Page 52 of Song Bird Hearts

Let the Foundation watch.

Let them choke on it.

I smile and tilt my head toward the bar. “You ready to cause some trouble?” I ask Gilden, who is leaning beside me in a sleeveless flannel and a borrowed cowboy hat that he still somehow looks sexy in. He has his beer in hand and the grin he wears is wide.

“Trouble’s already here,cher,” he drawls before winking at me, “but let’s give it a mic.”

The DJ, good ole Dwayne Jeffries, starts talking into the mic and everyone turns to pay attention.

“We’re all here for one thing and one thing only,” he says, grinning from ear to ear. This may be the biggest crowd Dwayne has ever been an MC for. “To have a hell of a good time!” The crowd cheers. “But let’s kick off this karaoke night with someone you all know very well. We can’t have a good time without startin’ it off right, mainly the woman we’re all here for. Everyone, clap your hands for our very own Valerie Decatur, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll come on up here and sing some karaoke for ya.”

The crowd cheers and hundreds of eyes turn toward me. I grin and listen to everyone as they chant my name.

“Valerie! Valerie! Valerie!”

My cheeks flush at the thrum of it all, as I feel their boots stomping on the old hardwood floors beneath my feet. It feels like thunder in my chest, and I realize this isn’t a stadium I’m playing in. These are my people. This is for me. It’s like life before the fame all over again, just with more bodies present.

I peel off my jacket and toss it toward Knox where he stands off to the side of us. He catches it one handed without even looking at me as I make my way to the stage. He still hasn’t said much to me after our last argument, but he’s always present. At least, I’ll give him that.

The room surges with energy as I make my way to the stage. Every table has been shoved against the walls to make room for people. Familiar faces cheer for me as I part the crowd, their bodies interspaced with faces I’ve never seen before. The cheers coming from outside where those in the streets watch the screens is just as thunderous as the cheers from in here.

I grab the mic and give the crowd a sideway grin. “What song would y’all have me sing?”

The shouting all blends together, the different songs morphing until I can’t make out any one song title. I glance at Dwayne. “What d’you think, Dwayne? Something emotional and slow like My Heart Will Go On? Or something wild and free like Redneck Woman?”

Dwayne laughs. “Nah. I got something for ya.”

And then the first notes of “Hit Me With Your Best Shot” by Pat Benatar comes on and the crowd goes wild.

I think every kid grows up with this song, belting it out at least once. Little Valerie definitely sung her heart out to this song with her mama in the old red truck we used to call Betsie. Now, I give it all the same heart, putting on a show for the crowd and for the Foundation I know is watching.

I stomp in time with the music, clapping my hands until the crowd joins in. My hips swing with the words as I move back and forth on the stage, belting into the mic with so much sass, my voice makes the rafters shake. I don’t care about being perfect. I scream that chorus with everything in my soul. I dance across the tiny stage like it’s Madison Square Garden. At some point, someone tosses a flag up on stage and I grab it and hold it up as I sing, the “Stagborn or Die” words painted across it.

Gilden whoops so loud where he stands close to the stage, he knocks his beer over on the table. Wolf watches me, enamored with the performance and I wonder if I still look like a dying bouquet of flowers to him. My eyes flick to Knox where he watches me silently. There’s no smile on his face, just concerned awareness, like he fears I’ll drop dead at any moment. Maybe I will.

By the time I hit the last note, the Boot Skoot has officially lost its damn mind.

Panting, sweating, and buzzing with adrenaline, I pass the mic back to Dwayne and make my way back down into the crowd, riding the high as people gush and shake my hand while I pass. By the time I slide back in beside Gilden, at least three other people have gotten up on stage and sung their own power ballads, the mood in the dance hall electric.

“Now that’s what I call a war cry,” Gilden tells me when he loops his arm around my shoulders. “I reckon you shook the Foundation’s bones just now.”

“Good,” I say breathlessly. “Let ‘em hear me.”

Dwayne’s voice comes through the speakers again as two women finish a hilarious rendition of “Summer Nights” that had ended with them playfully singing to each other like they were in the movieGrease. It’d been cute and exactly the vibe I need to be surrounded by. For the first time in what feels like years, I can breathe.

“Alright, alright,” Dwayne says, calming the chaos of the crowd. “This next one’s a surprise, one I don’t think y’all are ready for.” I perk up, listening, wondering who it is that’s going to sing. “Y’all give it up for Knox Holloway!”

There’s a beat of silence.

I turn toward the man in question in total disbelief. Surely, Knox—stoic, buttoned up Knox—didn’t sign up to sing karaoke.

Knox is frozen where he stands, his beer bottle halfway to his mouth for a sip. His eyes are locked on the DJ like he’s just been handed a death sentence.

“No,” he says. “No, absolutely not.”

I turn toward Gilden. “Did you?—”

“Maybe,” he says, grinning.

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