Uncovering You: The Complete Series (Mega Box Set) (231 page)

A tall, dark-haired man moves through the crowd. His wavy curls fall to his shoulders. He ducks under the barrier rope and stands to face us behind the mike.

“Welcome!” he announces. “One and all, great and small, ladies and gents, to our humble, modest, tiny, low-key and small—” he pauses to allow a few chuckles from the crowd, “—OPEN mic night!”

A flurry of applause greets the proclamation. The man smiles and bows deeply. “Our first performer tonight is none other than the amazing, graceful, and—dare I say?—beautiful,
Monica Turner
!”

More applause. The man bows again, and motions to the side. A girl with a guitar slung over her shoulder steps on stage, wearing a barista’s uniform. She smiles warmly at the proprietor. He kisses both her cheeks, then gets out of the way.

The crowd hushes as the girl settles on the stool behind the mike. The lights in the café dim, until the only one that remains is the one shining down on her. It casts her golden hair in a glowing shimmer, almost like a halo.

The girl lowers the mic. “Hi, everyone.” She gives a shy smile. “Like Charlie said, I’m Mon.” She strums a chord on her guitar. “I’m going to play one song for you tonight. This is my version of
Everlong
by the Foo Fighters.”

She strums another chord, and begins. Notes from the guitar fill the air. I smile, marveling at the courage it must take to get up and perform like this for a house full of strangers.

But when she starts to sing… I am blown away. She begins the first verse. Her voice is soft, like the aroma of wine on a warm summer evening. It’s rich, like the taste of cocoa on your tongue in the dead of winter. And it’s pure, like the sparkling water rushing down the side of a mountain in the spring thaw.

I’m absorbed by her rendition of the song. By her honesty. By her grace. The words come from the heart, and even though it’s not
her
song, she makes it her own.

When she finishes, the last strum of her guitar still echoing through the air, I am the first on my feet. I get up and cheer. A rush of people join me. Soon, everybody else is standing and applauding. Monica laughs and waves and blows a few kisses, earning a louder ovation.

“A performer has to know her audience,” a voice beside me says.

I look to the side. “Spencer!” I exclaim, jumping into him in a hug. “I thought you’d left me on my own!”

“What?” he looks hurt. “No. Never.” He tilts his head toward Monica. “She’s good, isn’t she?”

“I’ve never heard anybody like her,” I gush.

Spencer chuckles. I catch a mirthful glimmer in his eye. It scatters away before I can decide why it’s there.

“Aren’t you performing?” I ask. I look at his empty hands. “Where’s your guitar?”

“It’s in the back,” he gestures away from us. “I haven’t decided if I’m going to play yet.”

“You mean
what
you’re going to play, right?” I nudge him with my shoulder. “I wouldn’t have come if I didn’t think I’d get to see you.”

He spreads his arms wide and smiles. “Here I am.”

“Not like that, dummy!” I swing my hair out of my face and fix him with a frown. “I meant
on stage
.”

Spencer laughs. “That keen to embarrass me, huh? I know what you meant. But, I can’t quite figure out why you’re so eager to see me up there.” He lowers his voice as Charlie returns to the front. “I don’t know if my modest talent matches up with the usual fare of performances they’re used to around here.”

“Well!” Charlie claps his hands together and beams. “Wasn’t that something, everyone? Our own Monica Turner! You can find her making your drinks behind the bar every Tuesday and Wednesday, but with a voice like that, I don’t think she’ll be sticking around for much longer.” He winks at Monica, who’s settled down off to the side. “You’re destined for fame, kiddo. Up next—” Charlie takes out a crumpled napkin from his hip pocket and straightens it against his thigh, “—up next is the ever-talented Felix Ruffins. Give him a hand, everyone!”

The crowd starts clapping again as a tall boy emerges from the back. His height and dreadlocks make him seem older at first glance, but after I get a good look at him, I don’t think he’s even a few years past puberty. He sets his instrument case down, pops it open, and takes out a silver saxophone.

Charlie smiles. “We’re in for a treat tonight. Live jazz, everyone!”

There’s more applause as Felix sets up his instrument. Charlie addresses the crowd while we wait. “Remember to cheer loudest for your favorite performer. Irene will be collecting votes at the end of the night. Irene, where are you hiding?”

Heads turn to search for her in the crowd. A plump woman about Charlie’s age with a pretty face holds her hands up and gives a little wave.

“Ah, there she is!” Charlie laughs and points. “She’ll be collecting votes at the end of the night. Write down the name of your favorite performer from our lineup. We’ll be tallying your votes and updating our leaderboard tomorrow morning. Remember, the name with the most votes at the end of the month wins the special privilege of opening for
The Cranberries
when they headline next months’ Fall-Fest in the heart of campus. So make your votes count!”

Charlie turns back to see if Felix is ready. When he sees that he is, he bows his head with a smile. “I won’t waste any more of your time. Here’s Felix, everybody!”

More applause sounds as Felix takes the stage. He looks incredibly nervous. He takes a few deep breaths, then addresses the crowd in a shaky voice. “How’s everyone doing?”

I take the opportunity to tap Spencer’s shoulder. “Did he say
The Cranberries
?”

Spencer smiles. “Yeah. Charlie used to be their manager, back when they first formed.”

My eyebrows go up. “Really? But that means he’s at least forty!”

“Closer to fifty, actually,” Spencer says.

I focus on the tall, handsome man again. “He doesn’t look a day over thirty.”

Spencer chuckles. “Love keeps a man young. He met Irene a few years back, fell hard, and stopped the rock gig. They opened this café together. Now it’s their mission to find great, unsigned talent from the student body.”

“Sounds like you know him well,” I say.

“Charlie and I were good friends before I stopped playing,” he answers.

I don’t have time to ask him why he stopped. Music from Felix’s sax takes over the room.

I turn and stare. I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it with my own two eyes. The shy, bumbling young boy from before is a magnificent musician.

Felix plays with his eyes closed. The soulful, morose melody breaks my heart. His fingers dance over the keys, and such beautiful music comes from the saxophone that I am lost to my surroundings. I watch and listen, transfixed by the power of his music.

I’m not the only one. The crowd is so quiet you could hear a pin drop. Time passes as if in a dream.

Somewhere along the way, Spencer’s arm winds up around my shoulders.

The journey Felix takes us on is magnificent. It is filled with wonder and joy and tears. His music touches the whole range of human emotions, never focusing on one so much as to become overbearing, but never skipping the ones that are difficult to endure, either.

The crowd is hushed when he finishes. Felix opens his eyes, then blinks, almost as if surprised to find out that he’s not alone.

A tentative applause starts for him, quiet as the wind rustling through dry October leaves. It grows and grows until it overtakes the entire café. Felix smiles, proud, and his white teeth radiate his inner confidence.

And so it goes. One after another, performers and musicians take the stage. There is an amazing variety of talent. I would never have expected so much hidden here. The crowd cheers everyone on, young and old, talented and not-so-talented. There is no discrimination. Everyone gets a fair chance to win our hearts.

Even Charlie performs. I have a feeling his attempt is more of a way to please the crowd. He knows he can’t sing. But he goes up and does it anyway, offering a butchered rendition of his former band’s hit,
Zombie
.

We laugh with him through his mistakes and cheer loudest when he’s done. Whether it’s for his courage or for the merciful end, I can’t decide.

In the short breaks between performances, I hear Felix’s name brought up the most often in the conversations around me. If I had to guess, I’d say he’s leading the popular vote.

At least two hours go by when the final performer bows off the stage. Cries of “Encore!” echo through the room as Charlie walks up to the mike.

He holds out his hands and waits for quiet. “Now, now,” he says. “You folks know the rules. One performance per person each night, lest it get too crowded up here for the favorites. Now, then.” He looks at the scrambled napkin. “It seems we’ve gotten through everybody who signed up tonight. It’s almost time to cast your votes. I’m going to get all of our stars up here again in just a minute to help all of you remember who’s who.

“Before I do that, however, I’d like to make one final call for anybody who walked in late and didn’t get a chance to sign up.”

I grab Spencer’s arm. “You have to go!” I say. “You promised!”

He looks at me, his expression torn.

“Please?” I beg.

“…Anyone?” Charlie calls out. “Anyone at all?”

I look at Spencer, begging him with my eyes. “Please!”

“Oh, what the hell,” Spencer mutters. He surges to his feet. “I want to perform!”

I give a delighted gasp. Charlie shades his eyes, trying to pick out the volunteer in the darkness. “Who said that? Step forward, son.”

Spencer gives me a small wink and touches my arm. Then he struts through the crowd, tall and confident.

“I did,” he says when he reaches Charlie.

Charlie’s eyes widen for a split second. Then a great, joyous smile splits his face. “I don’t believe it,” he mutters. He turns to the crowd. “Spencer Ashford, everyone!”

Confused murmurs sound all around me. I hear Spencer’s name repeated as a question. “Spencer? Spencer Ashford? What’s he doing here?”

Spencer steps up to the mic and gives it a few taps. He sweeps his hair away from his forehead and chuckles lightly.

“I never thought I’d stand up here again,” he says. “But someone quite special convinced me otherwise.”

Spencer pulls the stool closer and perches on the edge. He looks at Charlie. “Problem is, I didn’t really think I’d go through with it tonight.” He leans into the mic and whispers, “I left my guitar at home.”

A few members of the audience laugh.

“So, the way I see it,” Spencer continues, looking right at home on stage, “I have two choices. I could either recite some long, boring poem for you that I’ve got stuck in my memory—” he pauses, giving a dramatic shudder, “—or, somebody very
trusting
could let me borrow their guitar for one quick song.”

Another murmur overtakes the crowd. Spencer sits back and waits.

I thought he told me he had his guitar in the back? Did he lie? Or does he just not want to use it? I remember him saying it was out of tune…

My thoughts are interrupted when
Irene
, of all people, appears next to Spencer with a beautiful instrument in her hands. Spencer smiles and accepts the guitar from her. Irene leans in to whisper in his ear. The mic picks some of it up. I hear the words, “She’s my baby,” and then, “Glad you’ve come back to us.”

“The lovely Irene, everyone,” Spencer says as she walks off. “A man could wish for nothing more than to have someone like her in his life. Charlie, you lucky bastard.”

I glance over to see Charlie wrap his arms around Irene as she returns to him, a smug smile on his face. Irene elbows him in the ribs and crosses her arms. Charlie laughs.

My attention shifts back to Spencer when he strums a chord. He lowers his head to the strings, adjusting them, then tries again. He smiles.

“Irene wanted me to mention that since I’m not performing with my
own
instrument, I’m not eligible for the vote tonight. I told her that with my level of talent, she has nothing to worry about.”

Laughter sounds from around me.

“Well.” Spencer strums the strings once. “I already said this, but I’m only up here because of one person.” He clears his throat and whispers into the mic. “This is dedicated to her.”

He starts strumming something exceedingly simple. I swallow in apprehension. I thought he was kidding when he said he wasn’t very good!

As the first few chords fill the room, I start to feel horrible. I should never have pressured him.

Then he stops. He places his hand over the strings to make them quiet, and shakes his head. “No. No, that won’t do,” he says. His eyes open, and I see that mischievous glimmer in them again. He brings the mic closer to his face.

“This song,” he says, “comes from my good friend Bryan Adams. It’s a song I’ve never performed in public before. It’s called, ‘Do I Have to Say the Words.’ Paige—” he looks right at me, “—this one’s for you.”