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We stay to listen for a couple more acts. It’s a lot of contemporary music that I know I’ve heard, but couldn’t tell you who the artist is. Ariana Grande? Taylor Swift? Then someone gets up and does a Queen song, so at least I know who they are.

“Next up, for your listening pleasure,” says Trish, checking something on the karaoke machine, “please welcome to the stage… Prudence!”

Ari and I both swivel our attention to her, but I just as quickly turn back to Ari. “Did you put my name up there?”

“No!” she says vehemently, lifting her hands. “I wouldn’t! Not without your permission, I swear.”

I growl, but not at Ari. I believe her. It’s not something she would do.

Could there be another Prudence in the bar? What are the chances of that? I have yet to meet another person with my name, and no one is going up onstage.

“Jude must have sneaked it in before he left,” I say.

“You don’t have to,” says Ari. “Tell her you changed your mind. Or that someone put your name up there without asking.”

My eye catches on Quint’s. He’s looking over his shoulder, surprised. Curious.

My pulse is starting to race. Ari is right. I don’t have to go up there. I didn’t put my name in. I didn’t agree to this.

My palms become slick. I haven’t even left the booth yet and already it feels like people’s eyes are on me. Waiting. Judging. It’s probably just my imagination, but knowing that doesn’t keep my throat from tightening.

“Prudence?” Trish asks, searching the audience. “You out there?”

“Do you want me to tell her you’ve changed your mind?” asks Ari.

I shake my head. “No. No, it’s fine. It’s just a song. I’ll do it.” I exhale sharply and slide out of the booth.

“Wait!”

I look back at Ari. She leans forward and reaches her thumb for the corner of my mouth, rubbing hard for a second. “Your lipstick was smeared,” she says, settling back into the booth. She gives me an encouraging nod. “All better. You look great.”

“Thanks, Ari.”

I clear my throat and approach the stage, making a point not to make eye contact with the goons in the booth. Or Quint, for that matter. I tell myself that I’m not nervous. That I’m not positively terrified.

It’s only four minutes of your life. You can do this.

But please let Jude have picked a decent song…

Trish sets the microphone stand in front of me and I look at the monitor, displaying the song choice.Whew.Okay. Not bad. Jude took Ari’s suggestion and has signed me up to sing the John Lennon song, one I love and definitely know by heart.

I lick my lips and shake out my shoulders, trying to get into a performance mindset. I’m no great singer, I know that. But what I lack in natural-born talent, I can make up for with stage presence. I am Prudence Barnett. I don’t believe in mediocrity or lame attempts, and that includes belting out a karaoke song in a dimly lit tourist trap off Main Street. I will smile. I will work the crowd. I might even dance. I figure, my singing may not win me any awards, but that doesn’t mean I can’t have fun.

Loosen up. Right, Quint? Let’s see you get on this stage and loosen up.

The first chords of “Instant Karma!” blare from the speakers. I don’t need the monitor feeding me the lyrics. I flip my hair and start to sing. “Instant karma’s gonna get you!”

Ari whoops encouragingly. I wink at her and can feel myself getting into the song. My hips sway. My heart races, with adrenaline as much as nerves. My fingers spread out like fireworks. Jazz hands. The music builds and I do my best to channel John Lennon and the passion he brought to his music. My free arm stretches to the sky, then drops toward the crowd, my finger pointing, searching. “Who on earth do you think you are? A superstar? Right—you are!” I’m trying to give a shout-out to Carlos, but I can’t find him, and soon I find myself pointing at Quint instead. I’m startled to find him watching me with marked attention. He’s smiling, but it’s in a stunned, almost bewildered way.

Pulse skittering, I swivel my attention back to Ari, who is dancing inside the booth, swaying her arms in the air.

I take imaginary drumsticks into my hand and hit the cymbals in time with the drum solo that launches me into the chorus. I’m feeling almost giddy as I sing. “Well, we all shine on, like the moon… and the stars… and the sun!”

The song blurs into familiar chords and beloved lyrics. I roll my shoulders. Stretch my fingers to the sky. Belt my way through to the end. I don’t dare look at Quint again, but I can feel his gaze on me, and despite my determination not to let his presence unnerve me, I am unnerved. Which just serves to make me evenmoredetermined to appearunnerved. Because it would have been one thing if he’d been outright ignoring me, or cringing with embarrassment on my behalf.

But no. In that split second when I caught his eyes, there’d been something unexpected there. I don’t think it was simple amusement, or even sheer surprise, though I definitely think I surprised him. There was something more than that. Something almost… mesmerized.

I’m overthinking it. I need to stop thinking at all and focus on the song, but I’m on autopilot as the lyrics repeat and start to fade.Like the moon and the stars and the sun…