Losing Grip

Chapter 32➷ It's Not a Birthday Without Karaoke

I hugged the painting against my chest as Avan continued to drive.

I hoped he couldn't see me because I knew it was an odd sight. But, I wanted a hug from Riley, and that was the only way I would ever get it.

Perhaps it was the first signs of delusions, but the hard frame in my arms appeared to give me comfort as if it was hugging me back.

Avan didn't say anything, so I assumed he hadn't seen it. I didn't break the silence either until I finally paid attention to the road and realized we weren't driving home. The houses didn't look familiar and merged into an unidentifiable blur as we drove by them.

"Where are we going?" I said, raising my hand to block the mid-afternoon sun as it pierced through the windshield, desperately trying to reach me.

Avan hesitated before answering, "You'll like it, I promise." He wore a mysterious expression on his face that gave nothing away.

I watched him suspiciously. "You can't possibly know that."

"We'll see."

I cautiously placed Riley's portrait next to my feet as the car pulled up on the side of the road. I still had no idea where we were.

A sign dangled from its post, threatening to fall at the slightest touch onto the heads of unsuspecting pedestrians. I had to tilt my head to read the writing on it, "Twist & Shout Corner".

Someone had scribbled "Bring back the jukeboxes!" in all caps with a red marker under the name.

"Wait, is that—" I struggled not to gape at the sign. "Are we at the Corner?"

Avan smiled at the shock I was sure was visible on my face.

"I never thought I'd see this place again," I told him as we got out of the car and walked to the front door, carefully avoiding the signpost that no one cared enough to fix.

"It's not a birthday without karaoke."

The phrase brought a grin to my lips because Riley said that very same thing every year we came here. She probably didn't even do it on purpose, but she was so forgetful that it likely sounded new to her every single time.

The Corner, as all its regulars insisted to call it, was the only karaoke place in High Point that was not a bar. It hadn't changed at all since last year, even though it was in dire need of a makeover.

Every single detail was just as I remembered it—the faded blue paint on the wall and the lights that occasionally flickered in exhaustion, testifying of their long years of service. Perhaps, the owner was just as reticent to change as I was.

Not many people were inside, which was one of the best things about the Corner. It was never crowded.

I located my dad and my friends at an isolated corner in the back with a view of the stage, where two tables had been brought together to fit the size of our group.

Maybe our natural gravitation toward the back of any room should concern me, especially since we did the same thing at school—which was definitely an issue for our grades.

But it was our usual spot, mostly so that those who dared to sing wouldn't see our hysterical fits of laughter. The stage was the main entertainment of the place and throughout the years, we had witnessed some of the most hilarious performances.

Dad waved as we walked to them. I sat by Arson whose eyes had not left the stage since I walked in.

Following his gaze, I saw Brooklyn performing on stage a song that I didn't recognize. Her voice was half-muffled by the loud beat, but she seemed to reach all the notes with ease.