Crash
I replay the music for the end of the song over and over to give myself a minute to think. There's no background instruments, so I can't do it for too long. But I can't think straight and I need to recenter.
I can't stop seeing Tommy's face when he looked at his phone. The way he stared at me. It has to be her. There's no other explanation. I twinkle the melody on the keys again, playing like I'm just indulging myself. It's the kind of thing critics hate, but fans always forgive what they see as artistic expression . . .
I drop my head so I'm staring at the keys as if they're fascinating—so the close up cameras don't catch as much of my face.
Is he talking to Kelly right now? Will he take her attention away from the concert so she doesn't hear what's coming? It's the most important part. Is she even watching?
I pray the intensity of my expression works for the music, because I can't seem to bring myself to smile.
