Chapter 12: Ben's POV: The Booth

Ben's POV

I record every open mic.

It's a habit. The board has a drive in it, and I leave it running in case a singer wants a copy.

Nobody ever asks.

Since the white flash from Preston's window, I had been waiting for him to do something with what he'd seen, and so far he hadn't.

Rory Beckett's set from three weeks ago was on the drive, and I had listened to it every night since.

On Monday I was listening to it again, alone in the booth, when she came up the platform steps.

I took the headphones off too fast.

"Hi," she said.

"Hi."

"You're not supposed to be here after eleven."

"Neither are you."

"I know." She sat on the high stool beside the board, in Sage's denim jacket.

"I couldn't sleep," she said. "I kept thinking about the porch. I'm trying to keep my word, Ben. Nothing behind your back, and nothing behind mine."

I had planned a speech for tonight, and I forgot every word of it.

"Rory, can I tell you what I did?"

"What did you do?"

"Tonight, I texted Brooks. I told him I knew he'd seen Preston take the jacket out of the locker, and I asked him to look at Preston's phone."

Her face went still.

"You said you'd tell me first."

"I'm telling you. It's an hour old." I held up my phone. "I didn't ask him to steal it. I asked him to look. That's all."

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