“Absolutely not.”
Zadie scrunched her left eye closed, a spinning disco ball reflecting in her right, bright white sparks that gave off the illusion of genius. The bearded man onstage chuckled into the microphone nervously as his friends whistled at him from the back of the room. Zadie held her stare for a few more seconds, then turned to her sister and said, “Michael Jackson. ‘Beat It.’”
Finn raised one eyebrow. “You sure?”
Zadie wasnotsure. Her premonition had been fuzzy. All she’d been able to glean from it was that the first letter of the song started with aB.That was like guessing one letter correctly onWheel of Fortuneand going straight for the win. “Uh… yes?”
The song that began to play did start with aB,but it was not performed by Michael Jackson. It was by America’s most famous flightless Eagle, Don Henley.
“Did I say ‘Beat It’? I meant ‘Boys of Summer.’”
“So close,” Finn said sarcastically.
“I guess I’m a little rusty.” How had Finn convinced her to play Psychic Karaoke? She had cajoled her, of course. Her sister had given some speech about missing the time they spent together as kids, and that this game reminded her of those days, and would she please,pleaseplay just this once?
“One song,” Zadie had conceded after Finn’s begging had started to turn heads, but now that she’d gotten the first guess wrong, she felt a need to redeem herself. When the next performer was announced, Zadie focused all her mental energy on the stage.
“Got anything yet?” Finn asked.
“Shh! I’m trying to concentrate.” Zadie let out a slow breath and the weightless feeling in her stomach returned; with it, a name. Zadie blurted it out as if it would vanish if she didn’t get it off her tongue. “Aretha Franklin.”
“Song?”
Zadie hesitated. She had only a name. Before she could even make a guess, the opening bars to Franklin’s “Think” started playing over the karaoke speakers. “Shit,” she muttered.
“If you wanna stop playing, I get it,” Finn teased.
Zadie gave her sister a withering stare. “I’ll get it next time. Watch me.”
“Oh, I’m watching.” Without breaking eye contact, Finn clumsily grabbed a fry from the basket, dipped it in ketchup, and shoved it in her mouth. “Tell you what. How about we make it interesting?” she said, chewing.
“Go on.”
“If you get it right, I’ll give you the rest of the fries in this basket. If not, I eat them all.”
“Deal.”
A few minutes later, as “Think” drew to a close, Zadie threw the shutters of her mind wide open. A premonition was there waiting for her. Without hesitation, she said, “‘Friends in Low Places.’ Garth Brooks.”
“You sound pretty confident.”
“I am.” Although her voice wavered.
An older gentleman wearing a leather vest and cowboy boots climbed onto the stage. He pulled the microphone from its stand and began tapping his toes to the rhythm of the cymbals playing through the speakers.
Was this how the song started? Zadie couldn’t remember. Then the man began to sing, “Blame it all on my roots…”
“Boom!” Finn was in the middle of reaching for another fry when Zadie snatched the basket away from her. “I’ll take my winnings. Thank you.”
Finn didn’t look mad about the fries. Instead she grinned in a toothy, self-satisfied way. Zadie eyed her suspiciously. “What?”
She shrugged. “Nothing.”
“Seriously. Why are you smiling?”
“I just missed this side of you.”
“Thefunside?”