51 | Hallway

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Use between for two things and among for more.

Choose between the two words
Choose among all the songs

Every time we try to leave the studio, the audience shouts at us and literally shoves us back in. Esther saw that they were overcrowding their side of the room and got MaryCatherine to hook our sound up to the speakers outside, so for the last few songs, we've been projecting to the whole house. People are recording and streaming, but Scott doesn't seem to mind. Maybe he's less nervous now about me blowing up or something, or maybe it's easier now I've said pretty explicitly that a) we're friends, and b) we're only friends.

He's checking his phone again, like he's expecting something. "Yo, Scotty. They ready. Lose the phone."

"Just checking the time." It's almost midnight, but I'm still up for a few more hours of revelry, and unless Scott's planning on kicking everyone out at the stroke of twelve, he'd better be too. He switches his mic off while I'm selecting another song. "Can you distract them, Mitch? I don't think they'll let me out of here unless you're singing. Pick something long. I need about five minutes."

He's got this dangerous gleam in his eyes that makes me hesitate. "Where are you going?"

"Bathroom?"

Fine, don't tell me. I roll my eyes and pull up Bohemian Rhapsody, just to see if I can still hit the high note. On second thought, maybe I should figure that out without at least fifty people listening. Too late; they're already cheering. Is this the real life? Is this just fantasy?

I hit the top note perfectly. I don't sustain it as long as I should, but I'm sure I could with a few tries. The song finishes at 11:50, Scott calls us all to the foyer and says a few words about how he appreciates our presence and support, and at midnight, he drops his album.

His album. Am I dreaming? How did we get here? There was no hype, no advertisement, nothing but the single he leaked, which could just as easily have stood alone. There was no release date and no mention of an album. I think he just pulled a Beyoncé.

He's removing a black silk cover from a neat stack of CDs and promising one to each of us. They're the only physical copies, he says, and they're all signed and numbered out of 150, like prints. He has to climb onto the coffee table to pass them out to the eager crowd. I can barely hear the first song playing on the speakers because everyone is talking, and they're packed so tightly that once they get their CDs, they can't get out of the way. It's like they're worried there won't be enough. I'm sure he's prepared extras, though, and he wouldn't let anyone leave disappointed even if he had to burn extra copies with his computer. I hang back and start downloading it on iTunes. Over and Over, by Scott Hoying.

If Kirstie were to call right now and say, "I changed my mind about having kids, I've been pregnant for the last nine months, and I've just delivered a healthy baby girl," I couldn't be more astounded. It takes longer to make an album than it takes to bake a bun in the oven, and like a baby bump, there comes a point where you give up trying to keep it a secret. Maybe I shouldn't be so surprised, though. Scott's wanted to do this ever since Beyoncé, and the only thing stopping him was the fear that it would flop. With his notoriety, that's not really a concern anymore.

He has to have been working on this since his last album came out, long before we started to reconcile. I'm dreading listening to it, but it's never stopped me before. This won't be quite the same, though. Knowing he believes me, knowing he's starting to feel differently, that makes all the difference.

Does Alex know? When he listens to this, will it hurt as much as the others? He tells himself he doesn't care, but he was too close to Scott to despise him as much as he thinks he does. Maybe I need to tell him there's some hope, and that his letter helped a little.

Why is this so hard to put into words? After failing to phrase my text right a few times, I give up and dial his number. No, it's late. What if he's asleep? Scott believes me, that we didn't cheat, I type. Wanted to let you know before you hear the album. No, that's no good. I don't even know what's in the album. I can call him in the morning. Or maybe I should text Jake. That'd be awkward if they broke up. They wouldn't, though. Still, it would seem like I was avoiding Alex. Maybe I am. I should call him. It's definitely a phone sort of conversation.

"Hey." I startle at Scott's voice and stash my phone like the Game Boy I used to hide from my teacher during chem lab while I let my partner do all the work. The crowd has dispersed a little, and there are no more CDs on the table.

"Hey," I respond casually, trying my utmost not to sound embarrassed. It's not that I was texting Alex, it's that I tried to hide it. I'm not ashamed, and I don't want him to think I am. I just don't want to start anything.

Scott doesn't seem to have noticed. "You didn't come for a CD."

"Didn't wanna get trampled. Don't worry if you're out, though; I got it on iTunes, and you'll let me listen to the full quality version at least once, right?"

"I have yours right here." It's labeled 1/150. He kept the first copy for me. "For my Number One."

I really don't know what to say. I accept it reverently and I hug him. I should have left while I still could. Now that he's right here, I can barely let go of him. Why should I? Who cares about everyone watching? I don't.

How can just holding someone feel so overwhelming? How can such a gentle, indescribable scent stir up this much emotion? I can't cry in front of all these people. Cry all you need, Mitch, but not in public. It freaks people out, makes them try to fix something they couldn't possibly change. "I'm not waiting anymore," I whisper to Scott. I reluctantly release him, but I cling to his gaze. "I know you're afraid to ask for it, but Todrick is right. The time is now." I watch his eyes and speak softly so that only he can hear. For too long, my soul has been aching to give him these three words, and until I tell him, none of the winding, sorrowful road I'm caught on can ever lead anywhere or mean anything. "Scott, I forgive you."

His face falls. "You can't do that." He glances up at the people all around and shakes his head. We can't talk here, and he can't leave his own party. This is going to be a long wait, and it's not helping that my body clock is off by nine hours.

"I can." I smile, but he's not convinced.

"It's sweet of you. It really is. It's more than I deserve. You need to take it back, though. I wish we could talk here. I... do you have anything tomorrow? Can you stay until after the party? I'll distract them, and you can sneak upstairs for a nap if you want."

I'm not doing anything until tomorrow evening, and getting away sounds almost as amazing as a nap. He goes back to the studio, and I'm clear to go hide away in his guest room. I want to listen to the album, but I don't have headphones and I don't want to draw attention, so I lie down instead and fall asleep to the muffled music from downstairs. Light in the Hallway. He picked a lullaby for me.

It's light when I wake. Birds are chirping outside, and downstairs, Scott and Esther are fighting.

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