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Five minutes later, we both look as outrageous as could be. I laugh so hard, my stomach hurts.

“Almost your turn,” the guy says.

Bash gives him a thumbs-up and kisses my cheek. “I would only look this ridiculous for you.”

“That goes double for me.”

“Ready?” The guy waves us over.

Bash and I make our way to the stage, and a few people in the audience groan while others snicker. I stand in front of a mic and think about the song. Halen calls out to us and claps.

The music starts up and the words appear on a screen off to the side, not that I need them. Though I haven’t heard the words in years, the music brings it all back as if Mom and I had danced to the song just yesterday. My heart aches at the thought of her, but I focus on the music and how hilarious Bash looks. If only I had a picture to remember this by.

He leans in toward his mic and belts out the first line. Of course he sounds amazing. Better than the actual singer. He has a few more lines before my part begins. My heart races, but at the same time, his voice soothes me. It’s truly heavenly.

Bash winks at me right before it’s my turn to jump in. Doesn’t he realize what that does to me? I take a deep breath and look away so I can focus on the words. Then I grab my mic and inch closer to him and sing, with nowhere near the confidence he has. As soon as our voices blend, I relax. It still amazes me that I don’t sound like a dying seal.

In fact, everyone seated seems entranced. Almost everyone is staring at us. Every guy in the audience is looking up at us. Some of the women too, but there’s something unsettling about the men. They all have their hands on the tables, eyes wide.

Bash nudges me. “Everyone loves us.”

Except it seems like more than that.

But I push those thoughts aside as my solo comes up. I lean against Bash, taking comfort from his touch, and I close my eyes as I sing out the first line of the solo. By the second line, I’m more relaxed. I open my eyes and focus only on the words, the music, and Bash. At my last line, he jumps in with a few lines of his own, then I join him and our voices blend perfectly.

I have another solo, then the song will be over. I take a deep breath and wait. Then his voice trails off, and at just the right point, I belt out my line. People in the audience clap and whistle. Some rise.

Then, at my last note, all the mermen fall. Like, they seriously just crash down. Some land on the tables while others slump onto their seats or hit the floor. They’re all unconscious.

It brings a whole new meaning to bringing down the house.

I turn to Bash, half-expecting to see him on the ground too, but he’s not. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, but your hair is a little darker pink and longer.”

“What?” I cup some into my hand and hold it out. Definitely longer, definitely darker.

But I hardly have time to question that because people are shrieking and crying out. All the mermen except Bash are still passed out.

“What have you done?” someone shouts at us.

“Get out of here!”

“Go!”

Bash grabs my arm. “We’d better leave.”

“This isn’t our fault!”

“I don’t think they want to hear us out.” He pulls off the parts of his costume, and I follow suit. We don’t bother putting anything away. We have to avoid angry merwomen as we grab our things at the booth and race outside with Halen.