There’s a schedule posted on a stand beside the stairs up to the hub stage. I pause to look at it in spite of myself. The podcaster schedule didn’t get finalized until this morning.
“Keep moving, June,” Siggy says.
“I am, I just want to make sure when to avoid it here.”
Scott’s show is on the schedule, in under an hour, at 9:00 a.m.—Wasteland Stans. Good to know.
Yep.
Good to know.
Feels good to know.
Yeah, knowing is great.
It doesn’t at all feel like my heart is shriveling into a dusty, dry bag of sawdust. Sawdust and shame.
Nope. Not at all.
I force a smile at the others.
Scott’s podcast doesn’t have a big following, but he scraped together the money to be on the roster and talked his way onto the stage.
Bully for Scott. I never said he wasn’t charming.
“Screw him.” Imani takes my arm again and turns me toward the next stop.
Siggy takes six steps in the opposite direction before realizing she’s going the wrong way and rushing to catch up with us.
“His obnoxious show would totally suck if it hadn’t been for all your ideas,” Siggy pants as she draws even with us.
“I’m not even thinking about it,” I lie.
We hustle across the hall to James’s signing area.
When we arrive he’s already up there signing. His security stands nearby, along with his assistants, taking cash, it’s all cash only, for the autograph. And they’re selling headshots and production stills, for anyone who hasn’t brought a specific thing for him to sign.
James’s autograph tables are on a platform, so we can watch as each autograph seeker approaches him.
Even though I know I’m here? And I know he’s here? I know that they’re all here?
I still experience an adrenaline dump. My heart judders and I have to take a few deep breaths.
James Cooper is right there. Captain Cliff Stead is right there. He’s wearing sunglasses indoors, which looks more cool than odd, and expensive-looking jeans and a tight black T-shirt.
Siggy makes a little chirrup and I know she’s thinking the same thing.
He’s right there.
“What do we think of the line?” I ask.
“Totally doable, let’s get in there,” Imani says, her eyes bright with interest and excitement. James Cooper is the main actor Imani wanted to meet, because Captain Cliff Stead means so much to her. He’s African American and the star of the show, and Cliff Stead the character is not only the leader of the group of survivors, but he’s also a deeply human, principled person.
Imani leads the way into the line, which starts inching slowly forward.
We start checking our hair and adjusting our clothes like a trio of nervous birds preening. Imani pulls down the cuffs of her coral jacket and smooths her white tunic. Siggy fluffs the blonde sheet of her hair and checks the legs of her blue jumpsuit. I pull at the scoop neck of my olive shirt, billowing it out so it falls just right.
Onstage James laughs, and man, he’s got a great smile that just lights up his whole face. Dazzling.
“Okay, okay.” Siggy lifts her hands up and takes a deep breath. Then she exhales and pushes her hands down.
“Y’all are adorable,” Imani says, smiling at us. She cocks a leg, resting a sequin-sneakered foot, toe-down, like she’s not nervous at all.
“Don’t act too cool for school,” Siggy says. “You know you’re excited.”
Imani cocks an eyebrow.
“Give yourself over to the feeling,” I urge her. “Fandom freakout. One of us! One of us!”
Apart from hanging out with us, Imani’s very favorite things are: 1) listening to the first responder scanners on the Code Blue app and 2) watching C-SPAN political broadcasts and commentary shows. She’ll probably go on to become a DA or congresswoman or something, I am not kidding.
Which will be great for all of us! But sometimes I worry about her. I don’t want her to lose her sense of fun in Being Serious.
Imani’s straight face cracks as a huge smile spreads across her face.
“You guys,” she whisper-screams. “That’s James Cooper!”
We whisper-scream back.
As the line moves forward, my view of James gets better, and he’s actually so much better looking in person. How is that possible? Especially with this hideous fluorescent lighting?
Maybe it’s because he’s smiling at each autograph seeker, and doesn’t seem rushed at all, and he just seems so nice.
Also because he’s movie-star gorgeous, of course, with a lean, muscular build, and when he smiles, man, those dimples.
He’s actually hugging people across the table.
“Quick survey: Will you ask for a hug?” I ask.
“Yes!” Siggy yelps.
“Yes!” Imani says.
“I want to know what he smells like,” Siggy says.
“Ew,” Imani says.
“I’m conducting a study,” Siggy says.
“Double ew.”
“Smell is an underrated sense,” Siggy says.
“You smell like thirst and desperation,” I say.
“Whatever!” Siggy gives me a play-shove. “At least I didn’t go dry-mouthed when Hunter got onstage.”
“Quick survey: who wants to change the subject?” Imani says. But she’s just playing with us.
As we draw closer to the front of the line, a flock of butterflies flutters in my chest. A herd? A gaggle?
What’s the collective noun for a group of butterflies?
I think it should be an anticipation. An anticipation of butterflies nestles in my chest.
While we’ve been creeping forward in line, a few VIP pass holders have used their exclusive cattle chute to jump to the front. But so far it has only been a few of them, so it’s easy to ignore it.
Until Blair walks up.
We all see her at the same time, but no one says anything.
It’s petty, but I don’t want to watch her get her autograph or anything, so I put my back to the stage.
There’s an uncomfortable moment of silence, and I can’t help it, it hurts again. It shouldn’t. It’s been over a week already, basically, and it’s not like Scott and I were in love or anything. He was a guy I was dating, he was a boyfriend, not my boyfriend.