Archive of Our Own

Name both members of Wham!.  You know, Wham!.  The pop duo from the 1980s.  “Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go.”  That duo.  What are their names?

George Michael.  Yes, that’s one of them.  You’ve got one, already!  Lead vocalist.  The gay one.  After Wham! broke up, he went on to record even more pop hits, such as “Careless Whisper,” which was actually a Wham! song first, fun fact.  

As if he hadn’t already made enough waves, George Michael went on to release his first solo album, Faith, featuring the ever-so-controversial single, “I Want Your Sex,” which—fun fact—was actually a song about the beauty of monogamous relationships.  Despite that, it was still banned from many radio stations.  

Just as George Michael had achieved sex symbol status, he started raising money for AIDS awareness, and that was before he came out as a gay man in 1998.  

That was the kind of artist people talked about.  He didn’t care that he was controversial; he wanted to do the right thing.  He was a good man and a talented musician.  

Now, name the other member of Wham!.  You can do it.  Just a name will do.  

And… time’s up.  

His name was Andrew Ridgeley.  Actually, he’s still alive.  He sang backup vocals and played the guitar.  He was sort of known for being the party animal of the duo, although that could have just been a tabloid story.  

He put out a relatively unsuccessful album after Wham! broke up, and at some point—fun fact—tried his hand at Formula Three Racing.  

Not F1.  F3.  

Caitlyn Kiramman often wondered if Andrew Ridgeley felt seen while he was in Wham!.  Probably not.  If being in Wham! was anything like being in a Wham! cover duo, he probably had it worse than Caitlyn.  Being overshadowed was hard enough, but to be overshadowed by the George Michael?

It all started in college.  It was the spring semester of their senior year.  Caitlyn had ordered her cap and gown.  Her mother bought her a beautiful dress to wear at the party after the ceremony.  There was nothing she could do to ruin her perfect GPA.  

She was about to graduate with not one, but two degrees: one in piano performance and another in music production.  

But she still hadn’t exactly figured out what she would do after graduating.  She could just hear her mother berating her.  Have you had your fun yet?  Was this rebellious phase worth it?

Her parents had insisted she add a third major in music education—something to fall back on, her father insisted, in case production didn’t work out.  

But Caitlyn took after her mother, and thus, her stubborn side got the best of her.  

So, in an act of desperation, bleary-eyed after yet another demo ignored by a record label, Caitlyn found herself outside her favorite campus practice room staring at a MUSICIAN WANTED posting.  

The person who tacked it to the bulletin board sought a keyboard player for a pop cover duo, preferably someone with composition and arrangement experience.  Caitlyn had minored in composition.  Several of the composition classes doubled for her production major, after all.  

She texted the number, Hello.  My name is Caitlyn.  Can you please tell me more about the cover duo you are forming?

And so it was decided.  Caitlyn would try out for this pop duo.  She would perform with this stranger and make some money to either finish paying for school or put a down payment on an apartment.  It would be at most a year.  It would probably be much less than that.  Caitlyn was talented; it wouldn’t be long before she got a job at a record label. 

Two years later, as she played the keyboard at another senior center event—a gig, as Vi called it—Caitlyn realized it actually would be a long time before someone would recognize her talents.  

In front of her, Vi shed her leather jacket, revealing a CHOOSE LIFE t-shirt.  She took the microphone from the stand in front of her.  “You put the boom-boom into my heart…” 

Caitlyn leaned into her microphone and sang, “Whoo-hoo!”

Vi and Caitlyn had settled on the idea of a Wham! cover group for a few reasons.  For one, Caitlyn’s primary instrument was the keyboard, and Vi wanted to utilize that.  And technically speaking, Caitlyn could sing.  She just… didn’t have the best voice.  It would be better to perform songs where Vi would assume most of the vocal responsibility.  Besides, Vi majored in vocal performance, and she was good.  It would be a waste not to showcase her talents as much as possible.  

She continued to sing, swaying and putting on a show for the senior citizens.  “Jitterbug into my brain…”

“Yeah-yeah!” Caitlyn echoed.  

“Wake Me Up Before You Go Go” was their setlist finale.  Sometimes, when Vi was feeling especially cheeky, she’d pretend to go off-stage after “Freedom” and treat “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go” like an encore.  

Caitlyn never knew what to do when she did that.  Was she supposed to get up from the keyboard and pretend to leave with Vi?  Was she supposed to play the intro while Vi was off-stage?  If she wore her stupid 80s visor, she couldn’t even see if Vi was coming back!

She’d nearly had a heart attack the first time Vi pulled that stunt.  

But the audience loved it.  They loved Vi’s cheeky attitude.  After all, she was a natural showwoman.  She had the swagger, the talent, and the awesome hair of a young lesbian version of George Michael, but she brought something new to the table, and that’s what people liked about her.  

Who cared about Caitlyn’s improvised piano solo on “Club Tropicana” when Vi was dancing around in the audience, twirling little kids and blowing kisses to old ladies?  

Caitlyn didn’t want to seem bitter, though.  Vi deserved all of the attention she got.   

“Take me dancing tonight…” Vi finished. 

As Caitlyn let the keyboard fade, Vi cleared her throat and said into the microphone, “Thank you so much for coming out this afternoon, everyone!”  She gestured behind her.  “That’s my friend Caitlyn on the keys!”

The elderly people clapped politely.  

“My name is Vi, and we are The Wham! Experience!”

At the mention of her own name, a couple of people cheered.  

Yes, Vi was the George Michael of their duo, and Caitlyn was… the other guy.  

Is this how Andrew Ridgeley felt?  

At least Andrew Ridgeley was a guitarist.  He could dance around on stage with George Michael.  Caitlyn sat still and played the keys, fading into the background.  She was nothing but a prop.  

Vi took a bow, and the lights in the multi-purpose room turned back on.  

Immediately, a disorderly line formed in front of her.  

And so it begins, Caitlyn thought as she turned off her keyboard and unplugged it from the power strip.  

Carefully, she used her arm to wind the black wire, and then she put it in the milk crate where she kept all of their carefully labeled electrical materials.  She unplugged the speakers and wound their wires with care as well.  

“Oh, yeah, I’ve always been into Wham!,” Vi said to an old lady.  

When everything was unplugged from the first power strip, Caitlyn unplugged it from the wall and added it to her crate of wires.  

She moved to the front of their makeshift stage and tapped the microphone.  

Pop, pop.

Of course.  No matter how many times Caitlyn asked her to, Vi simply would never remember to turn off the microphone.  

“No, I’m not trying to be the next George Michael,” Vi said to an admirer.  “He was an inspiration.  I just hope we can keep his memory alive through music.”

“It’s what he would have wanted,” said an old man with tennis balls on his walker.  

Caitlyn wound the microphone wire and put it in the box, along with the microphone.  

She scowled at the monkey sticker that Vi let her sister put on it.  Didn’t she realize how expensive their equipment was?  Caitlyn was trying to pay for it without her father’s assistance, thank you very much. 

“Thank you,” Vi said, “but I can’t perform full-time yet.  I gotta put my sister through vo-tech before I can even think about that.”

Caitlyn collapsed the microphone stand and… shoot, she forgot to set up the wagon.  

Carefully, she placed the mic stand on the floor next to her crate of wires.  

“Oh, geez, I’d love to stick around, but I have a shift at the bar tonight,” Vi said.  

That was one of the reasons why Caitlyn, after realizing she was the only person on campus willing to work with a Zaunite like Vi, decided to see this commitment through.  

Vi had a good heart.  The Wham! cover duo was only one of her three jobs.  On Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays, Vi was an aide at a daycare in Zaun.  On nights when Vi couldn’t schedule a gig, she’d pick up some babysitting jobs or serve drinks at a dive bar.  She’d invited Caitlyn to visit her at The Last Drop before, but that was in the part of town her father didn’t want her going to.  He was convinced the Zaunites would stab her.  Or shoot her.  Or both at the same time.  

Of course, she couldn’t blame her father for being paranoid any more than she could blame Vi for being so damn lovable. 

“Oh, goodness…” said a wavering voice.  

Caitlyn turned around to find an old man pointing a remote at the television—the very same one she’d unplugged two hours ago so she could plug in her power strip.  

She sighed.  It’d be fine to leave her mic stand on the floor just a few moments longer.  It was better than leaving a wire on the floor.  

“Here, sir,” she said, plugging the television back in.  “Try it now.”

He beamed when the picture filled the screen.  “Thank you, dear.”  He dropped an unwrapped butterscotch candy in her hand, and she tried not to wince.  

“You’re welcome…” she trailed off, scanning the room for a garbage can where she could subtly be rid of this candy.  

“What a wonderful show,” the man said, turning the volume up and down.  He frowned.  

“Is there something you wanted to watch?” Caitlyn asked.  

“The home and gardening channel should be playing a feature on woodworking…”

Caitlyn took the remote and flipped through the channels.  

“Did you enjoy it?” he asked her.  

“Pardon me?”

“Did you enjoy the singer?”

Caitlyn could have clarified the situation.  It wouldn’t have been difficult to say, Oh, actually, I’m the keyboard player.  We’re a duo.

It wouldn’t have been difficult for a normal person to say that.  

Unfortunately, Caitlyn was not a normal person.  

The psychiatrist called it Spoon Theory.  

Suppose you have ten spoons in the morning, and every time you have to do something that requires energy—social, physical, or mental—you lose a certain number of spoons.  For Caitlyn, an all-day study session might only cost her half a spoon.  Emailing a demo to a record label took about two or three spoons, depending on how confident she was about it.  

With some alone time, her spoons would refill, and she’d have more to give tomorrow.  

Sometimes, though, she’d be faced with something that took more spoons than she had in her drawer.  Back in college, she’d spent the morning of Halloween buying groceries with her roommate, helping her pick out food and liquor for a party.  

About halfway through the party, she’d run out of spoons.  

The thing with people like Caitlyn was that most of them could dip into their spoon stock for the next day and make it through the rest of the party.  

Caitlyn had things a little more difficult, and no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t make it.  Her response had been to freeze completely, and thus, she was that weird girl in the corner who didn’t talk to anyone.  

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to talk to anyone.  

She couldn’t.  

So she pulled herself back into her present situation, glanced at the old man, and nodded.  

“I bet that girl is going places,” he said.  “She’s got such a lovely voice.”

Twenty-one years of piano lessons for this.  Caitlyn was a prodigy.  She could play Mozart before she could talk.  

Yet for some reason, she chose to live the life of a low-budget Andrew Ridgeley, forever in the shadow of her George Michael.  

“Thank you so much,” Vi said.  “Oh, a picture?  Sure!” 

Caitlyn could get more recognition recording elevator music or playing piano at a cocktail lounge.  

At least then she wouldn’t have to wear this stupid outfit from 1983.  

***

Caitlyn startled and turned off the music playing from her phone when Vi finally opened the door and climbed into the driver’s seat of her old Subaru Outback.  

“Sorry ‘bout that,” she said.  “The old folks just wouldn’t let me leave this time.”

When Caitlyn didn’t respond, she kept talking.  

“I mean, they usually are a little clingy, but today…”  She shook her head.  “We need a signal for next time, so you know when to rescue me.  Okay, Cupcake?”

Caitlyn nodded.  

“Like, if I scratch my nose, you pretend to pass out.”

Caitlyn frowned.  

“Yeah, maybe that’s too much.”  Vi buckled her seatbelt and turned the key in the ignition.  “Geez, it’s freezing out.  You could have taken the key with you.”

She shrugged.  

“Want me to take you back to yours?”

She nodded, wishing Vi could stop being so nice and let her stew in her thoughts.  

“Cool.”

When Caitlyn didn’t reply, she then repeated herself.  “Cool, cool, cool.”  

Caitlyn turned on the stereo, hoping the music would distract Vi.  

It did the opposite.  

“Oh, they switched to Christmas music!”  Vi turned the volume up.  “Finally!”

Mariah Carey played on the old crackly stereo.  

After a minute, Vi asked, “Something on your mind?”

Finally, Caitlyn said, “It’s silly.”

“May I remind you of the Nothing Leaves the Subaru policy?”

She snorted.  

“You can tell me anything, Cupcake.”

She sighed and looked out the window while she spoke.  “I suppose… I know it’s silly because I was performing with you, but I don’t… I don’t feel like anyone notices me.”

“What?” Vi asked in disbelief.  “Not to invalidate your feelings, but you’re so important!  Cait, I couldn’t do this without you!”

Caitlyn knew she was important.  She composed all of the arrangements.  Importance wasn’t the issue.  

“Seriously, I’m shit at playing keys, and the whole dyslexia thing makes writing music a total pain in the ass.  You’re a lifesaver.”

“Yes, but-”

“I’d look like an idiot if you weren’t here to back me up!”  Vi stopped at a red light.  

Back me up.  

Yes, that’s what Caitlyn was, wasn’t she?  Backup.  Always a few inches away from Vi’s spotlight.  

“People see you,” Caitlyn said.  “They want to talk to you after the show.”

Vi scoffed.  “That’s just old ladies projecting their crushes on George Michael onto me.”

“You got a girl’s number two weeks ago,” she replied, “and she was pretty.”

“I didn’t call her.”  

Caitlyn wanted to remind Vi that it still happened, but the car came to a stop at the end of the Kiramman’s driveway.  

“Look.  Caitlyn, look at me.”

It took an extra half a spoon, but she didn’t have anywhere else to be on that Sunday afternoon, so she looked at Vi.  

“I need you,” she said.  “I mean, we’re dorks, Cait.  Who in their right mind starts a Wham! cover duo?”

“We did.”

“Uh, exactly!” Vi said.  

“That was a rhetorical question, wasn’t it?”

Vi’s cheeks turned red.  “No!  I mean…”

Caitlyn glared.  

“Yeah.  But it’s fine!”

She waved her off.  “Go on with your speech so I can go home.”  She could see her dog through the window; she was up on the furniture again.  Caitlyn and her father weren’t supposed to let Ruby on the sofa, but neither of them had bothered to scold her for it in well over a year.  

“Listen,” Vi said.  “The Christmas shows are coming up soon.  You love the Christmas shows, right?”

Caitlyn nodded.  

“Right.  So you’ll be on your A-game these next couple of gigs.  And people will have to notice you!”  She snapped her fingers.  “I’ve got it!  Take a verse on ‘Last Christmas,’ and people will definitely notice you!”

“I’m not much of a singer,” she said.  

“We’ll practice,” Vi said.  “Plus, people don’t get to hear your voice much when you just sing backups.  I bet plenty of guys find that accent hot.”

“Excuse me?” she blurted.  

Vi froze.  “Sorry.  I guess we don’t usually talk about this kind of stuff.  Or anything not related to George Michael.  Uh, a boyfriend…”  She trailed off.  “You have one?”

Caitlyn shook her head.  

“Oh, good.  I mean, not good-good.  I was… Well, I’d be pretty mad if you had a lousy boyfriend who never came to any of our shows.”  She wrung her hands and looked at her lap.  “But we’ll find you one!  Unless I’m making you uncomfortable… Which I clearly am, based on the look on your face… I’m rambling.  I’ll stop now.”

The heating in the car slowed.  

The radio played a commercial for a local grocery chain.  

“I’m a lesbian,” Caitlyn said at last.  

“Wow,” Vi said, scratching the back of her neck.  “I can’t believe I never knew that about you.”

Caitlyn didn’t know how to respond to that.  

“There are a lot of things I don’t know about you,” she continued.  “Like, what do you want to do with your degree?  What kind of girls do you like?  What are your favorite pizza toppings?”

Ruby pawed at the window.  Thank goodness for Ruby and her excitement.  

“My dog is scratching the window,” Caitlyn said.  “I really should be going.”

“Is that a Doberman?” Vi asked.  “What’s his name?  Or is it a girl dog?”

Caitlyn opened the passenger door and shrugged her backpack on.  

It seemed as if Vi had just realized it was time to let her go inside.  “Oh,” she said, her voice dropping.  “Um, you know… there’s this little cafe next to the campus we’re playing at next weekend.  They have really good hot apple cider.”

She blinked.  

Ruby started barking, her voice muffled by the glass of the window.  

“That’s nice,” Caitlyn said.  

Vi chuckled.  “Would you want to go together after the gig?  We can talk more.”

She glanced between the car and her house.  There wasn’t any time for this conversation.  She was so behind on work.  She had demos to send to record labels, and this new beat in her head-

“It’s just that I’ve known you for so long, but I don’t know if I really, like, know you.  Does that make any sense?”

Caitlyn shook her head.  If she were to stand here in the cold any longer, she’d need to zip up her jacket.  

Vi smiled.  “It’s okay.  Forget I said that.  Um, I’d really like it if we could get cider after the show next week, though.  My treat.”

She did like hot apple cider.  “Maybe.”

The corner of Vi’s mouth turned up in a smile.  “Awesome.  Okay, great.  I won’t keep you.  Bye, Cait!”

She waved and then tiptoed over the ice on her walkway so she wouldn’t slip.  Piltover hadn’t even had its first snow of the season yet, but temperatures had dropped low enough that she and her father would need to have their property salted.  

“I’m home, Father!” she called as she shut the door behind her.  

Her father emerged from the kitchen.  He had a blue apron tied around his waist.  “Hello, Kitty!  Just making dinner!”

“Woof!”  Ruby’s nails clacked against the hardwood floor as she ran to greet Caitlyn.  

She pet her Doberman behind the ears and looked her father over again.  “Where is Annette?”

“I sent her home early,” he explained.  “Thought I’d make us something special.”

And by special, he meant Ionian.  

“Does your friend want to come in for dinner?”

“Vi is my coworker.”

He nodded.  “In any case, it should be ready in about an hour.”

“I have to follow up with a few labels I sent my demos to,” she said, “and then I’m making a new one to send to this Noxian company.”

Her father rakes a hand through his hair.  “Are you sure you don’t want me to reach out to my friend-”

“Yes, father,” she said, exasperated.  “I don’t want to work for a pop label.”

“Well, you can start in pop and then move…”  He stirred the noodles on the stove and then smelled the spoon.  “Do you want to try some before you head up, Kitty?”

She shook her head.  “I have to work on my demo.”

Her father smiled weakly.  “Don’t forget to take a break.”

Ruby followed Caitlyn on the stairs and into her bedroom.  It wasn’t the best space for recording, but she had the computer programs she needed to properly mix what she did record.  

She petted Ruby’s head and then pulled on her headphones before logging onto her email.  

NO NEW MESSAGES.  

She pulled up her spreadsheet with the list of record labels she’d sent her music to.  

The possibilities were running out.  She had yet to send her demo to a few Noxian labels, but those were long shots.  

She needed to follow up with a few labels she’s already contacted to see if they were offering any internships.  At this point, even just a foot in the door would help.  

She pulled up the template she’d written for things like this:

Good morning/afternoon [record label].  

She replaced some of the words.  

Good morning, Top Dawg Records.  

She’d schedule the email to send on Monday; it’d be the first thing in the hiring manager’s inbox.  

Top Dawg would be a great opportunity.  All of its artists were up-and-coming, and it was growing rapidly.  Surely, they’d need someone to run coffee to all of the new producers they’d be hiring.  

There were a few of the Ionian labels her father had pointed her to on the spreadsheet.  She added them just to please him while he was staring over her shoulder one day.  Ionian labels were mostly pop labels, and Caitlyn, for better or for worse, had her eyes on the prize.  

She refreshed her inbox.  

“Really?  Nothing?”  

She closed out of her internet browser and opened Logic so she could work on her demo.  

Her lyrics… her lyrics could use some work, but she was a producer, not a poet.  Not an artist.  

And she certainly wasn’t Andrew Ridgeley.  

Ironically, however, the track she’d chosen to sample was a Wham! track.  Just the synth on “Everything She Wants.”  It was a versatile track, but to use a sample on her demo could be risky if she couldn’t make it vastly different from the original.  

Unfortunately for her, the song is about a man who works endlessly for a partner who just doesn’t get it, and Caitlyn couldn’t really get away from that feeling long enough to come up with something about… 

She picked up a dart and tossed it at her board, where she’d stuck a bunch of different vague ideas for songs.  

Thwack!

Ruby raised her head, and then, seeing that it was just Caitlyn being an idiot again, rested it back on top of her paws.  

Caitlyn tossed a second one in case she didn’t like the first one, and a third dart just for good measure.  

She took off her headphones, got up, and removed her first dart.  

The song will be about…

She squinted as she attempted to read her messy handwriting.  

“Huh.”

Well, that one was illegible.  

She threw it in the trash and picked the second dart.  

The song will be about…

SCISSORING.  

She scoffed.  Her?  Write a song about lesbian sex?  She’d… well, she’d written songs that were vaguely about sex before, but without ever having had sex, how could she ever properly convey the feeling of something as specific as scissoring?

She was pathetic enough, what with being a twenty-four-year-old virgin.  She didn’t need to have a painfully inaccurate song about scissoring in her repertoire to accompany that.  

She looked at the third piece of paper.  

SHIMMER.  

Where had she come up with these far-fetched ideas?

Caitlyn could admit she grew up in a relatively sheltered household.  She had a strict curfew.  Her homework was always done on time, and she always brushed her teeth and her hair before bed.  She was the kind of kid who never had to say no to drugs because none of her classmates ever thought to offer her any.  

Deep down, she knew she lacked any of the street cred she needed to make a proper song.  

And she was a Kiramman.  She couldn’t acquire any experience firsthand without tainting her mother’s memory.  They didn’t even have shimmer dealers in Piltover!

But there were drug issues in Zaun.  

The kids who grew up in Zaun had street cred.  

Perhaps…

Caitlyn grabbed her phone from where she had it stowed away in her backpack, expecting the only notification to be from her father wishing her good luck at the performance, but much to her surprise, she had one from Vi, too.  

No pressure about apple cider next week!

And then another text: I know gigs tire you out.  Just thought it might be nice to do something other than play music (:

Was she really about to do this?

Thank you for the invitation, Caitlyn wrote back.  That sounds lovely.

It didn’t change the fact that Vi was just a coworker.  Consider it research.  

Her phone buzzed, but she figured it was just Vi’s reply, so she didn’t bother to open it.  

Instead, she opened a new Logic project: EVERYTHING SHE WANTS COVER.  

She’d finished mixing the drum loop a while ago; she just needed to change some of the pitches so they’d be more comfortable for Vi’s voice.  

She looked at what she had so far.  

“Somebody told me…” she sang.  It was comfortable in her register, but probably too low for Vi’s.  

She clicked the quarter note until it seemed to be in a spot that would rest comfortably in Vi’s range… or maybe she needed to change the key of the song altogether?  

At her feet, Ruby gave her a judgmental look that said, You could just text Vi and ask her what she thinks.  Or maybe she was saying, Your noodles are going to be cold.

She would just have to find out what Vi thought when she emailed her the sheet music after she was finished.  She could change it back if Vi thought it didn’t feel right.  

That was how they always did things.  

“'Boy, everything she wants is everything she sees…'”

***

Vi pointed to the sky and closed her eyes as she belted what Caitlyn could tell was becoming her favorite part of the new arrangement.  

“Somebody tell me, oh…”

Caitlyn leaned over her keyboard so she could reach the mic.  “Won’t you tell me?”

“Why I work so hard for you…” Vi sang, her voice loud and clear.  During the soundcheck, she discovered she had to draw the microphone further from her face for that part if she didn’t want to destroy their sound equipment.  

“Give you money…”  It was her own arrangement, yet Caitlyn hated the backup vocals on this one.  She felt silly, and there were just so many lines.  It was more singing than she was used to.  

Then again, Wham! never failed to make her feel silly.  Whether it be the cheesy backup lines or the weird outfits, Caitlyn was always left wondering how Andrew Ridgeley tolerated this.  Vi looked like a goddess, prancing and twirling onstage in a silk button-down dress shirt, while Caitlyn…

Caitlyn had a red plaid ribbon tied around her neck like the world’s most disappointing Christmas gift.  

Vi strutted around the stage and sang, “If my best isn’t good enough, then how can it be good enough for two?”

That was Caitlyn’s cue.  “Uh-huh, uh-huh…”

Vi twirled around, distracting everyone from Caitlyn’s awful singing and-

And at some point, when Caitlyn wasn’t paying attention, she’d unbuttoned her shirt the entire way to her waist.  It was hanging on by a button for dear life!

Vi popped the collar and blew Caitlyn a cheeky kiss, causing her fingers to trip over a key.  Goodness, was she binding?  Was that even safe?

The students at the community college were loving it.  Well, the girls with dyed hair and septum piercings, mostly, and of course, the elderly.  Were those administrators?  Students?  Caitlyn wasn’t sure.  

Of course, there were still elderly people at the community college.  Likely, they were just Piltovans bored in their retirement, taking some classes in literature or history to keep their brains sharp.  At first, Caitlyn thought for certain that those were the people their performance was being advertised to.  

And then she saw one of the posters in the student center.  

In faded ink, Vi stood tall on the paper, arms flexed, tattoos on display.  

So that explained all of the horny lesbians in the audience this evening.  

Caitlyn was gay, too, and perfectly capable of being used as bait to lure a wild pack of lesbians to the community college multipurpose room on a Friday night.  

Evidently, she realized as Vi reached into the sea of admirers, the queer folk at Piltover Area Community College weren’t interested in dorky femme lesbians.  

And that was perfectly fine by Caitlyn.  She needed to work on her career.  Once she landed her dream job, moved out, and produced a hit song, the girlfriend thing would follow.  

Caitlyn played the chords to “Last Christmas,” her brain on autopilot while Vi sang to a redhead in the first row.  

“I’ll give it to someone special…”

“Special…” Caitlyn repeated, leaning into her mic.  Did she even need to sing backup if the audience was so entranced by Vi?  Would they notice if she stopped?  

She scoffed to herself.  They probably wouldn’t even notice if she threw one of her ankles up on the keyboard and played an Elton John-esque solo.  

The redhead batted her eyes at Vi as she launched into the next verse.  

Perhaps Caitlyn would finally take her mother’s advice: Don’t complain about being single if you’re never going to leave the house.

She… She did have a good point.  

But the Kiramman Manor had Caitlyn’s production equipment, and the private chef, and Ruby, and she always had enough spoons to get through her days, and not…

Vi swiveled her hips and sang, “But if you kissed me now, I know you’d fool me again…”

“Let me have your babies!” a girl screamed.  

That.  That was why Caitlyn never left her house.  As much as she appreciated women, they scared her.  

“Oh my gods!  She’s so hot!”

If Caitlyn were watching a beautiful woman performing—not that she frequently found herself in that situation—she wouldn’t be screaming over the singer.  Vi was more than just muscle and sex appeal.  She had an amazing voice, probably the best one Caitlyn had ever heard.  Despite growing up in the fissures, where the air was practically poisoned, Vi’s voice remained crystal clear.  

If Caitlyn’s struggle to leave the Wham! cover group and pursue production was a shame, then Vi not being able to pursue her singing was downright depressing.  The least she deserved was the undivided attention of her audience.  

But what did Caitlyn know?  Maybe this was what it meant to be seen.  Maybe being seen was having phone cameras thrust into your face and hands grasping at your wrists and ankles.  

Even when she still made appearances at Piltover Council galas and Kiramman Charity luncheons, nobody had ever seemed quite this desperate to have a photo of her.  

The song wrapped up, and Vi held the mic to her mouth, breathing heavily as she caught her breath.  So they weren’t going for the encore today.  

“I love you!” someone shouted.  

Vi looked down at her shoes and smirked.  She was an expert at accepting compliments from the elderly, but the college lesbians were a completely different breed of human.  

“Well, thanks,” Vi said.  “You guys have been a great audience.  It’s been real.”

People shouted and cheered again.   

“Uh…”  She trailed off.  “Sorry, we’re not used to so much hype.  I’m Vi-”

“That’s such a sexy name!”

“I love you, Vi!”

Vi cleared her throat and gestured behind her.  “And none of this would be possible without Caitlyn.”

Caitlyn sat up a little straighter.  Did she look okay?  Did she have hat hair from that stupid visor again?  

“She makes all of the arrangements, plays the keyboard…”  Vi winked at her.  “And she puts up with me, so that’s pretty cool.  What do you say we play one more song, Cait?”

So they were going for the encore. 

She wasn’t really sure what to do, so she just nodded and changed the output on her keyboard from the synth to the rock organ sound she needed for “Wake Me Up Before You Go Go.”

And just like that, they were off to the races, Vi dancing around like a maniac, and despite how silly her dance moves were, the college students ate it up.  

Nobody but George Michael could sound cool while singing the lyric, Don’t leave me hanging on like a yo-yo, but here Vi was, defying the modern standards of coolness.  Her unbuttoned dress shirt probably helped her case, though.  

And then the set ended, and Caitlyn could have gone to sleep right there at her keyboard if not for the buzz of the multipurpose room.  

She barely had any spoons left; how was Vi able to attend to the mob of people attempting to form a line in front of her?  

“Thank you for having us,” she said, shaking hands with a man who looked like a professor.  

Some twenty-something-year-olds leaned in close for a selfie with Vi.  

And as she’d done since they formed The Wham! Experience, Caitlyn started packing up their equipment.  She turned off the keyboard and the speakers, and unplugged the wires, being sure not to wind them too tightly.  

“Oh, uh…”  For once, it sounded like Vi was at a loss for words.  “Thank you?  I mean, I work out at the public gym in Zaun whenever I have time.”

Caitlyn unplugged a string of Christmas lights.  Yes, bringing their own Christmas lights was an extra hassle when it was time to clean up, but they made Vi happy, and she didn’t want to disappoint Vi.  

“Oh, like you have it all set up in your house?” Vi asked.  “Like, weights and everything?”

“Mhmm,” the redhead from earlier said.  “And I could really use someone to spot me.”  She wore an oversized Christmas sweater as a dress and stockings.  Shear stockings!  In December!  Wasn’t she chilly?  

“Are we good to start playing the radio again?” a guy in a navy jumpsuit asked, causing Caitlyn to jump.  

She nodded.  “Our things are unplugged,” she said, picking up a speaker and lugging it to where the collapsed wagon lay.  She needed to set it up still—shit.  

“Can I help you carry this stuff?” the custodian asked, nodding to the speaker.  

She shook her head.  “It’s alright.”

Someone had given Vi a Christmas Sprite Cranberry!  

Caitlyn squinted.  Had they brought her one, too?

“Some singer, huh?” he asked.  “I’ve never seen so many rug munchers in one place.”  As if he didn’t just say something mildly offensive, he turned a dial, serenading the room with Nat King Cole’s “The Christmas Song.”

The redhead leaned in close to Vi again and whispered something in her ear.  Was that what flirting looked like?  Caitlyn thought people only did that in movies.  That just showed how much she knew about romance.  

“If you wanted to get in line with the other girls, I can watch this stuff,” the custodian said.  

“Excuse me?”

“Well, if you wanted to meet the singer…”  He trailed off.  “How’d you end up with this job, anyway?”

She wanted to scream, Because I play the keyboard!  I write all of the arrangements!  Weren’t you listening?

But she didn’t have quite enough spoons for that.  

***

Caitlyn startled when Vi tapped on the window to the passenger side of the Subaru.  

Sorry, she mouthed, unlocking the car.  

Vi motioned for her to put the window down, so she did, cranking the old handle until it was fully down.  

“Hey, you have got to start letting me help you pack up.”  Vi folded her arms on the window, leaning inside the car to speak to Caitlyn.  “That was an awesome arrangement, by the way.  I can’t believe we didn’t do ‘Everything She Wants’ before!  Everyone loved it!  And the way you changed some of the pitches… I had no trouble hitting any of those notes.”

“Thanks.”

Vi smiled softly.  “How are you feeling?”

She shrugged.  

“Are you sticking around?” she asked.  

Stick around?  With Vi’s groupies?  

She shook her head.  

Vi’s smile wavered.  “It’s okay if you want to go home.  That gig was kind of… a lot.  You can hang onto the car keys; there’s this girl who seems pretty intent on giving me a lift.”

Caitlyn nodded.  

“Goodnight, then,” Vi said.  “Text me when you’re free, okay?”

She nodded, and then Vi waved while Caitlyn rolled up the window.  

She climbed over the center console and into the driver’s seat.  The key was already in the ignition; she just needed to turn it to start the engine.  

Vi acted strangely when Caitlyn told her she was going home.  She always went home after performances.  

She turned the key in the ignition, but instead of roaring to life, the engine just kind of… didn’t.  

She tried again.  It was Vi’s car, after all, and Caitlyn had never driven it before.  Maybe there was a trick to it.

So she tried again.  

Shit.  

The radio was tuned to a pop station playing Christmas music.  At least the car battery wasn’t dead.  

She pulled out her phone and opened her messages.  She’d have to-

Shit.  

There was a message from Vi: Great!  Can’t wait!

And then she remembered.  

Apple cider.  Vi.  

“Fuck…” she groaned.  Vi probably thought she was completely rude.

She needed to apologize, but she didn’t want to think about that right now, so instead, she closed her messaging app and just called her father.  

She looked out the window while the phone tried to connect.  Vi stood with that redheaded girl from earlier, hands in her pockets.  

The girl opened the passenger door to her car, and Vi waved with a flourish before getting in.  

Good, Caitlyn thought.  Vi deserved a friend who didn’t flake on apple cider.  Someone who could read their text messages without feeling existential dread.  

The radio crackled, still playing that death march of a tune from Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.  A voice asked, How would you like to be a spotted elephant?

Or a choo-choo with square wheels on your caboose?

Or a water pistol that shoots… jelly?

We’re all misfits!

She sank further into the seat, which wasn’t easy considering how close Vi sat to the steering wheel.  

Vi didn’t deserve a misfit like Caitlyn, anyway.  

***

“There’s my George Michael!”

Caitlyn opened the door to her father’s Porsche and got in the passenger seat.  “I’m not George Michael.  Vi is.”

He chuckled.  “There’s my…”

Caitlyn waited.  

“The other one!”

“Andrew Ridgeley, Father.”

“Yes!” he said, snapping his fingers.  “That’s it!”  

The car stopped at the red light by the community college, and her father pushed a button on the steering wheel, changing the Sirius station from smooth jazz to a hip-hop and rap station.  

“There,” he said.  “Just the thing to cheer you up!”  He squeezed her leg.  

She drew her knees to her chest.  

“This was your favorite song,” he said, tapping the steering wheel to the beat of “Bust a Move.”

Caitlyn had heard the story hundreds of times even though she could barely remember it herself.  In a desperate attempt to prove that her five-year-old child wasn’t completely nonverbal—just speech delayed—Cassandra Kiramman played nursery music in the playroom.  Constantly.  One day, the exhaustion of raising a nonverbal pianist child must have gotten to her, and she’d fallen asleep, only to wake up and realize she’d accidentally left a Young MC CD in the player.  

The child did have a voice!  It was a miracle!  

It changed the trajectory of Caitlyn’s life, actually.  

Don’t cry.  Don’t cry.  

She wasn’t even upset.  There was no reason for her eyes to sting with tears.  This just… happened sometimes.  

“Kitty…” her father said.  “What’s wrong?”

Caitlyn wiped her nose on her coat.  “Nothing,” she said.  “The show went fine.  Everyone loved Vi.”

“And you, I’m sure.”

“The custodian thought I was one of Vi’s groupies.”

Her father laughed.  “Vi has groupies now?”

“Vi’s always had groupies.”

“I see,” he said.  

Music played through her father’s stereo, but she couldn’t listen.  Her head was too full of thoughts and worries.  Why didn’t Vi say anything about their plans?  Why didn’t any of the college students want to meet Caitlyn after the show?  What if Vi just got in the car of a serial killer?

Caitlyn finally looked at her father, letting her cheek squish against her knee.  “When we perform, everyone loves Vi.  They… see her.”

When her father didn’t answer, she continued.  “I put in just as much work as she does, but it’s like I’m invisible.”

“Oh, Kitty…” her father said.  “Thank you for telling me how you feel.”

Having feelings took a lot of spoons from Caitlyn’s metaphorical drawer.  Talking about those feelings took even more effort—and even more spoons.  

“I wish someone saw me,” she said.  “I just want one person to look at me and… and really see me.”

Her father veered the Porsche into a harsh left turn—so that’s where Caitlyn got her driving abilities from—and then pressed on the brake a few times.  Her stomach did a flip.  

“I see you, Kitty.”

She raised an eyebrow.  

He smiled.  “You’re my little gangster.  You love music more than anything; when you were little, you played the piano at our cocktail parties.  Do you remember that?  You’d play a few tunes, and then your mother and I would send you to bed.”

She nodded because, of course, she remembered her mother boasting about her piano skills as if they were nothing more than a party trick.  

“And you’re so good with Ruby.  She simply adores you!”

Sometimes, when it was particularly late and Caitlyn was still awake working on a demo, her dog would sigh in a way that felt passive-aggressive.  But sure, Ruby was a nice companion.  

“Most of all, though,” her father continued, “I see your mother in you.  You look more like her every day, Kitty.  Do you know that?”

His words just proved her point.  

“I think the reason why you butted heads so much is that you were so alike.  You just didn’t share the same passions.”  He chuckled and rolled the car window down.  “You have her smile, too.  I wish I saw it more often.”

Before Caitlyn could object, a voice crackled over a speaker from outside the vehicle.  

“Hi, welcome to McDonald’s!  What can I get for ya?”

Caitlyn had kind of grown out of McDonald’s after a bad day, but she wouldn’t oppose a coffee.  

“Ah!  Yes, can we get a number one combo meal with a Sprite and the six-piece chicken nugget Happy Meal with the girl toy?”

If Caitlyn had more spoons, she’d tell her father that McDonald’s hadn’t gendered their toys since the last time he’d bought her a Happy Meal… over ten years ago.  

But she was exhausted, and honestly, she was hungry.  She couldn’t remember if she had eaten before the performance.  She looked up at the ceiling, trying to jog her memory.  

Nope.  She couldn’t remember.  

So, when her father handed over the Happy Meal box, Caitlyn just opened it up and started eating her nuggets, trying not to think about the documentary she had watched in school about how they were made.  

“I got your favorite,” her father said, passing her a plastic chocolate milk jug.  

Caitlyn had developed a minor lactose intolerance over the years.  She couldn’t be upset with her father for not remembering, though.  He’d been so busy managing the Kiramman Estate by himself.  

So she drank the chalky chocolate milk and tried not to gag.  

“Your mother would be so proud of you.”

***

“I’m leaving, Father!” Caitlyn said, adjusting her backpack straps on her shoulders and grabbing her keys from the dish.  

“Goodbye, Kitty!”

Vi’s Subaru sat in the driveway, engine still running.  

“Hey!” Vi smiled when Caitlyn got in the passenger seat.  She grabbed a paper cup from one of the cupholders.  “I brought you this.”

Caitlyn buckled her seatbelt and took the cup in both hands.  “Thank you.”

“It’s not from the place by the campus,” Vi explained, “but I definitely owed you a hot cider.  I swear, I had no idea the car was gonna crap out like that.  Powder fixed her up, and I’m happy to report she’s okay!”  She patted the dashboard as if that would prove the Subaru would get them to their destination.  

“It’s fine, really,” she said.  

“I feel really bad about leaving you back there,” said Vi.  “You were exhausted, and the car…”  She put the car in reverse and backed out of the driveway.  

“It’s fine,” Caitlyn said.  “I spent some time with my father.”

“How was that?” Vi asked.  

“Weird.”

“How so?”

She sat back in the seat.  “It’s been over a year, and I don’t think he knows how to talk to me without bringing up my mother.”

“Yikes,” Vi said.  

It was at this moment that Caitlyn realized she and Vi had never actually had a conversation about her mother’s passing last year.  

Vi had seen it on the news, canceled their next performance, and invited Caitlyn to come into the bar she worked at for drinks on the house.  Her father would have had a heart attack if she had taken her up on that offer.  

“I wish I could say it’ll stop,” Vi said, “but you can’t really fill that hole.  It gets smaller, and you can fill your heart with other things, but you kind of just learn to live with the grief.”

And here Caitlyn was, wallowing over her dead mom to Vi, who had no parental figures in her life.  It was just her and her sister, Powder, whom she was putting through technical school.  

Caitlyn had a cushy house and a private chef.  

When she didn’t answer, Vi continued.  “That’s why we started a Wham! cover group anyway.”

Caitlyn brought the warm paper cup to her lips, waiting for clarification.  

“You know,” Vi said, “‘cause Wham! was your mom’s favorite band.”

She almost choked on the cider.  “My mother hated pop music.  We just wrote that on our website for emotional appeal.”

Vi sighed.  “I… I can ask Powder to change that.”

“No!” she objected, maybe too quickly.  “I mean, my mother was a politician.”

Vi stopped at a red light and scratched the back of her neck.  “Not really seeing your point, Cupcake.”

“She would have approved of our…”  She paused, searching for the right words.  “Less than ethical marketing techniques.  Besides, I wouldn’t want to inconvenience your sister.”

Vi chuckled.  “Okay, then.  Let me know if you change your mind.  I can get Powder to do just about anything with enough Butterfingers.  Can you believe she likes those?  Like, what normal person goes for that over a Milkyway?”

Caitlyn stared out the window as Vi continued to ramble about Powder’s illogical candy preferences.  

The snow in Piltover could be beautiful.  At least, it was last night.  Peaceful snowflakes fell onto Caitlyn’s windowsill around two in the morning while she was working on a new track for her demo.  In the morning, when she took Ruby outside, a heavy sheet of snow covered the backyard, and Caitlyn thought the way her Doberman’s paws left prints in the snow was adorable.  For a moment, she was a woman in a snowglobe.  

And then, Ruby proceeded to pee in the snow, shattering the illusion.  She was no longer the graceful figurine in a snowglobe, but a loser still living under her father’s roof with a judgmental dog for a friend.  

From the passenger seat of Vi’s Subaru, the snowfall in Piltover only got worse.  Car exhaust stained the snow a gunky gray.  A man slipped on the ice and dropped his paper grocery bag, apples spilling across the sidewalk.  

“It’s a good thing we left early,” Vi said, steering the car onto the highway, where plows brushed the last of the snow off the shoulders of the road and into large heaps.  

Caitlyn just nodded.  When she sighed, her breath fogged the window.  

“Sarah’s dad owns a snowplow service,” Vi said.  

Conversations were hard.  

Someone said or asked something, and Caitlyn was expected to respond, and more, there was a correct and incorrect response.  Some conversations had gotten easier over time.  

The answer to Caitlyn, do you want to clean your room? was actually yes, even if Caitlyn didn’t want to clean her room.  It was a command phrased like a question.  

Her mother always said she was “a literal person.”  Caitlyn just thought it was strange that people said things they didn’t actually mean.  Oh, great.  Kiramman’s on our dodgeball team again, or Nice throw, Kiramman, actually weren’t real compliments.  The other kids would laugh if she thanked them.

She’d gotten better at recognizing sarcasm and commands disguised as suggestions, but conversation was hard, and if she had to think too hard about it, she’d start losing spoons.  

At times, however, Vi seemed to speak a language of her own.  She could see a squirrel on the street, and somehow relate that to her job at the bar.  It was confusing.  How was Caitlyn supposed to participate without proper context?  

And more importantly, who was Sarah, and what did her father’s snowplow service have to do with anything?

“I bet he’s busy cleaning up all the snow right now,” Vi said.  

Caitlyn sighed and finally asked, “Sarah?”

“Oh!” Vi jumped in her seat.  “The girl I met at the community college gig.  The redhead.”

“The one you left with?”

Her face flushed, and she averted her gaze straight ahead at the road.  “Uh, yeah.”

“How was… that?”  Caitlyn’s own face felt warm, even though it shouldn’t have.  Vi could do whatever she wanted.  Most people Caitlyn’s age did, in fact, have sex.  Caitlyn was an outlier, a straggler, a… loser.  

Her father said she was a late bloomer.  

Vi scratched the back of her neck.  “I uh… Well, Sarah was nice.  She’s got seat warmers in her car.  And a cat.”

“That’s nice.”  She regretted asking this question.  

“I kept thinking about that time we had the gig at the Boys and Girls Club.  I was collecting our check, and then I came out to find you in an alleyway with that one-eyed cat.”  She chuckled.  

“The Subaru smelled awful after we dropped it off at the shelter,” Caitlyn added.  

“You were the one who said we couldn’t leave her behind!” Vi said.  She smiled.  “Wouldn’t have it any other way, though.”

Caitlyn added, “I do hope Matilda found a good home.”

There was a beat, and then Vi sighed and said, “Sarah’s nice, but I think I kinda messed up.”

“How so?” Caitlyn asked.  

“Well…” Vi stammered.  “She likes me.  I didn’t mess that up, but I think we were looking for different things out of that night, and I think leaving with her last night messed up my chances with another girl I like.”

Another girl… How many women did Vi know?  Maybe Caitlyn was just a total loser, but she couldn’t fathom the idea of having the luxury of turning someone down just to go for someone else.  

Then again, she hadn’t had a crush in so long that she’d forgotten what it felt like.  

“You good?”

Caitlyn jumped.  “Yes.  I’m… fine.”

Vi tapped her fingers against the steering wheel.  “I was worried you were going quiet on me.  Not that there’s anything wrong with that!  I like quiet.  I mean, I like talking to you, too, but I don’t mind when… Shit,” she swore.  “I need to learn how to shut my mouth.”

She offered Vi a tight-lipped smile and then went back to staring out the window.  The Subaru veered onto the exit lane.  The sun had already fallen below the horizon, and the streets of the Undercity were lit with flickering lamps and neon signs.  

“Uh, all that to say that I don’t think I’ll be seeing Sarah again,” Vi said, her voice just above a murmur.  

Caitlyn opened her mouth to speak, but then Vi rolled down the window and stuck her head out.  

“Hey!” she shouted into the crowded street.  “It’s a no-parking zone!”

The car in front of them roared to life and moved forward

“Sorry ‘bout that,” Vi said.  “People drive like idiots down here.  You sure it’s okay with your dad that you’re down here?”

“Yes,” Caitlyn said, even though her father thought she was playing at a senior center in Piltover.  Her warm breath left a spot of fog on the window when she sighed.  Maybe the problem was that she wasn’t more like Vi.  Vi was confident enough to dance around on stage to Wham! songs.  She stuck her head out the car window in a city known for violent crime to yell at someone for blocking her path.  Girls like that have girlfriends.  The only reason why Vi didn’t have one was that, despite all of the queer women who fawned over her, she was hung up on some mystery girl.  

Caitlyn wished she had that problem.  She wanted just an ounce of what made Vi so attractive.  

Maybe then her lyrics wouldn’t suck so much, and a record label would want to hire her.  

“Whoa!” Vi said as the car dipped into a pothole.  “Sorry, Cupcake.”

“It’s fine.”

That was the kind of smoothness Caitlyn’s music needed.  What kind of person calls another person ‘Cupcake’ and makes it sound smooth?  

A smooth person.  

If Caitlyn gave Vi a corny nickname, it wouldn’t sound like that.  It wouldn’t feel natural.  

Not that the artists Caitlyn modeled her work after called their girlfriends anything other than Shawty.  

She shook her head.  In no world could Caitlyn say that and sound smooth.  

If she really thought about it, though, she could imagine Vi saying it.  

She started, “Do you think-”

“Hold that thought, Cupcake.”  Vi put the Subaru in reverse and turned to look out the back window.  Her arm slid around the passenger seat’s headrest, giving Caitlyn a front-seat view of the visible tendons of her wrist.  

That was the kind of smooth Caitlyn needed to write her demo, she thought as Vi eased the car backward into the parking space.  

Spirits, Caitlyn could write a whole verse about Vi backing this car into a space.  

“Phew,” Vi said, shifting into park.  “Anyway, you were saying?”

“Never mind,” she said quickly.  

She pulled the key out of the ignition and pulled her beanie over her ears.  “You sure?”

Caitlyn nodded.  

“Okay,” she said.  “Guess we’d better get set up.”

***

When Caitlyn agreed to join Vi in performing at The Last Drop, she didn’t think things through.  If she had, she would have probably found some way to bail, and she’d already accidentally bailed on Vi once.  

She still felt bad that she’d forgotten about their plans last weekend.  Mostly, she just worried about how Vi felt and whether she owed her an apology.  Did Vi mean it when she said it was okay that Caitlyn wanted to go right home after the gig last week?  Or was she masking the way Caitlyn does sometimes?

No.  Vi didn’t mask.  She didn’t have to pretend to be someone else for people to like her.  

Maybe Vi was a little dorky when she danced around on stage, but people loved her all the same.  

She sang the lyrics to “I’m Your Man” into her microphone while Caitlyn tried to focus on the keys in front of her.  The chords.  The melody.  Anything to distract her from the bright lights in the otherwise dark room.  

And what was that smell?  

Vi pointed across the audience.  “If you’re gonna do it, do it right!”

“Right, do it with me,” Caitlyn echoed.  

Vi’s coworker mixed drinks behind the bar, and her boss, the nice owner named Benzo, stood with his back resting against the wall, tapping his toe along and taking a bite from a giant turkey leg.  

Benzo was nice.  He helped set up the sound equipment, and he almost remembered Caitlyn’s name.  

“You let me know if anyone gives you trouble, alright, Catherine?” he’d said to her.

“Thanks, everyone!” Vi says after the outro.  “You’re an awesome audience.  It’s so great to be playing so close to home.”

People in the front cheer.  A guy bangs his fist against a table.  It’s too much.  

“And it’s Cait’s first night out in Zaun!”

Caitlyn wanted to crawl into her sweatervest and stick a tag on herself.  DO NOT OPEN UNTIL CHRISTMAS.  Better yet: DON’T OPEN UNTIL SPRING.  If the groundhog sees her shadow, there’s six more weeks of winter, right?  And then she’d only have to pretend to be a socially functional human being for about six months before going back into hibernation.  

She forced a smile and tried to pretend she didn’t see the couple making out in the corner.  

“Do you wanna say anything, Caitlyn?” Vi asked.  

She shook her head.  

“Woman of few words,” she said into the mic.  “Couldn’t do this without you, Cupcake.  This next one’s called ‘Wham Rap!’ and it’s about enjoying what you do!”

And that was Caitlyn’s cue to go into the bass-heavy intro to a song called “Wham Rap! (Enjoy What You Do)” from Wham!’s debut album, Fantastic.

“Wham!  Bam!  I am!  A man!” Vi’s upper range never failed to impress a crowd.  

People were already dancing.  Someone was filming Vi.  The couple making out in the corner took turns pressing each other against the poster-cluttered wall.  The bright lights pulsed in Caitlyn’s eyes.  Benzo choked on his turkey leg.  A group of men clinked their pint glasses together.  Vi rushed off the stage to get to Benzo.  

Wait.  

As the nice owner of The Last Drop turned purple, Vi ran to his side, leaving Caitlyn completely alone, save for the audience that was expecting her to do something.  

She looped the intro once, twice more, praying to every deity she could think of that Vi would come back.  

Unfortunately, it was not a good evening to be agnostic.  

Vi wrapped her arms around Benzo.  

In a panic, Caitlyn leaned into her own microphone and did the only thing she could think to do.  

“Hey, everybody take a look at me, I’ve got street credibility-”

She pushed through the bright lights and through the overstimulation as she rapped like her life depended on it.  

Vi locked her hands together and pushed against Benzo’s chest.  People gathered to watch the spectacle.  

Caitlyn just did what she did best.  

“Party nights, and neon lights, We hit the floors, we hit the heights…”  

“Get it, keyboard girl!” a drunk guy slurred.  

Vi was still performing the Heimerdinger maneuver when the chorus rolled around again.  

Caitlyn was anything but a soprano.  Spirits, she was barely an alto.  

She sang the chorus down an octave lower than Vi would have done it.  For the first time, she was rapping for an audience that wasn’t her parents.  She needed to quit while she was ahead.  

“Do!  You!  Enjoy what you do?”  The words that Vi usually sang felt foreign in her mouth.  

Speaking of Vi, the real star of the show had seemingly gotten the offending piece of turkey out of Benzo’s windpipe and was now patting him on the back and offering him a glass of water.  

If Vi hurried, she could make it in time for the next verse.  

But for the first time, Caitlyn actually was enjoying what she did.  She was rapping.  For people.  They were George Michael’s lyrics, granted, but it was her arrangement.  

This was her George Michael moment!  Her father would say, There’s my little George Michael tonight, and it would be true!  

So she started the next verse.  

“If you're a pub man, or a club man…”

Benzo shook hands with some of the concerned bar patrons.  

Vi started making her way back through the crowd.  

Caitlyn finished the last rap verse: “Give a wham, give a bam, but don't give a damn, Cos the benefit gang are gonna pay!”

Vi grabbed her mic off the floor where she left it and picked the song back up at the bridge.  “Now reach up high and touch your soul…”

Caitlyn gasped for air and shook her head, trying to snap herself out of whatever just happened.  That wasn’t a fever dream, right?

The song was called “Wham Rap!”  It was inherently a bit of a fever dream.  

“Enjoy what you do!” Vi finished.  

There was a moment of silence before everyone applauded.  

“Yeah, Vi!” someone shouted.  

“You saved Benzo!”

Benzo cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted, “I’m alright!”

For once, Vi seemed at a loss for words.  “Um,” she said into the microphone.  She cleared her throat.  “So uh, Benzo’s alright.”

“You’re a hero!” someone yelled.  

“Oh, no, anyone would have done the same,” she said.  “Let’s uh, give it up for Caitlyn… for that… yeah.”

The Wham Rap! was seven minutes of chaos without someone choking on a turkey leg and Caitlyn rapping for her life.  She didn’t need the applause.  

Hopefully, Vi wasn’t teasing when she told the audience, “We’re going to do one last song for you.  We can’t do a Christmas show and not sing this one.  Hit it, Cupcake.”

As if nothing had happened, Caitlyn played the introduction to Wham!’s biggest song ever, “Last Christmas.”

Vi adlibbed and then launched into the first chorus.  “Last Christmas I gave you my heart, but the very next day, you gave it away…”

Caitlyn couldn’t find the strength to sing her backup lines, but Vi didn’t seem to notice, and nobody in the bar seemed to care.  They just wanted to hear Vi sing about giving her heart to someone special.  

Was she thinking about that girl she mentioned in the Subaru?  That felt like so long ago.  That girl probably didn’t rap.  She probably had a useful skill like accounting.  Yes, she probably had a stable job and a master’s degree in finance.  She knew how stocks worked and used words like “investing” and “GDP.”  

Caitlyn could play just about anything on the piano and used words like “motherfucker” and “Mary Jane” in the songs she liked, but clearly, people weren’t interested in those particular talents.  

“Thank you for having us, The Last Drop!” Vi said into the microphone.  “It’s good to play at home!  I’m Vi, and this is Caitlyn.  We are The Wham! Experience!”

Thank the spirits.  

Caitlyn powered down the keyboard and unplugged it from the speakers.  She stood up, ready to start her post-show routine.  Speakers needed to be powered down.   There were wires to be wound and put away.  

Just when she was winding the wire connecting her keyboard to the speaker, someone behind her cleared their throat.  

“Do you want to meet some of my friends?” Vi asked.  She’d taken off her ugly Christmas sweater and was now sporting just a white muscle shirt and her jeans.  

Caitlyn knew the correct answer to this question.  She nodded even though she really just wanted to finish cleaning everything up so she could go home and cry until she fell asleep from how exhausted she was.  

Not that she was upset!  Her mother always said, Sometimes, you just need to have a good cry.  Caitlyn hadn’t realized at first that by you, her mother meant Caitlyn specifically.  Apparently, crying oneself to sleep after school dances was not a common human experience.  

“Cool, Ekko’s just over here,” Vi said.  “You’ll like him.  He plays the saxophone; I thought it might be cool if we all got together and jammed sometime.”

Caitlyn nodded.  

“Hey, Little Man!” Vi said, wrapping her arm around a lanky man’s back.  

The man—Ekko, she supposed—raised an eyebrow and said to Vi, “So this is Caitlyn.”  He offered a hand.  “Nice to meet you.”

Caitlyn shook his hand because that was what she was supposed to do when someone wanted to shake her hand.  She’d done plenty of that at her parents’ gatherings, although she’d been a little out of practice lately.  

“So,” Ekko said, “you’re from Topside.”

“Piltover,” Vi said before Caitlyn could correct him—not that she could if she wanted to.  

Vi tilted her face and spoke into Caitlyn’s ear.  She practically had to shout to be heard over the noise.  “He means Piltover.”

She nodded.  

“Cool,” he said.  “Nice rapping.”

She offered him a tight-lipped smile.  That was all she could do.  

Vi chuckled.  “Yeah, I was going to ask you about that.”

Oh.  That.  

Vi didn’t know that Caitlyn could do that.  

It wasn’t a secret.  It just wasn’t something Caitlyn typically did for an audience.  Not since the middle school talent show when she’d serenaded her most judgmental classmates with “Nuthin’ But A ‘G’ Thang.”  What was so funny about Dr. Dre?

“I guess my first question,” Vi started, “is… What?”

Caitlyn opened her mouth and then closed it.  She was evidently down to her last few spoons.  

The attention was too much.  She needed to be… anywhere else.   

“Seriously,” Ekko said.  “Do you normally rap?  Is that like a hidden talent?  Do Pilties listen to rap music?  Are-”

“It’s okay,” Vi said, cutting him off.  “We can talk about it another time.  It was awesome, though, Cait.”

She nodded and left.

Back to the stage.  Back to her speakers and wires and-

“Figured you could use some help,” Benzo said, setting a wire into the milk crate.  “I ‘ope everything is the way you like it.”

Caitlyn nodded.  The wires weren’t exactly where she normally kept them, and Benzo had put the keyboard in the wagon instead of the speakers, but it was close enough.  It was less work to do.  It meant she had more time to herself in the car before Vi finished speaking with her friends.  

“Well, go on.  Be with the others.”  Benzo waved her off while picking up the milk crate of wires.  

He wasn’t looking to see her shake her head.  

When he realized she was still standing there, he smiled.  “Not a lot of words?  S’okay.   My best friend didn’t have a whole lot to say, either.”

She’d heard that a hundred times before.  I know someone else who is shy.  

‘Shy’ didn’t exactly describe Caitlyn, though.  

“He taught me that the people who speak the least have the most brilliant minds,” Benzo continued.  “I bet you’ve got a whole lot of ‘em in that head of yours.  Don’t say you don’t; I can see it in your eyes.”

She nodded.  

He grabbed the two heaviest speakers—one in each arm—and started for the side exit.  

Caitlyn tugged the wagon behind her.  

They loaded up the back of the Subaru in silence, and then when Benzo shut the trunk, he said, “I’ll send that last crate out with Vi.  I know she has a lot of energy, but just know she means well.  She’s good people.”

Caitlyn nodded.  She knew Vi was good.  Vi was talented.  People liked Vi.  

“Well,” Benzo said.  “I’ll leave you to recuperate, then.  Come back in when you’re ready, and we’ll get you situated with a beer.”

She nodded again.  

“I’m sure Vi would like to show you around the bar.  Only if you want to, of course.”

That… did not sound like Caitlyn’s idea of a good time.  She shook her head and opened the passenger side door, climbing into the Subaru.  

“That’s all fine; I’m sure we’ll be bookin’ the two of yous again before the month is up.  You won’t get cold out here?” Benzo asked.  

She shook her head.  She probably would get cold, but she didn’t want him to worry.  He’d already been so nice to her.  

Benzo stopped her before she could shut the door.  “Lock the car for me, lovey.”

She nodded.  

“Get home safe!” he called behind him as he headed back to the noisy bar.  

Caitlyn sank into the seat.  If she had lasted a little longer after the show, or if she had just watched Ekko and Vi talk for longer, maybe then she’d be tired enough to nap until Vi got back.  

But no.  Her tiredness couldn’t overcome how bad she felt about leaving.  She wasn’t even sure how she felt.  Somehow, simultaneously, she was relieved to be rid of the situation, overstimulated still for some reason, embarrassed that she’d probably disappointed Vi, and thankful for Benzo’s kindness.  There wasn’t a word for that.  

And spirits, she’d rapped.  She had rapped in front of real people.  Not Beanie Babies.  Not her parents.  And the rap had been incredibly stupid.  

She had no idea what to make of that.  If she fell asleep and woke up, she’d probably forget it happened.  

Her chest had begun to rise and fall rapidly, so she cracked the window open.  The air was crisp, and her nose would probably run later, but it was fresh air.  

Caitlyn faced the window and closed her eyes.  That was better.  Crisis averted.  

“Nah, I can’t have another one.  I’m driving tonight,” said a voice.  Vi.  “Get home safe, Little Man.  Don’t make Benzo babysit you again.”

“When have I ever— Wait, Vi, I won’t have the guts to say this sober.”  That had to be Ekko, right?  He was the one Vi called ‘Little Man’ earlier.  

So Vi liked to give people nicknames.  Was ‘Cupcake’ better or worse than ‘Little Man’?

“Are you finally going to ask me for permission to take Powder to dinner?”

“What?  No!  I just… Vi, with um…”  His voice dropped low so Caitlyn couldn’t hear.  She wished people came with volume buttons.  

“Ekko, you know I wouldn’t bring someone around if they weren’t a good person.  Period.”

“I’m not talking about where she’s from,” he said.  “I mean, she’s… well…”  

Caitlyn couldn’t hear the rest of what Ekko said.  

Her fingers tingled again.  Something wasn’t right.  

Vi spoke again.  “You think I don’t know that?  We’ve known each other for-”

“Vi, she’s not like other girls.”

“That’s why I like her.”

“You need to think this through-”

Vi cut him off again.  “What is there to think about?  I can be there for her.  I’m still figuring out how, but if I can support Powder…”  Caitlyn couldn’t hear the rest of what she said.  

“But she isn’t Powder.  Powder wants you to squash her with your entire body when she’s melting down.  I don’t really see her liking that.”

Caitlyn couldn’t hear Vi’s reply, but she didn’t need to.  She hadn’t done as good a job at masking as she thought, and somehow, Ekko knew, too.  

“I don’t doubt that you’ll put in the effort, but what happens when you need her?  You have baggage, too.”

It felt like Ruby was sitting on her chest, except it didn’t feel nice.  The weight slowly sank in, hollowing out her insides.  Why did this happen?  Normal people didn’t feel like this.  

But Ekko was right.  Caitlyn could barely take care of herself.  How could she ever be expected to support a friend, let alone a partner?

What was she even doing in a cover duo?  Vi was the one always driving her around, bringing the arrangements to life, interacting with their hosts, and posing for photos with the audiences who loved the music.  

Meanwhile, Caitlyn moped in the car.  

She didn’t deserve to have someone like Vi in her life, she thought as a tear escaped her eye.  

Tap-tap-tap!

She wiped her cheek and reached across the driver’s seat, unlocking the car so Vi could get in.  

“Thanks, Cupcake,” she said, buckling her seatbelt and turning the key in the ignition.  “Can’t believe you sat here in the cold.”

Christmas music played from the stereo, and Caitlyn really, really wanted to shut it off, but Vi liked it.  She didn’t want to ruin Vi’s evening more than she already had.  

When they finally made eye contact, they froze in their seats.  

“Shit, Cait-” Vi seemed to have cut herself off.  “I’m so sorry.”

For some reason, Caitlyn always felt worse when someone was being nice and trying to fix things.  The tears were really flowing now, and there was no closing the floodgates.  

“This is all my fault,” Vi said.  “I didn’t realize I was pushing you too far.  Shit, Caitlyn, I’m so fucking sorry; I thought you were just tired.”

She reached into the backseat and kept rambling.  “Did you bring your water bottle?  Do you want me to get some for you?”

Caitlyn shook her head, not that Vi was watching.  

Vi still scoured the floor of the Subaru, her ass in the air as she blindly swept the rubber mats.  “I know this doesn’t make it any better, but it was a total accident.  I had no idea cleaning up after the show was a routine for you, I swear.  I’ll fix anything Benzo did wrong; just show me how you want it.”  

Caitlyn tugged her knees to her chest.  

Vi finally emerged, her own plastic water bottle in hand.  “It’s sealed.  You can have it.”

Caitlyn couldn’t move.  

Vi spoke again.  “Okay, I know I’m a dick for fucking up your routine and stealing all your spoons, but I really need you to let me know you’re still in there.  Can you say something?  Anything?”

She wanted to laugh at the far-fetched request, but then she remembered that most people would be able to do that in her place.  

“Maybe like, a nod or something?”  Vi asked.  “I’m a little scared.  I wanna see you through this, but I… don’t know how.  Cupcake, please.”  Her voice cracked when she said that stupid nickname.

Curiosity got the best of her.  She turned her head to the side.  

Vi was crying.  

She’d really done it this time.  She did the goddamn Wham Rap! during a medical emergency, embarrassed Vi in front of her friend, and apparently, she’d been a burden this whole time without even knowing.  

And to make matters worse, Mariah Carey’s whistletones were drilling into her skull.  

When the world gets to be too much, her mother had told her, people won’t read your mind and magically fix things.

She reached a shaky hand out, feeling for the dial on the stereo.  She didn’t need to look; she had the pattern memorized.  She knew just how far she needed to turn it-

A new song plays from the stereo: Says she wanna dance ‘cause she likes the groove/So come on fatso just bust a move.

“Hi,” Vi said during the chorus.  She sighed.  “Thought I lost you.  Can you please help me-”

“You’re on a mission, and you’re wishin’ someone could cure your lonely condition…”  

What was it that the psychiatrist said all those years ago?  

Right.  

I can’t believe Councilor Kiramman’s daughter self-soothes via hip-hop, but by all means.  If it ain’t broke…

She’d already humiliated herself in front of Vi.  How much worse could it get?

“And what comes next? hey, but a move!”

“If you want it,” Vi sang along to the chorus, “You got it.”  She shifted in her seat, bobbing her head and trying to dance along.  

Instead of launching into the next verse, Caitlyn just said, “Those were my first words.”

Vi smiled.  “Really?”

She sighed.  “The reason why I could play Mozart before I could talk is that I didn’t talk until I was six.   The psychiatrist thought I would never speak.”

“You’re proving them wrong, huh?” Vi asked, putting the car in reverse and squeezing out of the tiny parking spot.  

The words didn’t register.  The radio had pulled her in.

But she wanted to listen to Vi.  

“Change it back,” she said, turning the radio dial.  

Vi jumped.  “You don’t have to!  We can listen to whatever you want.”

“I want to listen to you,” Caitlyn explained, turning the station back to the Christmas music.  

And coincidentally, the song on the radio was “Last Christmas.”

“We can listen to something else if you’re sick of Wham!,” Vi said.  

She shook her head.  “My mother did like this song.”

Vi shrugged.  “Can’t blame her.  It is the best Christmas song of all time.”

After the first verse, Caitlyn said, “I feel like Andrew Ridgeley.”

“How so?”

How didn’t she feel that way?  “I wish… I wish people saw me, like they do George Michael.  Like you.”

“Oh,” Vi said.  “Like on a deep level.”

She nodded.  

“You can’t see someone who’s hiding.”

“Excuse me?”

Vi waves her hands.  “Hang on; let me explain.”

Caitlyn sits back in her seat.  It wasn’t like she had a choice but to listen.  

“Not to shit on your routine,” Vi starts, “but after we’re done, you always start putting everything away—which I really appreciate—but you don’t really mingle with anyone, so they can’t get to know you.  Anytime someone asks me about you, I just say you’re a god on the keyboard, and you want to produce music.”

“Rap and hip-hop,” Caitlyn interjected.  

“Okay,” Vi said, “so that’s one more thing I know about you.  You want to produce rap and hip-hop, and you play the piano, and you can apparently rap?  Sorry, I’m kinda stuck on that.  That was pretty out-of-pocket, even for us.  Why didn’t you tell me?”

“You never asked,” she said.  

Vi sighed.  “This is what I mean, Cait.  I want to see you.  I’ve never wanted to see someone this much before.”

This didn’t make any sense.  

“I just think you’re so smart and so cool, and you’re pretty and talented, and you have a really cute dog…  And I want you to meet my friends and have a beer with me—or… wine?  Do you drink?  I just… Please help me see you.”

She nodded.  

“Cool,” Vi said.  “Cool, cool, cool.”

Caitlyn offered her a tight-lipped smile.  It was the best she could do.  

“Are you… in a talking mood?” Vi asked.  “I’d really like to hear about how you got into rapping.  It’s okay if not, though.  I don’t know if I made it clear, but you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to with me.  My feelings won’t be hurt.”

“I…”  How does one respond to such an open-ended question?

“Do you have any favorite artists?” Vi asked.  

Caitlyn could answer that.  “Biggie, of course, and Dr. Dre.  One of my favorite albums is The Chronic.  I don’t care if it’s overplayed.  I especially like the Snoop Dogg features.”

“Do you listen to newer stuff, too?”

“Mostly Kendrick Lamar.  I don’t care for Eminem.  Modern artists have too many controversial figures, like Drake and Kanye West.”

Vi nodded.  “Kanye was on my friend Gert’s Spotify Wrapped last year.  I’m still teasing her for that.”

“The classic stuff is more up my alley,” she continued.  “I like Salt-N-Peppa.  My parents took me to see them a few years ago.”

“My dad loved Salt-N-Peppa.  When Powder and I were kids, he’d put us to bed, and then we couldn’t sleep ‘cause of him singing along to ‘Whatta Man.’  And on a school night!”

“I used to rap ‘Shoop’ to get my parents to let me stay up past my bedtime,” Caitlyn said.  

“Were you Salt or Peppa?”

“Both.”  She frowned.  “I didn’t have any friends.”

“That’s okay,” Vi said.  “You have me now.  Plus, I think Ekko might like to all jam together sometime if you’re up for it.”

She turned out of the intersection and tapped her fingers against the steering wheel to the beat on the radio.  “So, do you write rap lyrics?”

Caitlyn shrugged.  “Not particularly well.”

She laughed.  “I’m sure they’re great songs!”

“The music is good,” she explained.  “Lyrics don’t come easy to me.  I’m an only child born and raised in Piltover.  I’m a loser.  That doesn’t exactly make for an interesting song.”

“Hey, you’re not a loser!” Vi said.  “Why would you say that?”

“Because it’s true.”

“No, it’s not.  Whoever told you that is a loser.”

Caitlyn sighed, thinking back to when she first realized it.  All of the other girls in her freshman dorm building were sneaking boys into their rooms, smoking weed, going to parties…  And Caitlyn, on the other hand, spent her weekends holed up in the practice rooms perfecting her piano arrangements.  

“I realized it myself.”

“It’s not true, though,” Vi said.  “I think you’re super cool.”

Caitlyn must have made a face because Vi quickly said, “I mean it!  You work so hard, and I love how close you are with your dad-”

“With whom I live.  As a twenty-four-year-old.  That makes me a loser.”

“No, it means you care about him,” Vi said.  Her face turned red.  “And you’re also too pretty to be a loser, so there.”

That was the second time Vi had called her pretty that evening.  Caitlyn knew better than to think she had a future in modeling, but she also didn’t need to be affirmed, so why did Vi keep saying that?  

Vi put the Subaru in reverse and parked somewhere that was definitely not Caitlyn’s house.  Were they even in Piltover?  

“What’s this?” she asked, looking out the window.  Strands of Christmas lights were wound around trees.  A child posed for a photo next to an inflatable Poro with reindeer antlers.  

“They set up a Christmas market at the park every year,” Vi said.  “I thought you might like it.  We don’t have to go in if you don’t want to.  I just wanted to do something special for our first date.”

Caitlyn choked on nothing.  “Excuse me?”

Vi froze as she was reaching for her seatbelt.  “Oh, shit.  I deeply misread this.  I’m so sorry.”

Caitlyn was confused.  “Vi-”

“Forget leaping to conclusions,” she chuckled.  “I fucking pole-vaulted to conclusions.”

“What do you mean?”

She scratched the back of her neck.  “Well, I like you, and I sort of thought this was mutual, but I can see I screwed up.  Just forget I said anything.”

“I don’t understand.”  She brought her knees back to her chest.  “I’m sorry.  I just… you’re not being very direct.”

Vi nodded.  “Okay, direct.  I can be direct.”  She took a deep breath and then looked at Caitlyn with icy gray eyes.  

It was almost too much eye contact, but Caitlyn supposed she did ask for directness.  

“I like you,” Vi said.  

Oh!  This was about earlier!  “I don’t dislike you,” Caitlyn said.  “You didn’t know I was overwhelmed.”

Vi turned in her seat so she was facing Caitlyn.  “No, I mean I really like you.  I… have a crush on you.”

Oh.

Oh.  

This was happening, and it was happening to Caitlyn.  

“I think you’re cute, and I love spending time with you, even when you’re quiet, and I’ve had the best time driving around and learning about your favorite rap artists.  I would really like to take you on a date to this sensory-friendly Christmas market.”

For the first time ever, someone wanted to take Caitlyn on a date.  She was receiving romantic attention.  Someone thought she was cute and didn’t mean it in a patronizing way.  A girl wanted to hold her hand, not so she wouldn’t get lost, but because she wanted to be reminded that Caitlyn was there.  

And it was someone as kindhearted and attractive as Vi, whom Caitlyn had considered so far out of her league that she hadn’t even granted herself the opportunity to develop a crush of her own.  

This seemed too good to be true.  

“Is this a prank?” Caitlyn asked.  

Vi’s eyebrows shot up.  “Uh, no?  What do you mean by that?”

“Nobody’s asked me on a date and meant it before.”

“That’s… I’m honored, then,” Vi said.  “Is this okay for your first date ever?  Do you want to have your first date tonight?”

She nodded.  

Vi’s smile grew.  “Awesome.  Well, I am going to pull out all the stops for you tonight, Cupcake.”

Caitlyn’s own face grew warm.  Had the nickname been a term of endearment this entire time?

“Sit tight,” Vi said.  She burst out the driver’s side door, rolled over the hood of the car like some kind of maniac, and then opened Caitlyn’s door.  She panted, catching her breath.  “Milady…”

Caitlyn giggled.  She didn’t even know she could giggle.  She followed Vi into the Christmas market, watching while she pointed out the different landmarks around the park.  

“I fell and broke my wrist climbing that tree when I was twelve,” she said.  “Oh, those cookies are from the place on the corner by my house.  They’re so good, sometimes I’d save my lunch money and eat one of those after school instead of an actual lunch.”

Caitlyn couldn’t help but laugh at Vi’s silly stories.  

“You have a nice smile,” she said.  

Caitlyn flushed.  “Thank you.”

“Aha!  There it is,” Vi said, pointing to a wooden booth.  “Hot apple cider.  Unless you’d rather have hot chocolate.”  She squinted at the chalkboard.  About a dozen fancy drinks are written in a swirling font, which probably didn’t bode well for her dyslexia.  

“There’s a regular cider and one with cinnamon,” Caitlyn said, pointing.  “Unless you want hot chocolate.  Or coffee.  What is Irish coffee?”

“Something we don’t want,” Vi said.  She winked.  “At least, not tonight.” 

They got to the front of the line, and Vi handed a few crumpled-up bills to the giant man behind the counter.  “A hot cider for me.  Cait?”

“I’ll have the same.”

“You want a mug or a paper cup?”

“Paper’s good for me,” Vi said.  “I’ll forget to return a mug.”

Caitlyn took a paper cup too, and then Vi led them back down the path.  

“They do sensory-friendly hours early in the morning and during the last hour of the evening,” Vi explained.  “That’s why there aren’t a whole lot of people here.”

“I like it,” Caitlyn said.  

“You wanna look around the Christmas tree lot?” Vi asked.  

She nodded and blew on her cider.  It was still too hot to drink, and Caitlyn didn’t want to burn her tongue.  

Vi took Caitlyn’s hand.  “This way.  Good gods, your hand is cold.”

She took her hand back.  “Sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Vi said.  “I was gonna warm it up.  Can I hold your hand?”

They held hands again as they walked through the rows of trees.  

“We haven’t had a Christmas tree since my mother died,” Caitlyn said.  

“We could get you one,” Vi said, a smile creeping onto her face.  

“I don’t think my father likes to celebrate anymore,” she said.  “I can’t blame him, although I do miss watching movies and drinking hot cocoa.”

“So you’re an inside winter person?” Vi asked.  

Caitlyn chuckled.  “When I was a toddler, my parents tried to take me sledding.  I think they thought I might get excited and start talking.  I didn’t even make it out the door.”

“Okay, so no sledding dates,” Vi said.  

“I wouldn’t mind hot cocoa and a movie,” Caitlyn said.  

She raised an eyebrow.  “Oh?  So does this mean I’m getting a second date?”

She nodded.  

Vi finished off her cider and tossed the cup into a garbage can.  “That’s great, Cupcake.  I’m having a really nice time with you.”

“I’m enjoying myself, too.”

A familiar synth played over the intercom, and Caitlyn didn’t know whether to groan or laugh when George Michael started to sing.  

“This is starting to become our song,” Vi said.  

“We’re going to be sick of it by the end of the season,” she said.  

“But it makes me think of you.”

“You’re sappy.”

Vi leaned in close.  “Only ‘cause you’re so sweet.”

Caitlyn was warm everywhere.  She’d need to stick her face in the snow just so her father wouldn’t ask why she was blushing like a fool.  

Vi’s breath was warm on her cheek, and Caitlyn could see her freckles quite clearly, and… was she getting closer?

Caitlyn stepped back.  “Did you know that in 1981, ‘Rapture’ by Blondie was the first song featuring rap vocals to hit number one on the Billboard charts?  And then, Blondie and Fab 5 Freddy recorded a Christmas remix of the song and called it ‘Yuletide Throwdown.’  It’s basically lost media now, but my father found the record for me.”

Vi’s smile fell.  “Oh, really?”

“Yes.  It’s nothing special, though.  It’s mostly just the original track with jingle bells in the background.”

“Do you do this every time someone tries to kiss you?”

Caitlyn stammered, “I… What?”

Vi smiled.  “Can I please kiss you?”

She nodded, not because she felt like she had to, but because she wanted to.  

Vi brought the hand not holding Caitlyn’s up to cup her cheek, and once again leaned in close.  

Caitlyn let her eyes flutter shut because that’s what people did in the movies, and then Vi’s lips were against hers.  

Just as she began to taste the cider on Vi’s mouth, they parted.  

“Was that okay?” Vi asked.  

Caitlyn could only nod.  

She found she quite liked this kind of speechlessness.