18 Things (18 page)

“Forget safety.
Live where you fear to live.
Destroy your reputation.
Be notorious.”
―Rumi

y pathetic score flashed on the screen, and I set the microphone on the couch. “This is gonna be so embarrassing.”

Tammy tugged at my white sweater. “Oh, sweetie. You’re wearing white after Labor Day. What could be more embarrassing than that?”

We were all at Sean’s place, practicing for the big karaoke contest tonight by playing Rock Band 3 on his Wii.

“The key to winning a karaoke contest,” Sean said, “is to choose a song everybody knows.”

I opened my laptop, then Googled nineties rock—tonight’s theme. “How about
Blister in the Sun
?”

Nate struck the four colored drumheads, hitting all the right notes. “Violent Femmes did that one in the eighties, but it can still work since Indigo Girls did a remake in the nineties.”

“Perfect.” I smiled at him over my shoulder.

“Pull up the song online.” Tammy bounced from foot to foot. “You need to practice dancing, too.”

“Dancing?” Nicole asked. “It’s a singing competition.”

“Duh! But Olga can’t just stand there singing a song like that, especially if there are any interludes or whatever.”

I sighed. “She has a point.”

The music blared from the laptop speakers and Tammy grabbed my hands, swinging me through the air as I squealed. Dancing in public didn’t seem so scary since I joined the cheerleading team. I was worried only about the singing. After Tammy and I shook what our mama’s gave us for a few minutes, we collapsed in a fit of laughter.

Nicole rolled her eyes. “Well, I guess it’s good you discovered your hidden dance talent, because as your best friend, I must inform you of something before tonight’s contest. You sound like the teacher from the Charlie Brown cartoon when you sing.”

This only made me roll around on the floor more, laughing. “How long before we need to be at Jumpin’ Java?”

Nate checked his watch. “Two hours.”

Tammy stood, stretching slowly before reaching out her hand and pulling me up, too. “Let’s get a move on. A nineties costume, we shall find.”

This was the first time I’d been inside Tammy’s house. The two story home consisted of three bedrooms and two bathrooms; definitely nicer than my apartment but nothing to brag about.

Her dad snored on the recliner, television on, and he looked like he hadn’t showered in days.

“Just ignore him; I always do.”

She headed up the stairs and I followed on her heels, tiptoeing around the junk piled on every step.

“What is all this?” I asked.

“Stuff my dad won’t get rid of, my mom’s things. It’s ridiculously unhealthy.” She pushed open her bedroom door, flipped a switch, then the ceiling fan turned lazily overhead. “Take a seat on my bed, and I’ll pull some clothes out of the closet.”

Tammy stalked off across the hall to another bedroom, and I took a moment to rest my head against her plump white pillows. They smelled like roses. At the window next to the bed, I gazed through the sagging lace curtains. In the backyard trees swayed in the wind. I expected pages from teen magazines to litter her wall. Instead, one large framed photo hung on her wall of a woman standing in a garden with hands on her hips and a pair of come-hither eyes.

Tammy returned holding at least five outfits.

I figured it best not to point out if she didn’t take up two bedrooms, then the piles of junk could probably be stored in a better fashion.

“Who’s hanging on your wall? A beauty queen?” I sat ramrod straight, my fingers moving across a tie-dyed top with a plunging neckline. With Tammy, there was always a plunging neckline.

She held a pink neon shirt against my chest. “Yes, but she’s also my mom. She won Miss Michigan back in the day.”

After laying the discarded shirt on her bed, she quickly picked up another tee.

The picture couldn’t have been more beautiful if Michelangelo painted it.

We’d never discussed her mom before, and I felt like I should say something. But I just sat there, wondering why I didn’t try to at least hug her. Five months after Conner’s death, and I still sucked at letting people get close to me, or vice versa. I wished for more in the future, but right now the broken me offered little. “I’m really sorry you lost your mom.”

My sentiment sounded lame, but genuine, hopefully.

Tammy shrugged. “Thanks. Life sure does suck sometimes, don’t it?”

I turned around, then fluffed her pillows. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She studied me, a third shirt in her hand now. “Not really. We have more pressing matters, like what you should wear tonight.”

I reached out to touch her hand, but then let mine drop to my side. When she wanted to talk to me, she would.

A half-hour later, I was dressed in black boots stretching up to my knees, just where the red plaid dress ended. We decided to aim for nineties grunge. As I sat at her vanity, Tammy tried to perfect my look.

“Are you almost done? Drag queens don’t wear this much makeup.”

“Rome wasn’t built in a day, my dear,” Tammy said in her cheerleading voice, high and clear and steady.

I scowled at her reflection. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means shut up.”

We met the Jedi Order inside the coffee shop at eight-thirty sharp.

“Any last minute tips for me?” I forced a laugh.

Sean pointed to the long line for drinks. “Hydrate.”

“Right,” I said shakily, my stomach twisting in on itself. Coffee pots gurgled behind us, and I was thankful for this sound to calm my nerves.

Nate gently placed his hand on the small of my back. “I’ll get you something. You and Sean should sign up for the contest.”

I bit my lip, trying to stop the panic as others in line chatted happily.

Kaylee, a girl from my computer class, turned and saw me. “Oh, hey, Olga. Loved your bucket list ideas in the
Bucs’ Blade
. Is this an 8-ball challenge?”

“Um, excuse me?”

“Ya know, signing up for this contest? Did all signs point to yes?”

“Oh, yeah. I mean, no. This was all Sean’s doing.”

I rubbed his afro, and Kaylee and her friend smiled. Others eavesdropped on our convo with raised eyebrows and under-the-breath remarks, then talked to me about their bucket lists as we waited in line. When it was finally my turn, I bent over the small square table and wrote my name down for the contest. The lady at the table knew my name before I even wrote it. I took a step back and gave a slow, disbelieving shake of my head as Sean and I made our way through the crowd.

“What is it?” he asked.

Leaning in, I told him, “It’s like people see me now. I didn’t think I cared before if they did or not, and maybe I didn’t, but I do now.”

His eyes widened, and a smile illuminated his face.

We rejoined our group at the table closest to the karaoke stage, and Nate handed me a cup.

I took a huge gulp and groaned after swallowing. “Who the
beep
are you?”

“Beep?” Nate questioned.

“I don’t swear, and that was code for this isn’t the coffee I requested.”

He nodded. “You didn’t actually request coffee. You just wanted to hydrate. And I thought this herbal tea would help calm your nerves.”

I tugged at the collar of the plaid dress. “Listen, Bucko.”

“Bucko?” Nate grinned. “That’s the best you could come up with?”

“It’s the first thing that popped into my mind. I’ll think of something more insulting to call you later, okay? But that’s not the point. The point is coffee is always implied. If you knew me at all, you’d know that.”

He shifted in his chair, leaning toward me, and butterflies swirled in my stomach.

“I do know you.” He revealed another coffee cup in his other hand. “Chocolate-drizzled Snickers flavored mocha with whipped topping. And you should know, I get face palmed every time I order that for you.”

I sipped tentatively, never a fool twice. “You are a gift from the gods, Nate Barca. Truly.”

Taking another gulp, I realized I wasn’t really addicted to coffee like I used to be. Usually I drank the stuff like water, especially during the school year while I stayed up late at night to study. But for a long time now, I hadn’t even felt tired. I slept because I knew I had to. Still, I woke up every hour, on the hour. I forced myself to bed at midnight, then one, two, three, four, five in the morning, up like clockwork. Needless to say, my days started early, more productive than ever. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling I didn’t belong here and that I was missing something.

I didn’t feel that weird twinge right now though, so I shook off my thoughts and settled back into my chair, taking in everything around me.

The next couple hours were filled with nodding along to the beat of nineties pop rock songs. The little ball bouncing over the words on the screen mesmerized me. Judging rested with the audience, so we chose our cheers wisely. Sean sang his rendition of
Crash Into Me
by the Dave Matthews Band extremely well. He must’ve been in the top three so far.

Only one person left to perform before my turn. My hands jittered on the table so badly that Nate placed his hand on top of mine, holding my fingers still. This did nothing to calm my nerves. To make matters worse, the guy performing on stage started singing my song.

I clutched Sean’s shoulder. “What? Why are they playing that? Don’t they rule out repeats and stuff?”

Sean shook his head. “Nope. Usually they’re not back-to-back like this though. You can change it. Just tell them when you go up there.”

“Yeah. Wow. So easy.” Silence hung in the air for a moment. I swallowed, hard, then took a deep breath and counted to ten. “Any ideas? Help me, people!”

“
I Don’t Want To Miss a Thing
,” Kyle yelled.

The uneasiness in my stomach grew deeper. “Love the song, but there’s no way I can pull off Steven Tyler.”

“
Pictures of You
,” said Nicole.

“Technically, The Cure did that one in 1989.” Nate knew music trivia like most guys knew sport stats.

Nicole rolled her eyes.

“
I Will Remember You
,” Tammy said.

Now I rolled
my
eyes. “Ugh, I get enough depressing at home without throwing Sarah McLachlan into the mix.”

Nate cleared his throat. “How about
Closing Time
by Semisonic?”

I looked at Nate, eyes glazed as the crowd went wild at the end of what was supposed to be my song. “That could work.”

But as I made my way to the DJ, I knew what I should sing. I leaned over the sticky counter where coffee had probably been spilled a gazillion times. “Do you have
Good Riddance
by Green Day?”

He handed me a microphone. “Sure do. Good luck.”

My breathing was loud in my ears as I introduced myself. “Um, okay. Hi, my name is Olga. It occurs to me now that I should’ve bought you all ear plugs, because I totally suck at singing. But this is for my life list, and for Conner. So, here goes nothing.”

The music started playing and I looked out at the crowd. I understood why many karaoke contestants made a habit of becoming inebriated before taking the stage. Since April, so much had happened, all started by an act of God that took the life of my best friend. It took another act of God to get through the words of the song, singing about the end of a relationship, a turning point, something unpredictable but in the end right, reminding me whatever happened in life was meant to be.