Page 102 of Shy Girls Can't Date Celebrities
His shoulders jiggle with a laugh.
I squeeze his hand. “You’re also in movies. You’ve remembered lines from a script. That’s proof you’re not dumb.”
He waves off the subject. “I’m still weirded out by the idea of the movies.”
“But you’re cool talking about the music?”
“I like thinking about the covers. The stuff I remember practicing in front of you.”
“That’s my favorite stuff you’ve done. The new albums were great, but listening to the covers is like heaven to me.”
“Did I record covers before I left for that show?”
I pull out my phone and open the playlist of Wyatt’s songs. “No, but there’s recordings from the show. It’s like listening to you before you left town.”
His eyes brighten with piqued interest. “Like the old covers I sang?”
“Yeah,” I say, fidgeting in excitement. “Those covers are how you won the show. Don’t you remember that I told you, you had a gift?”
He mumbles a laugh. “You always were my number one supporter.”
“Still am.” My finger hovers over a track. “Do you think you’re up for listening to one? It could remind you of home.”
“If I could handle a brand new song, I think I can handle an old one.”
I play a cover he’s guaranteed to remember. It’s the one he’d practice the most, whenever we’d hang out in his basement or my treehouse. As the song plays, his hand taps against the pool’s edge. Thirtyseconds into the track, Wyatt mumbles the words. Then the mumbles morph into a tune, and soon, he’s singing along with his past self.
Goosebumps shoot down my arms, and my mouth falls open in awe. His voice is as incredible as ever. His eyes fall close as his volume increases. There’s not a hint of a stutter, and he doesn’t miss a single lyric. A thrill races down my spine, and the need to pull him into my arms grows rapidly.
When the song finishes, I hit the pause button, and my mouth still hangs open.
“Wyatt, that was amazing,” I stammer like the true fangirl I am. “My gosh, you didn’t skip a beat. How did it feel?”
“Awesome.” He gasps. “Truly, fr-freaking awesome.”
I rub my arms. “Wow, my goosebumps aren’t budging. Dang. It’s like you’re back to being concert ready.”
He blushes. “I wouldn’t go that far. Singing along is one thing, but playing to a cr-crowd. Hmm. I don’t think I’m up for it.”
“Can you imagine yourself playing sold out shows?”
He blows out a breath, wonder dazzling in his eyes. “Ha. Umm, no. I still picture the school auditorium decorated for the annual talent show.”
I nudge him, grinning. “So, do you believe me now that you’re incredible?”
Wyatt’s eyes sparkle. “I didn’t miss a word. That’s insane. Dr. Fincher should’ve been testing me on song lyrics and I would’ve been out of the clinic weeks ago.”
My heart swells. “I’m sure he’ll be super proud of you at your next check up.”
I hate that Wyatt’s been panicking about failing tests and being readmitted to the clinic. The trauma of repeating a grade in middle school has him convinced he’s not smart. He’s so much more than memorizing some words from a textbook. Once we figured out he learns best, hemoved onto high school with me.
“You know, I can’t stop thinking about your secret poetry.”
I blush hard.
He gestures at the phone. “We’ve listened to me sing. Why don’t we listen to your words?”
“I’ve never read my poetry aloud before.”
