Letting Go

by Jessica Ruddick

  He was awesome. From his casual and carefree demeanor, you’d think he was sitting by the bonfire again instead of in front of thousands of people. He called out for the audience to sing along with him, and they complied. With no preparation whatsoever, Josh managed to lead a sing-along for an audience full of people. Unbelievable. At the end of his song, he left the stage and went into the cheering audience rather than returning backstage.

  The next group was a sorority with a choreographed hip-hop dance routine. They wore tiny black shorts and blue sequined tops that showed both cleavage and belly buttons. Their performance was amazing—very high energy—and the audience responded with their own enthusiasm.

  It dawned on me like a flashlight in my eyes. I’d picked the wrong song. All the breath left my body and my already tenuous grip on my confidence slipped.

  I’d chosen a ballad by Adele because I liked it, but more importantly, I already knew it. On short notice, I didn’t have much time to learn something new. Also, it showed off my range. I was used to being judged, so I naturally chose a song that would showcase my vocal talent.

  But that wasn’t what this show was all about. This show was about wowing the audience with a fun performance, not demonstrating technical skill. After watching Josh and the last dance routine, the audience was sure to fall asleep watching me sing a ballad. Even my outfit was wrong. It was the quintessential little black dress, strapless and fitted, hitting mid-thigh. Yeah, it was tight and showed a little leg, but it wasn’t anything that the audience would get excited about, not like the dancers’ ensembles.

  I rushed out to the waiting room and found a bathroom, locking myself in a stall. I clutched my stomach, expecting to puke at any moment. I leaned my forehead against the cool metal of the wall, using sheer will to keep down the contents of my belly.

  It was too late to change my song and I certainly couldn’t ditch the show. I’d committed to it, and I always followed through on my commitments. Plus, Vanessa would probably scalp me in my sleep if I made Alpha Delta look bad with a no-show.

  I pulled my phone out, thinking I’d play a game or something to distract myself, and my gaze was drawn to the messages icon.

  No new messages.

  My finger hovered over the text button. I could scroll back through my old messages and since my phone was almost two years old, Tyler’s would still be there. Maybe just a peek to calm my nerves.

  My hands shook and I paused.

  This wasn’t a good idea.

  Before I thought too much about it, I reached into my purse and pulled out a bottle. I drank the whole thing in one shot, coughing as it burned my throat. I waited ten minutes, and when I didn’t feel anything, I downed a second one.

  I returned to the backstage area to start warming up. Still an hour to wait.

  Beside me, a guy was warming up with an accordion. Was he for real? I giggled.

  “What are you playing?” I asked him.

  “A cover of ‘Take on Me,’” he said. “You know, A Ha.”

  “I love that song!” I said, and I wasn’t just being nice—I actually did. “Can I get a preview?”

  He grinned. “Sure.”

  He played the opening riff and sure enough, it was “Take on Me.”

  “I can hear it. You’re really playing ‘Take on Me’ on the accordion. That’s awesome. Wait, wait, I know this part.” I sang along to the chorus and then fuddled my way through the rest of the words.

  I clapped when he was done. He gave a little bow. “I hope everyone else likes it as much as you do.”

  I nodded knowingly. “They will. I mean, come on. Who wouldn’t like eighties music on an accordion?”

  The girl in black called him to go backstage. Before he left, I asked him what number he was. Sixteen.

  Twenty minutes to go.

  I went back to the bathroom to touch up my makeup one last time. As I was searching through my purse for my lipstick—lipstick is essential onstage or else your lips blend in with your face—I found another bottle. I looked at it for a second and then shrugged. No sense leaving one. As they say, one is the loneliest number. I giggled at my own joke. Then down the hatch it went.

  After another coat of powder, I went backstage. There was only one person left before me.

  I started yawning, the last vocal warm-up I always did before going onstage. The only thing was this time it made me tired. That was new.

  The guys in front of me did a pseudo strip routine, which was cut short by the curtain. I guess the powers that be didn’t want to see their full monty. To be honest, I didn’t either. There was a little too much body hair happening.

  My name was announced, and I felt the blood drain from my face and land in my feet, making them feel like blocks of concrete. I closed my eyes and forced my feet to move, one step at a time, until I was out onstage behind the closed curtain.

  “Representing the ladies of Alpha Delta, Cori Elliott.”

  The curtain rose, and the lights weren’t as bright as some I’ve been in. I could actually see the audience, not as a faceless blob, but as individuals. I searched the faces for a familiar one, hoping it would make me feel more at ease. I could see people’s mouths moving in chatter, but I could only hear the thud, thud, thud of my own heart.

  In the fourth row I found Amber sitting next to Brad.

  And Luke.

  Even in the darkness, I could see his blue eyes perfectly, watching me.

  The opening chords of my song filled the auditorium, and I placed my hand on the microphone, pulling it down slightly to make it the right height.

  “Go Cori! Woo hoo!” Amber definitely didn’t have a singing voice, but from years of cheering, she certainly knew how to project.

  “Yeah, girl!” Even though I couldn’t see him, that one had to be Josh.

  A grin played at the edges of my lips. I barely swallowed the laugh with enough time to take my breath for the first line. I placed my hand on my stomach so I could feel the inhale of air.

  It was going to be okay. I was going to be okay.

  Because I had this.

  Chapter Eight

  “Raise ’em up!” Brad said, passing around shooter glasses filled with lime green liquid.

  Amber, Luke, Josh, Kimberly—yes, that Kimberly from the talent show—and I each took a shooter and raised it up.

  “To Cori!” Amber declared.

  “To me,” I seconded, then downed the shooter. Sour apple, yummy.

  We’d gone downtown after the talent show, which was a short walk from the student center. Thirsties was busy tonight, but the guys had managed to snag a table in the back corner of the bar, the one corner that couldn’t be seen by either the bartender or the bouncer, so those of us who were underage could indulge in relative safety.

  “Because of you two,” Luke said, “the animals at the shelter are going to live to see another day.”

  In the midst of my freak-out, I’d forgotten all about the fact that the proceeds of the show were going to help needy animals. But because of that, Josh and I were the “guests of honor” and no one would let either of us pay for anything. Good thing given my recent financial woes, but that was a worry for another time. For now? It was time for a good time.

  I’d survived the talent show, and the relief was immense. So was the pride, actually. I’d kicked butt, despite my freak-out.

  “I miss my cats,” Kimberly said. She was a freshman and from the little bit she’d said, I gathered that she hadn’t been away from home much.

  “I’ve never liked cats,” Luke admitted. “At home, we have this cat that is the devil incarnate. She’s old, like fourteen or something, and she still tries to attack me whenever she sees me. I mean, what the fuck? Until I left for college, she saw me every day of her life.”

  “Dogs are better,” I said.

  “Dogs rule!” Amber agreed.

  “I don’t know,” Josh said, his arm around Kimberly. He smiled at her. “Cats are pretty cool.”

 
I rolled my eyes. Josh would agree that up was down if it got him one step closer to Kimberly’s panties.

  “If I were a dog what kind of dog would I be?” I asked.

  “Ooh, good one,” Amber said. She cocked her head and studied me. “What are those big ones with red hair? Not golden retrievers. Wait, Irish setters. That’s it. You’d be an Irish setter.”

  I frowned. “Really?”

  She shrugged. “They have red hair.”

  “Luke’s definitely a black lab,” Brad said.

  I turned to look at Luke. He cocked an eyebrow while I studied him. Eye candy—that’s what he was. His features were perfectly proportioned for his face, his jawline strong. His skin tone was naturally tan, contrasting with his eyes, those sinfully beautiful eyes. They were like an Alaskan glacier.

  I leaned forward to get a better look. “Nah. They don’t have blue eyes, and Luke’s eyes are very blue.”

  Those blue eyes locked on mine, stayed there while he tilted his head back to take a swig from his bottle. My gaze shifted briefly to his neck before snapping back up to his eyes.

  “What about me?” Amber asked, and I tore my gaze away from Luke.

  “Shitzu,” I said without hesitation. “They’re petite and pretty.”

  “Aw, thanks.” Amber beamed.

  “They’re also little divas,” I said.

  Amber made a face and threw a crumpled straw wrapper at me.

  “And Josh is a hound dog,” I announced. “For obvious reasons.” I smirked. Josh did not. Kimberly just looked confused. Poor girl.

  “Hey, there’s a pool table,” I said, pointing.

  “Do you play?” Luke asked.

  I didn’t, not really, but I wouldn’t mind him teaching me.

  “I can hold my own.”

  “So that means no.” He laughed.

  “Hey!” I protested, lightly punching him on the shoulder. It was solid. I resisted the urge to inspect it further.

  He shrugged. “That’s what you said about beer pong and look where that got me.”

  “Aw,” I said, sticking out my lower lip. “Has your ego been bruised?”

  “Actually, yes,” he said indignantly. “The guys have been giving me shit all week.”

  “You’ll have to pair up with someone else, then.”

  “Nah,” he said with a wicked grin. “My partner was hot.”

  I smiled sweetly and batted my eyes. “At least you’ve got your priorities straight.”

  Amber looked at me with raised brows, best friend code for what the hell?

  What the hell was right.

  Luke was dangerous for me—and by dangerous, I meant tempting. I liked him.

  But I was in no position to get involved with anyone. So I did what any logical person would do—avoid, avoid, avoid.

  During the day, I avoided him because in the light of day, things were stark, clear, black and white. But at night and in the party atmosphere, things were hazy, edges were blurred. It no longer seemed so criminal to have a little fun. Besides, there was safety in numbers. As long as we were hanging out in a group, a little flirting was harmless, right?

  At least that’s what I was telling myself.

  We left the bar in search of food. Josh suggested Waffle Hut, which was about a mile away. None of us were in any condition to drive, so we decided to hoof it over there.

  We paired off on the walk. Luke had me switch places with him so that he was on the side near the road. He didn’t say why he was doing it, but he didn’t need to. That’s just the kind of guy he was—thoughtful, the kind of guy who put my safety first without making a big deal about it. The kind of guy who I could fall for if I just let go.

  Suddenly, even though we were still walking as a group, I felt very much alone with Luke, very much in danger of falling.

  “How was your first week?” he asked. Whew, a safe topic. I breathed a little easier.

  “Good, I guess. Napoleon Dynamite is one of my professors.”

  “Oh, yeah, Dr. Dunnall? I had him freshman year. He’s a trip.”

  “I’m dying to know,” I said, clutching his arm, “does he have moon boots?”

  He nodded. “Oh, yeah. Just wait until the first time it snows.”

  I giggled.

  “He’s actually pretty cool, though. He knows about the Napoleon Dynamite thing and plays it up on purpose.”

  “My Intro to Women’s Studies professor is Professor Trelawney.”

  “Better Trelawney than Snape.”

  “Aw, come on. Snape got a bad rap. He was a good guy in the end.”

  Luke shook his head. “He treated Harry like shit.”

  “At least he could teach. I mean, Hermione failed Trelawney’s class. If Hermione can’t pass, then you know she’s a bad teacher.”

  Luke considered. “True. Josh tried to talk me into adding that class yesterday.”

  “He’s just trying to pick up girls.”

  “I know. And no offense, but I have no interest in women’s studies.”

  “Why do people always say ‘no offense’ when they know damn well what they’re about to say is offensive?” I stumbled on a curb, and Luke reached out to steady me.

  “Damn heels,” I muttered. “I’m okay.” Even still, Luke kept his arm around my waist, just in case. Good thing, because I stumbled again a few feet later, making me feel like such an idiot. The street lights were dim and the sidewalks uneven, not the best terrain for stilettos.

  He looked at me quizzically. “You sure you’re okay?”

  I nodded. “Fine.” But I wasn’t so sure. I hadn’t eaten dinner before the show because of my nerves, and now my hands were shaking—a definite sign of a drop in blood sugar. Those shooters I’d had couldn’t have helped, either. Thank goodness we were almost to Waffle Hut. A tall stack of pancakes smothered in syrup sounded delectable about now.

  I shivered. There was a chill in the air despite it being August. I leaned in to Luke. His eyes might be ice blue, but that was the only cold thing about him. Heat radiated from his body, and I instantly felt warmer.

  Closing my eyes, I inhaled. He smelled so good. I didn’t know what kind of cologne he wore, but I liked it. When I turned my head to get a better whiff, my nose was level with his throat.

  I rubbed my nose on his throat a little. Smooth as a baby’s bottom. Not that I’d ever had my nose on a baby’s bottom for comparison, but that was the saying.

  Luke chuckled, and his throat vibrated against my nose. “What are you doing?”

  I stilled. That was an excellent question. What the hell was I doing? Had I really just gotten caught sniffing Luke? Definitely not my smoothest moment.

  Fuck it.

  I wasn’t going to stress over it. I’d more than met my stress quota with the talent show.

  “You smell good,” I said. Might as well admit to it.

  He laughed again. “Thanks.”

  “Has anyone ever told you that before?”

  “Not recently.”

  “But sometime?”

  He smiled sheepishly. “Yeah. Maybe once or twice.”

  “Are you a hound dog?” I asked. Suddenly I wanted to know in the worst way. I wished I’d friended him on Facebook so I could spy on him, maybe catch a look at some old prom photos, like we had with Brad.

  “I don’t take classes just to pick up girls,” he replied. “That should count for something, right?”

  It did, but honestly? I hadn’t ever realized that was something guys actually did.

  We looked ahead at Josh, who was wrapped around Kimberly. “Isn’t she a freshman?” I asked.

  “I think so. Josh is a decent guy, though. I wouldn’t want him dating my sister or anything, but he won’t take advantage of her, if you know what I mean.”

  I definitely knew what he meant. Josh seemed like a nice guy, not setting off my asshole radar, so it was good to know I’d judged him correctly.

  “Do you have a sister?”

  Luke nodded. “Two. On
e older and one younger.”

  “I have a brother. He’s a senior in high school. He thinks he’s the shit, but here’s a secret.” I leaned forward, and Luke leaned in as well. “He’s not.” I laughed.

  We got to Waffle Hut and luckily they were able to seat us right away. Luke ordered the triple stack pancakes with eggs and a double side of bacon. I ordered a double stack with fruit and sausage.

  Luke raised his eyebrows as I handed the waitress my menu. “What?” I asked. “I’m hungry.”

  Kimberly ordered oatmeal and toast. “I’m a vegetarian,” she said in explanation.

  Josh did a double take. He’d ordered steak and eggs. It might be the end of the line for Kimberly.

  “I can’t decide if I want bacon or sausage,” Amber said, biting her lip.

  “Bacon,” Luke said at the same time Brad and I said, “sausage.”

  The waitress sighed impatiently and snapped her gum, pen poised above her tablet.

  Amber looked back and forth between Luke and Brad and me. “Sausage,” she finally said.

  “Links or patties?” the waitress asked, and Amber got a pained look on her face.

  “Links,” I said, taking the menu out of her hands and handing it to the waitress.

  When the waitress walked away, Luke shook his head. “You’re leading this girl astray. Both of you.”

  I snorted.

  “Sausage is juicy and succulent. Bacon is just burned fat,” Brad said.

  Amber mouthed succulent? to me, and we both giggled.

  “I think you mean crisp and crunchy.” Luke’s tone was haughty. “Sausage is just a breakfast hot dog.”

  “Pancakes are eaten with a fork,” I chimed in, “so the side dish should also be eaten with a fork. You don’t eat bacon with a fork.”

  “What kind of logic is that?” Luke laughed.

  “Think about it,” I said. “Hamburger and fries—both are eaten with your fingers. Pizza and breadsticks—both are eaten with your fingers. Steak and baked potato—both are eaten with a fork. Thus, bacon is not the proper side for pancakes.”

  Brad, Josh, Luke, and Kimberly stared at me with incredulous looks on their faces.

  I hunched my shoulders and fiddled with my silverware. “What?”

  “She’s pre-law,” Amber said by way of explanation.