Chapter Twenty-Seven
Wait. A microphone? Adam doesn’t sing. He can probably play any instrument on the planet, but he doesn’t sing. Not even in the shower or in the car when the radio’s turned up loud. The microphone must be for the guitar.
Focus, Livi. ADAM IS ON THE FREAKING STAGE.
He adjusts the guitar strap around his neck, then fiddles with the microphone, bringing it up to the right height in front of his mouth. HIS MOUTH! He’s going to be singing. I’m almost certain of it, and I suddenly feel insanely nervous for him. What if he messes up and embarrasses himself? What if he sounds awful? What if people boo him? It doesn’t happen often, but there was an intoxicated guy up there just now who sounded so terrible he earned himself a whole chorus of boos.
Adam shuffles closer to the
