Fiona shook her head. Lucy tried to shove her up, but Fiona grabbed her seat with both hands.
"Laryngitis. Can't do it tonight," Ryan called out. The coffee shop guy shrugged and called the next name on the list.
With a lump in her throat, Fiona watched a guy and girl with flutes take the stage. Self-disgust and relief coursed through her, to a soundtrack of fluted bluegrass.
Five performers later, the coffee shop guy called for one more round of applause, thanked everyone, reminded the crowd there'd be another open mic night in two weeks, and told the person with the white Honda Accord they were about to be towed.
"There's always two weeks from now," Lucy said.
Fiona folded her napkin into increasingly smaller squares.
"You lost your voice?"
It was Trent. Fiona's eyes widened in panic. She nodded.
"That's so weird. You sounded fine earlier today."
She fiddled with her bangs and shrugged.
Trent said "hey" to Lucy and turned to Ryan. "Great game last week, man. Wicked goal in the second half."
"Thanks," Ryan said. He gave a quick nod toward Fiona. "You came to hear her sing?"
"Yeah, sure." Then he smirked and pointed his thumb at the counter behind him. "And to ask out that girl. I've been scoping her out for weeks."
For a moment, Fiona lost the power to breathe. When she finally sucked in a meager bubble of air, it felt like her lung had been punctured by an old, dirty nail. Her air simply seeped out, rustier than when it came in.
Ryan stood up, his full puffed-up height nearly five inches less than Trent's. Was this him being the "protective brother"-or was he just jealous about Gwen? "Already beat you to it, dude," he said to Trent.
Trent raised his eyebrows and took a step back. "So you're the reason she told me no. No harm trying, right?" He gave Ryan a cautious look before speaking past him to Fiona. "Hope you feel better. And don't lose touch with the soil, Doyle," he added, with a thumbs-up.
He walked away, gathered up the lacrosse players who'd come in with him, and left the coffee shop.
"What the heck did that mean?" Ryan asked, looking down at her.
"Hemingway," Fiona said, waving away the explanation.
"Well," Ryan said, mad again, "he's an asshole."
"No, he's not," Fiona answered. "You're just pissed he wanted to ask out your girlfriend."
"That is not why I'm pissed," he said, shaking his head. Then he headed over to Gwen.
As Fiona watched him go, David came over and sat in Ryan's abandoned chair. "You have laryngitis?" he asked her.
Fiona nodded yes. Maybe she could pretend to have it the rest of her life.
"She just froze." Lucy snorted and got up. "Be back in a sec. I need coffee to wash down all this drama."
Fiona fiddled with her mug, trying to breathe past her leaking, rusty lungs and broken heart. David drummed his fingers on the table. "Sorry," he said. "About tonight."
She shrugged. If she opened her mouth, she might vomit.
She'd been an idiot to think her pathetic self could wind up with Trent McKinnon. And she was a coward. Her fear of everyone's judgment, of their pity, mattered more to her than her music.
All those notebooks and calluses, those hours spent playing and writing-what the hell was she doing it for? In the cruel space of three minutes, she'd lost Trent McKinnon and music. And really, what else did she have?
Scars, damn it. She still had the scars.
"I mean, I know it's not my fault or anything," David was saying, still drumming his fingers. "It's just too bad, that you panicked or whatever." He scooted his chair closer and cleared his throat. "But it worked out for me."
"How's that?" she asked quietly.
"Well, you'd probably have been swamped with adoring fans, and I wouldn't get the chance to talk to you alone. It's a rare opportunity."
"We were editing the paper all yesterday afternoon."
"Mr. Phillips was there. That's not alone."
She shrugged at the logic. She was too emotionally drained to debate the point.
David leaned closer, looking a little nervous. "So, now I've gotten past step one in my strategy-"
"What strategy?"
"I've taken Ryan's advice to heart, come up with a plan to get the girl to notice me."
"David, what are you talking about?"
"Like I was saying, step one was to get her alone. So that's checked off. Now I just have to ask her out."
"Ask who out?"
"Wow, and you're not helping. Like, at all." David took a deep breath and straightened up. "Would you like to go out with me sometime? A movie or something?"
Fiona stared at him. "Me? You want to go out with me?"
"Would that be okay?"
She forced herself to look at David, to see past the friend. And the averageness. It was the least she could do.
He'd looked past all the below average of her.
He wasn't uncute. He was fair-skinned, like her, but freckled and dirty blond. He had the lean frame of a cross-country runner. His eyes were a pretty, light brown. They reminded her of an amber pendant her mom sometimes wore.
What would a date with him be like? Probably like everything else she did with him, but with popcorn. After the movie, they'd drink coffee and talk about the school paper.
Which wouldn't be terrible. She liked talking to him. He was smart and funny. Nice.
She had once told Lucy that if Trent McKinnon was ice cream, he'd be rocky road covered in sprinkles. David might be more vanilla, but nothing was wrong with vanilla. She always took some when offered.
Vanilla could never break anyone's heart.
"Um, yeah," she said. "Sure."
David smiled. It was a nice smile. He had very straight teeth. "Awesome. What about tomorrow?"
She laughed and shrugged. "My calendar just happens to be free."
"Great. I'll pick you up at seven."
The chair on the other side of her made a screech as Lucy pulled it back. "Where are we going at seven?"
Fiona glanced from David, who looked stricken, to Lucy, who looked clueless. "Not you. David and me."
"David and you what?"
"Are going to a movie. Tomorrow."
A slow smile spread across her best friend's face, and Fiona gave her an anticipatory kick under the table. Lucy grimaced and leaned forward to rub her shin. "Sounds delightful."
"Okay. Well. See you tomorrow," David said. "Sorry, again. About tonight."
She shrugged, rediscovering her laryngitis.
"Are you kidding me?" Lucy shoved her in the shoulder. "You're going out with David?"
"What's wrong with David?"
"Nothing, I guess." Lucy's eyes glazed over a moment as she considered. "He's nice. And . . . I don't know what else. I never thought to notice. Since he's not Trent McKinnon."
Fiona felt the tears brewing. She hated to cry, and now she was going to do it in the coffee shop.
"Hey," said Lucy in a rare, gentle voice. "It's okay."
"You're right. I couldn't play. I am a chicken."
"Are you really that scared you'll suck?"
She shook her head, sniffling. "I'm kinda good, actually."
"Then what's the problem?"
"If I get up there, no one's even going to listen. They'll see the scars. That's all I'll be."
"If you don't get up there, the scars are all you'll be."
"The songs are so personal." Just thinking about it, her hands were shaking. "To just throw them out there, for anyone to dissect, it's terrifying."
"So are you worried about the songs or your face?"
"Everybody will just overanalyze everything."
"Wonder what that would be like," Lucy muttered. "But what's this got to do with David and Trent McKinnon?"
"I think it's time I gave up on Trent McKinnon."
He would never love her. Admitting it felt like having her insides forced out.
"So he wanted to ask out the blue-haired girl?" Lucy said. "No biggie. He just doesn't know you well enough, yet."
"We've spent hours together in the library!"
"Yes, because nothing says seduction more than a high school library."
"The blue-haired girl could have seduced him in the library."
Lucy opened her mouth and then closed it. "Ryan's right. He's an asshole."
"Why? Because he's not attracted to the geeky smart girl with half a face? That'd mean ninety-nine percent of the male population are assholes." She felt numb, tapped out. She'd used a year's supply of angst in one hour.
"I think you underestimate the male population."
"It's got to be bad when the lesbian tries to bolster my faith in men," Fiona said.