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“No, she didn’t,” Spencer chokes out. Staring at the stage, the color drains from her face.
Curious about what’s spooked her, I follow her eyes. I’m shocked to see a little blonde-haired girl with the microphone. Based on the voice alone, I was expecting a woman in her thirties, seasoned, experienced. Her voice is rich and soulful. As the song progresses, she toggles effortlessly from the deep baritone to a melodic soprano with perfect pitch. She’s singing like a talented professional.
“Holy shit, it’s a kid?”
Spencer doesn’t answer. Instead, her gaze is darting around the room. This little girl has commanded the attention of an entire club and silenced a mob of drunken partygoers. That’s how spectacular she sounds.
“They’re all recording,” Spencer gasps. “Everybody is recording.”
“Not a bad idea. I’ve never in my life heard a child sing like that before.” I pull out my phone. Pointing it to the stage, I press record.
“Stop.”Whack!She smacks my phone right out of my hand. It bounces off the table and I have to retrieve it off the floor. Straightening up in my seat, I toss my broken phone on the table, showing off the shattered screen.
“What is wrong with you?” It comes out harsher than I mean it to. I’m not upset about my phone. I’m so clumsy with it myself, I swear I have to get a new one every few weeks.
She runs her finger over the cracked ceramic. “Oh God. I broke it.” Tears well in her eyes.
“It’s new. I didn’t get a chance to put a case on it. It’s not a big deal. Are you okay?”
The song finally comes to a close, and amongst the loud clapping and cheering, a low rumble of “encore, encore” begins to fill the club.
“I’m sorry,” she says as she breaks free from our embrace. “It was a reflex. I wasn’t thinking. I’m so sorry.”
I try to grab her hand but she’s too quick. She scoots away out of my reach. I want to assure her I don’t give a shit about the phone. I just want to know what set her off. Did I move too fast or pressure her?
“Spencer? Wait. What’s?—”
“It was nice to meet you, Nate.” She doesn’t even look back as she flees.
Stunned, confused, and a little pissed, all I can do is watch her disappear into the crowd.
What the fuck just happened?
I know better than to follow her. I should’ve known better and kept tonight strictly business.
This is why I don’t date.
5
Spencer
“Charlie, slow down,” I call after my little sister. She’s clumsily stomping up the concrete stairs to our third-floor apartment. She’s going to trip and bust her lip out of sheer anger. “I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Why do you care?” she snaps.
“Because you’re my sister.” Also, I’m not looking forward to paying the full deductible on our health insurance if we end up in the ER tonight.
Charlie stops and awkwardly pivots in the middle of the flight of stairs. She stumbles, her front knee buckling. Three steps behind, I throw out both arms as a reflex, waiting for her to fall forward, but she catches herself. “I’mnot.I don’t have a sister anymore.”
Arms crossed, cheeks blotchy red, and a mean scowl on her face, she wants to look dangerous. But I know Charlie too well. It’s obvious to me when she’s trying to hold back tears.
“Well, that’s just not true. I’m still your sister even when you’re mad at me.”
I panicked back there. I all but ripped Charlie off the stage at House of Blues, then threw her ass in a Lyft. I texted Lennox that I wasn’t feeling well and needed to make an emergency exit.
My reaction was dramatic, but I saw all the phones recording and I know people’s intentions. Charlie is an easy way to cash in on views. She’s a phenomenon, and when she’s old enough, I can’t wait to see her take over the world. But, for now, in the age of digital danger all around, I have to protect her from being exploited online.
I seem to be the only one concerned about normalcy for Charlie. She already grew up without a dad. She lost her mom at age six. She had an eighteen-year-old signing permission slips and dropping her off at kindergarten. How much more can she go through? I read the stories about child pop stars and the atrocities they’ve endured in exchange for a life of fortune and fame. I refuse to let her life turn into an after-school special.