Page 91 of So Not My Thing
I dropped my head against Miles’s chest where he leaned against the wall. Because I’d pushed him there. “So I have some news,” I mumbled.
“Uh huh. Let me use my incredible reporter skills to figure this one out. Based on the clues, y’all figured out what everyone who has ever spent three minutes around the two of you together has known for months?”
“You’re a genius, Chloe,” Miles said, nudging my chin up for a quick kiss. “But I knew it months ago too.”
“I admit, it was hard with so few context clues.”
I could hear her eyeroll even though I wasn’t looking at her.
Miles gave me a light swat on the butt. “Go get your stuff, and I’ll meet you at your car.”
Chloe gagged and skimmed past us down the stairs. “For real, not before my coffee.”
“Love you too, Clo,” I shouted after her.
A few minutes later, Miles was buckling himself into my passenger seat. “So tell me why you don’t want people to know you can sing. And Ellie?” He made sure he had my attention before he continued. “Not just sing. You’re as good as anyone I’ve ever worked with.”
I stared at the steering wheel for a moment, then put the car in reverse and backed out while I considered his words.
“I know I am.” I pulled into the street and signaled for my turn at the corner. Ididknow that. I’d started coming into my voice around eighth grade when it had deepened enough to put me squarely in mezzo-soprano range.
“I’m glad you know. You’re so good,” he said. “Your voice reminds me of...”
“Sara Bareilles,” we said at the same time.
He turned his head to grin at me. “Guess it’s not the first time you’ve heard that.”
I shook my head. “You should hear me cover ‘Brave.’”
“I’d like to.”
“I’ll do it for you some time.” It felt easy now that he’d already heard me.
“But only for me and no one else?”
“No. I don’t sing in public anymore.”
“Why the hell not?” His voice was totally baffled, not sharp.
Miles knew everything about theStarstruckfallout but this. It was the last piece, and I didn’t want to give it to him. Only this time, it was because I didn’t want to hurt him by bringing it up.
But he was right. I tended to walk away from anything uncomfortable, and I wanted to work on that. I took a deep breath. “I don’t know how to explain this to you without making you feel bad.”
“It’s okay. You can tell me.”
I turned onto St. Claude and tried to think of a nice way to say it, but there was no saving the situation. He was going to feel bad no matter what. “I used to have a YouTube channel,” I finally explained. “I’d do covers. Every now and then, I’d try an original. And I got an okay number of views. Around 20,000 on each video. But after I went viral, the trolls came out.”
He cursed, then sighed.
“Yeah. I’ll spare you the comments, but it was constant. It wouldn’t stop. People would post the crying GIF or the meme in the comments over and over. It got to the point where I hated even opening YouTube, so I quit posting videos. Then I deleted my channel completely.”
“I’m so sorry,” he said. “I had no idea that I’d cost you so much.”
“You didn’t. I sing now for friends and family. Like at Christmas and stuff. But I worry about having another viral moment and someone doing some digging and finding my connection to Gabi the Meltdown Girl, and it makes me tired. So I don’t sing anywhere else. I don’t want to. I’m good with it.” I meant it. Even the thought of singing for anyone else besides the people closest to me made me feel panicky.
“That doesn’t seem right,” he said. “I only heard you sing part of one song, and I couldn’t get enough of your voice. I woke up wanting to hear it again. Immediately. Other people should hear it.”
I shook my head. “You’re thinking like a rock star. I’m seriously fine if no one but the people closest to me know I can sing.”
