Page 45 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

Tonight, she called me out of the blue and said, “You’re coming to karaoke night.”

At which point, I froze in terror.

At the tender age of twelve, my mouth full of braces, I was invited to Melanie Campbell’s birthday party, where they had a karaoke contest. I had zero intention of getting on their makeshift stage and drawing attention to the fact that my puberty-stricken voice cracked more than a shattered mirror. Alas, peer pressure. Everyone egged me on until I was in front of the crowd, heart thumping wildly, belting out Kelly Clarkson’s “Since U Been Gone.” (I did not choose the song.) My screeching voice scared every man, woman, child, and animal in the vicinity. I was then called Screech for the rest of the school year.

Good times.

But here I am, walking into the Barrel House, where I’ll have to relive the horror of my puberty-afflicted days, because when Maggie wants to see me, I’m powerless to refuse.

Unfortunately, she’s not here yet, but my brother is.

“There’s the man of the hour!” E shouts when he spots me. “Screech in all his karaoke glory.”

If Maggie only knew what I endured to see her.

“Edgar Eugene Bower,” I reply and receive a dirty look for my efforts. His full name is always a direct hit. “I hope you’ve taken singing lessons since your horrible performance in Oliver!”

“I was great in Oliver!”

So bad, Delilah mouths to me, then she says loudly, “You were fantastic, babe.”

They were both atrocious in Windfall High’s production of the famed musical. I doubt their karaoke is much better, but it’s likely superior to mine. Not that it matters. There’s no chance I’ll be singing anywhere near that stage tonight.

I join the gathered group of Ricky and Aaron, Delilah and E, Avett Lewis and his wife—my wingwoman Naomi—all of them intent on me with nods and handshakes, while a big biker dude sings “Sweet Caroline.”

Avett raises his beer in salute. “I remember the Screech thing. Something about your voice.”

My brother will pay for this betrayal. “There is no Screech thing. Nothing happened.”

“He’s a karaoke legend,” E says, butting in like the pest he is. “His voice cracked so hard while singing Mariah Carey—”

“Whitney Houston,” Delilah says. “It was Whitney.”

“No, no.” Ricky grins around his beer bottle. “You’re both wrong. It was Kelly Clarkson.”

I drag my hand through my hair. “Did any of you read the recent climate-change report?”

This topic needs to be killed faster than our ozone layer. Maggie will be here any minute.

“Kelly Clarkson.” E points at me, ignoring my attempt to squash this subject. “He sang ‘Since U Been Gone,’ and that woman has some serious pipes. Unfortunately, Lennon’s pipes were rusted and squeaky, thanks to his friend puberty.”

I rub my forehead. “Does any of this really matter?”

“Does what matter?” Maggie appears at my side. Worst timing ever. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing in the slightest.” I debate covering her ears or yelling There’s a bomb! “Let’s head to the bar for a drink, shall we?”

E speedily blocks our path. “We were just reminiscing about the time Lennon sang Kelly Clarkson, but he sounded like a cat being tortured, and everyone called him Screech for half a year.”

Maggie’s gorgeous face erupts with glee. “I need more details.”

“You need nothing.” I hook my arm through hers and forcibly direct her toward the bar, as our friends laugh at my expense.

If I could time travel, I’d find whoever invented karaoke and spike their meatloaf with poison. That wouldn’t be my first time-travel stop, though. I’d be remiss not to spike Dad’s meatloaf first. Except I don’t want my father dead. I just want him…different. And I really don’t want to think about him or our impending reunion in two days.

We haven’t gotten any more news on his book or Mom’s mental state. Our family tête-à-tête hasn’t been called yet. Normally, I’d have phoned to check up on Mom, but she’ll ask me about meeting him. If she sounds rough or sad, my guilt over this choice will worsen. So, not only am I growing more stressed and anxiety-ridden by the day, I’m being a shit son.

Heavy sigh.