Page 51 of Counting Down To You

I try not to squirm. Partly because that would involve pressing farther against Leo, and I don’t think that’s a wise idea. “I, um…” Everyone is looking at me. Including Leo. My skin thrums under his gaze. “I need a minute to think about what to sing.” A total lie, but I’m saved by Charlotte sticking her hand in the air. Well, I suppose she hasn’t been out of school long.

“I’ll go first,” Charlotte announces, already getting to her feet. In that moment, I feel immensely glad that she came along.

As the opening bars of Britney Spears fill the candlelit bar—on a piano no less—there is a groan from Marco and several whoops from Charlotte’s friends. To be fair to her, Charlotte can sing. She’s nowhere near as good as Robyn, but a hell of a lot better than me. My stomach curdles with anxiety, though it is lessened by the fact that I can still feel Leo’s leg, pressed against mine.

A few more people get brave enough to take the stage as I try to build my nerve. At some point, a pint of beer is set down in front of me. I don’t remember asking for one and I’m not entirely sure who bought it, but I sip it gratefully all the same. All the time, my focus isn’t on the singing, but on the man sitting next to me. The way his knee knocks against mine, as we’re compressed into even less space by the people on either side of us.

Mid-conversation with Marco, Leo reaches for his drink, his arm brushing against mine, and tiny currents of electricity dance over my skin. Embarrassing heat flares between my thighs. I try to cross my legs, but I end up closer to him in an attempt to do so. Leo’s glass hitches against his bottom lip, even as he nods at something Marco is saying.

I need to move. I’m way too hot to stay sitting here. I get to my feet, and everyone at the table looks at me.

“I’ll go next,” I announce. It’s for the best anyway—if I don’t do it soon, I’ll lose my nerve, and I don’t want to be drunk and slur my words.

I head to the microphones in the corner of the room, while applause sounds for the woman who has just finished her rendition of “Girls Just Want to Have Fun.” Apparently, it does not take much to get a bunch of people staying at a ski resort into the mood for karaoke. I square my shoulders as my feet carry me to the piano. The man playing it looks a little bored, but smiles at me nonetheless.

“What will it be?” He asks the question first in French, then in English.

I tell him the song. Remind myself that this is for Robyn. That I don’t really know any of these people, so it doesn’t matter what they think of me. Tell myself that I’m going to enjoy being the center of attention, like Robyn wanted.

But it is too bright, looking out at the crowd, like all the lights are pointing at me. I can hear the hum of chatter, but the people at the tables closest to me are looking right at me. Waiting. The opening bars begin to play.

I open my mouth. And freeze.

Panic clogs my throat. I can’t do this. I swallow as the piano starts again, giving me another chance. I hitch a sob. And I flee.

I keep my head down as I head straight for the exit, walking as quickly as I can. I don’t know if anyone jeers, or if the piano keeps on playing. All I can hear is a ringing in my ears, and the sound of my own breathing.

I push past a group of friends making their way inside, and gulp down the cold air outside. It is freezing, and I’m only wearing a thin top over jeans, my coat abandoned inside, but I welcome the feel of the fresh air on my skin even as I shiver. At my sides, my hands clench and unclench. Heat burns the back of my eyes as I blink, desperately trying to stop the tears.

I couldn’t do it. I failed—again. That is two challenges in a row that I haven’t done. I’m letting Robyn down. I couldn’t call my brother, and I can’t do this. I heave in more gulps of air, wrapping my arms around me and scrunching my eyes shut. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be doing any of this—not without Robyn.

“Ali?” Leo’s voice is soft, tentative. And right behind me.

I turn to find his pale green eyes waiting for me. He saw that. He saw me attempt to sing, and he saw me bolt. No doubt he’s come outside because, as my so-called boyfriend, it would be odd if he didn’t check up on me.

“Hey.” I really hope he doesn’t catch the wobble in my voice.

His gaze doesn’t leave mine. A couple come out through the door, and candlelight spills out, illuminating the side of his face. “Are you okay?”

I open my mouth to say that yes, I’m fine, but instead what comes out is, “I can’t do it.”

“That’s okay.” His voice is calm. Soothing. “You don’t have to.”

I wrap my arms tighter around myself. “It was my idea. Everyone will think—”

“No one will remember whose idea it was,” Leo says firmly. “And no one is thinking anything right now—apart from Charlotte, who is clearly thinking this is the beginning of her rise to fame.”

I can’t bring myself to smile. “I have to do it,” I whisper.

He takes a step toward me. It seems a little careful. “Ali—”

“You don’t get it. My friend—the one who died. She…” And it’s spilling out of me—the calendar, the tradition, the challenges. It’s garbled and I’m speaking too quickly and I’m not sure it makes sense, but I’m telling him. I hitch in a breath, looking down at the salted pavement underneath my feet. “I have to do it,” I mumble. “I know it might not make sense, but I have to do it, for her.”

For a moment, Leo says nothing. I glance up to see him studying me in a way I can’t quite read. But as he nods, his expression smooths out. “Did she say you had to do it alone?” he asks.

I frown. “What?”

“The karaoke song—do you have to do it alone?”