I turned to find Ashton Denube standing alongside the table. He was wearing a dark gray Nike T-shirt, filling out every inch of cotton, and low-hanging jeans. His eyes jumped with curiosity as he waited for me to answer him.
“Um, hi!” I said, forcing a bright smile to my face. “You want a prize or something?”
“Nah, just saw you standing here and thought I’d come say hey.”
“Catie,” I said, reintroducing myself and pointing at my chest like a cavewoman.
“Right, with a C.”
I laughed. “Yeah, with a C. So, you having fun?”
“Nah, this isn’t really my kind of music, but the chick from Mean Beans asked me. And I’m a sucker for her. You like them?” He bumped his chin toward the stage.
“I do.”
“Your guy is here, getting food. I’m going to send him your way.”
“Who?”
“Really?” He chuckled. “Blane, silly girl.”
“He’s not my guy.”
“He might have this crazy bet going on, but you should’ve seen the jerk when you came on the radio. He kept shushing us all. You’re definitely his girl.”
I shook my head but didn’t get a chance to answer.
Ashton flashed me a peace sign and said, “Check you later, DJ girl.” He sauntered back out to the crowd, and I forgot all about asking Sonny to meet Dirty Soul.
And what was with all the girls?
“Catie, get over here,” Sonny bellowed, interrupting my thoughts. “Come on, I don’t have all night.”
I held my breath all the way over to his table, fearing the worst. Dirty Soul finished a set right as I made it to Sonny’s side, and he took the mic.
“Yo, Hafton, you having fun? Who’s pumped? You know I am. Tomorrow’s going to be another big day. The women’s basketball team is playing a preseason game. Go, Hafton Green!”
A few boos came from the crowd.
“I know, I know. Sonny B. agrees. Men’s ball is way more exciting, all those muscles and sweat. Have no fear, those bad boys of the hardwood will be back soon. Also, tomorrow we’ll have Pimply Teenager on the main stage at noon, and the homegrown rapper Cool Ray at nine tomorrow night.”
Cheers sounded from the audience. Ray was hot. He’d gone to high school in Cleveland and was slowly making it huge. His videos were all over the Internet, his songs topping the charts, and he was about to go on a national tour.
“Dirty Soul’s going to come back on tonight for all you alternative junkies, but I got a special treat first. Sweeter than a Krispy Kreme, nicer than a brand-new Lambo, meet Catie P. My girl is a sophomore who wants to take my slot and make all you guys tree-hugging hippies. Let’s hear what she has to say for herself.”
Sonny shoved the mic in my face. “Come on, Catie, don’t be shy!”
“Hey, Hafton!” I called out, working the crowd. “How you guys doing tonight? Sonny’s right, I’m vying for his spot. What do you think? Shouldn’t they graduate him already?”
The crowd roared and chanted, “Graduate, Sonny!”
I laughed into the mic and heard my voice echo off the buildings all around us. Putting a hand over my left ear to cancel the effect, I held the mic with my right.
“What do you think? It’s time for a woman to take over the Hafton airspace. Don’t worry yourself silly, it’s not going to become a big pajama party. I’m still going to play your music and pump up your barbaric sports teams.”
I semi-lied; I needed to keep up my persona.
“We’re not barbarians,” they shouted back.
“I got you,” I said and gave another of my throaty laughs into the mic before Sonny pulled it back.
“All right, gang, kiss Catie good night. She has to get up early and study her feminism. Speaking of females, how tight is Carrie Stanford on that electric violin?”
“Tight,” the crowd shouted back.
“Well, she’s coming back. Dirty Soul will be back in five. In the meantime, I’m going to change it up for a moment. I got the Hills for you.”
Covering the mic, he whispered, “Say something catchy.”
“Until Sonny is ousted, this is Catie P.,” was what I came up with.
Apparently, the crowd loved it. They started to chant, “Oust Sonny! Oust Sonny!”
“Good one.”
Sonny smirked at me before he pushed a lever to make the music louder. The sultry beat tumbled from the speakers as I made my way back to my giveaways table.
“I thought you watched sports,” a low voice said in my ear.
A warm hand grasped my shoulder and turned me. Standing behind me—now before me—was Blane Steele.
At the sight of him, my heart raced, my throat tightened, and my neck was only one part of many that went damp. Clearly, another schizophrenic episode.
“I can’t tell all my secrets,” I quipped.
“You told me, so that must make me special,” he said, his green eyes twinkling.
I got a good look at them and his blond eyelashes and eyebrows because he had his hair pushed back with a pink sweatband.
“Guess I fucking walked right into that one,” I said. “You should move back a little; Sonny’s right there.”