldn't read his expression. Grant smiled, but there was a stiffness to it, making him look more angry than happy. He handed me a copy of the sheet music. He shouldn’t have bothered. I'd memorized the words on the first night he’d sent them.
I didn’t glance at the crowd. I couldn’t. Instead I gave him a nervous smile and whispered, "I can't believe you're doing this to me.”
He reached up to his headset and switched off his mike so the audience wouldn't hear him. "That makes us even, since I can't believe what you did to me either.”
The intro started. I glanced down at the paper in my hands to give my eyes someplace to look besides at him. "You know, you’ve never heard me sing. You're going to be sorry if I’m horrible at this.”
"Well, one of us will be sorry” He clipped a microphone onto the collar of my shirt and sent over a challenging look.
Which made me wonder if he could have come all this way just to humiliate me in front of my classmates.
I raised my chin in defiance, and the nervousness drained away. I wanted to prove that I could sing. It would be my voice the audience heard this time, not a lip-synched version of Kari. I held the sheet music down, but still kept my gaze on him.
He turned his mike back on and sang the first line in his beautiful, full voice. When it was my turn, my words came out strong and clear. Melodic.
His eyebrows rose in surprise and then he smiled. A real smile this time.
I admit I had an advantage. I'd practiced to the taped version of him singing this song dozens of times. I knew how to blend my voice with his. He’d never practiced with me. Still he did an amazing job—another proof of his talent.
When we’d finished, he took my hand in his, then pulled me into an embrace. And there in front of the entire school, he bent down and kissed me. Some of the guys in the bleachers howled at that, but I didn’t care.
Grant turned back to the bleachers. "Thanks for letting us come,” he said. “I've had a really good time.”
More catcalls from the bleachers.
This time I glanced at the audience. I couldn’t tell who’d been yowling, but my gaze stopped on the front row where Trevor, Theresa, and the Cliquistas stared at me openmouthed.
I smiled at them, then looked away.
Grant waved at the audience, still not letting go of my hand. "You guys have been great!" While the band played a refrain, he turned and pulled me across the gym. One of the teachers had propped open the back door for us.
I barely heard the principal’s announcement that everyone should proceed in an orderly manner to their lockers to conclude the school day. The door shut behind us. We were outside and heading toward a dark blue sports car.
"Sorry about the quick exit,” Grant said. "I didn’t want them to mob us.”
Us. Like my schoolmates would ever want to mob me. We climbed into the sports car, and Grant started it up. I looked back at the building. "What about your band?”
"My security guys and the teachers are going to help with crowd control until the guys have the equipment packed up in the van. Fortunately for them, they get fewer teenage girls trying to rip the clothes off their backs.” Grant guided the car through the parking lot, and I wondered where we were going. I didn’t ask. Really, I didn't care.
When we'd pulled out onto the main street, he turned a penetrating gaze on me. "Why didn’t you tell me the truth?"
"Technically, I did.”
He let out a grunt of disbelief. "Yeah, right after you asked how my plans for world domination were going. That does not equal a confession.”
"I knew if I told you you’d be angry.”
His eyes flashed in my direction before he turned his attention back to the road. "You're right. I'm angry. Every time we were together, you lied to me. I keep thinking about how much I miss you, and then I wonder how I can possibly miss you when I never knew who you were to begin with. Which part of you was actually you and which part was you pretending to be Kari?”
He glanced over expectantly. He wanted an answer.
“It was all me, except I’m not rich, famous, or especially talented. I also don’t gamble, shop obsessively, date Michael Jung, or give concerts.”
“You performed at lots of concerts," he said.
"Okay, I’m a pretty good lip-syncher. Oh, and also I’m not a vegetarian."
"Yeah, I had that part figured out.” He slowed the car to go around a corner. "I can’t believe you went down to the hospital and lied to sick kids about who you were.”
"I was trying to make them happy,” I said. "Like the way Santa visits people at Christmas. But in a less jolly, more superstar sort of way.”
"And why did you date me? Was that to get information on Lorna’s book or to create publicity for Kari's CD, or were you just trying to make me happy too—was I part of your goodwill-toward-the-public-on-Kari 's-behalf campaign?”
I lowered my voice. "I wasn't supposed to see you. Kari and Maren both told me not to, but I couldn't help myself."
He gripped the steering wheel harder. "And were you ever going to tell me who you really were? Or did that only happen because you got caught?"
Without trying, I could conjure up every memory of our breakup, his words, his expressions. It still hurt. "How could I tell you the truth, when you only liked me because you thought I was Kari Kingsley?"
His gaze momentarily swung around to mine. "Are you kidding? I read the book on Kari, literally. You think I liked her? I was going out of my mind trying to reconcile how the girl in front of me could have done the things Lorna said Kari had done.”