Sunkissed by Kasie West (popular e readers .txt) 📕

his phone again. I held my hand out in front of him and it took a moment for him to look at it, confused.

“Let me see it,” I said.

One side of his mouth lifted into a smile and he placed his phone in my upturned hand. I looked at the apps on his first screen. There were several social media icons, a maps program, and a few games.

“Super boring, right?” He held out his hand as if he thought I was going to give it back without checking out the next screens. I swiped.

I could tell right away that this was the screen that held his life. He had a music editing app and a songwriting one. There was one for hiking and one that mapped the stars. He even had a poetry app. The last two at the bottom were a medical dictionary and something about signs and symptoms. They probably helped him navigate talking to doctors for his dad.

A text message popped up as I held his phone and my eyes scanned it without thinking:

$530 by the 1st. Are you sure you’re going to have all of that? You forgot to forward the hospital correspondence. Also, while you have service, call Gwen. She’s been trying to get ahold of you.

The smiled slipped off my face and I felt like a jerk.

“I’m sorry,” I said, handing it back.

“Why?” he asked. “Karma, right?”

“You got a text. I didn’t…I accidentally read it.”

He laughed a little. “It’s fine.” He read the text, tucked his phone in his pocket, and smiled at me. “It’s nothing you didn’t already know.”

Wasn’t it something I didn’t already know? Because I was certain he’d never said the name Gwen before.

A side door opened and music, which had been muffled before, became clear. A man stuck his head out the door. He was wearing a headset and carrying a clipboard. He referred to that clipboard now. “Brooks Marshall, you’re on deck.”

“Is that our band name?” I teased.

“No,” Brooks said.

“So vain,” I continued.

“You’re such a brat,” Brooks said, poking my side.

I laughed and grabbed his wrist. “The Brooks Marshall Band.”

He twisted his hand, releasing his wrist and entrapping mine. Our eyes locked. “Come on. We’re on deck.”

“Yes, on deck,” I said. “What does that mean?”

He flashed his teeth. “That we’re next.”

“Oh, right.”

We stood and walked toward the stage door. “Your brilliant word brain needs to think of a good band name,” he said.

My chest warmed with his compliment. “I’ll work on it.”

We walked up the stairs to the stage and waited in the dark wings as the band performing finished up their song. Then it was our turn. A row of lights nearly blinded me as I stepped onto the stage. I resisted the urge to hold my hand up and block them. I didn’t want to look like I was new to this. Brooks dragged a stool from the side of the stage to the middle, in front of a microphone that was set up. I sat down and he adjusted the microphone to my height.

“Whenever you’re ready,” a voice said over a speaker. I could just make out a table and five dark shapes behind that table in the middle of the theater chairs. It was actually kind of nice that I couldn’t see their faces. I hadn’t been expecting that.

Brooks leaned into the microphone in front of me, his hair brushing my cheek as he did. “Hey, I’m Brooks Marshall and this is Avery Young, and we’ll be performing an original song for you today called ‘Rewriting History.’ ”

“Sounds good,” a female voice said. “Go ahead.”

Brooks stepped away from the microphone, gave my shoulder a quick squeeze, and then swung his guitar around to the front of his body. I moved both hands to the microphone, stilling my breath. My legs were shaking even though I was sitting down. Brooks played the opening chords and I closed my eyes.

I sang the first lines with my eyes closed. “What’s tomorrow look like from over there because from here it looks a lot like yesterday….” My mind went completely blank and my heart jumped to my throat. My eyes flew open but still the words escaped me. “I’m sorry,” I said into the microphone. “Can we start again?”

That was it, I’d just lost this for us.

“Yes, please do,” a disembodied voice said curtly.

Brooks stepped in front of me. “Hey, look at me. You got this.”

Tears welled at the bottom of my eyes. “I just ruined everything.”

“You ruined nothing. Just keep your eyes on me the whole time, okay?”

“Okay.” I shifted on the stool so I was angled toward him. I could pretend we were in the back room at camp. Just me and Brooks. He offered me his magic smile and every nerve in my body relaxed. He nodded, then strummed the first chord. And as I sang to him, his expression softened and something like pride shone in his eyes. I didn’t look away.

The hum of the last chord hung in the air at the end of the song and I felt…exhilarated. I’d done it. Brooks gave me a quick wink and I turned toward the shadowy figures in the seats.

Finally, a voice said, “Okay, thank you. We’ll let you know once all the auditions are complete.”

“Thank you,” I said into the mic. Then I did a weird bow-curtsey thing and we rushed off the stage and back into the holding room.

My stomach decided it had held on long enough and I ran to the bathroom and straight to the first stall, where I threw up what little I’d eaten that morning into the toilet. Then I stood there, breathing heavy.

The door creaked open. “Avery?”

“I’m fine,” I said. But I wasn’t and another wave hit me, burning my throat and stinging my eyes as it came out.

“I’m coming in,” Brooks said. “Hope you’re alone.”

“You don’t need to come in.” I pushed the back of my wrist to my