Page 279 of End Game

Different styles.

Different people giving the same words a different kind of weight.

My section is late in the song.

Right before the final chorus—during the bridge.

When my turn comes, the room changes.

Maybe only for me.

I step forward.

Sing the first line.

Then the next.

The melody lifts exactly where I wanted it to.

Not out of the grief—through it.

The whole fucking point.

Somewhere offstage, Cami is crying.

I know without looking.

Micah probably is too, but he'll deny it later.

By the last line, Austin's harmony joins mine.

Then another voice.

Then another.

The chorus detonates with all of us at once.

Several thousand people stand.

Lights hit the crowd.

Hands in the air.

People singing words they've heard exactly once because the chorus is easy enough to catch and because sometimes people want very badly to believe the same thing together.

For one weird second, I can't sing.

Because my throat closes.

Austin catches it.

He bumps my shoulder with his.

Just enough.

I get the next line out.

Then the next.