After I perform the anthem for a sold-out crowd of rowdy playoff Lakers fans, security helps me back up to the box we have for the night. The second I see all the people I care about, I relax a few notches.

I make my way toward the front, where Emily, Rica, Andie, and Jacob are sitting, drinks in their hands.

"You were a little flat at the end," Andie says.

I rub a hand through my hair, leaning against the back of Emily's seat. "Blame the sound engineers."

"Never blame the sound engineers," Haley calls from where she's grabbing food.

Jacob leans over the front, eagerly scanning the home...