“A-and that’s all,” I said weakly. “There’s no deep, secret meaning to any of it. J-just a git messing about.” I rubbed the back of my neck. “But Ilovethat it makes you happy.” I grimaced at the moderator and my fellow panelists. “Th-thank you?”
The awkward silence rang on, burning in my throat.
The applause began slowly, then escalated, thundering against my eardrums and somehowinsidemy chest.
I’d done it. I’d managed to speak.
Somehow, despite the endless sea of hungry eyes, despite the forest of phones and bright, excited faces, despite the swallowing void of strangers’ attention, I’d managed to speak. And possibly makesense.
There was still the rest of the panel to get through, the responses from my peers and the questions from the audience, but the part I was meant to carry on my own was over. The question of whether it had gone well remained—whether I’d just made an utter arse of myself in front of the internet and Drake House publishing overlords—but at the moment I could hardly bring myself to care. The sword of Damocles had snapped the single horsehair by which it hung, but hadn’t yet plummeted down to sever my head from my neck.
We were mid-plummet.
And there were much, much worse places to be.
For now, I allowed others to do the talking, listened with half an ear as the other panelists took the garbled mess of a speech I’d made and wrung from it some semblance of deeper meaning and perhaps a shred or two of useful advice. I nodded along and tried to look attentive, though truly I was drowning in the sea-green of Lucas’s eyes.
August 15th
I was soconflicted!
On the one hand, there was absolutely no way I wasn’t about to watch this drama unfold between Lucas and Armand. They were making suchintenseeye contact. Lucas was standing at the side of the room and, despite the bedroom eyes, seemed hilariously cool about all this. Armand fidgeted, slumped, stuttered, and fiddled obnoxiously with his pencil, but no one could say he looked anything short of sex on a stick. There wasmagicin the air, and somehow everyone could tell. Mine wasn’t the only head swiveling back and forth between these two.
But on the other hand, standing next to Lucas was ... Skyler. Amused smile on his lips. Hands in his pockets. Silky black locks falling gently in front of beautiful blue eyes.
He was watching the mini spectacle that was Armand and Lucas as well, but he was also sneaking glances at me. I gripped the edge of my seat and forced myself not to run.
Again.
The thought of facing Skyler since our last “conversation” was making Armand’s crisis croissants threaten to reappear. I was in the front row; I could make a run for the exits by the stage.
But that would mean missing the final act of this stupid, sad, explicitly gay remake ofThe Odd Couple.
Be brave, Robin! Or if that fails, be nosy!
The non-Armand panelists said some stuff, and then the audience Q&A started. Armand was doing a surprisingly good job of fielding questions. Sure, he was sweating a little, but the more questions he took, the more coherent his answers became. He and the other panelists had clearly recognized some deep kinship with each other and had begun discussing the very nature ofArt, and the audience loved it. Armand was still Armand and reluctant to talk—but when he did, there was a self-deprecating charm that had replaced the miasma of resentful self-loathing. He almost soundeddignified. Like he actually wanted to be here and was having fun. He even kept his cool when Lucas asked a question.
I couldn’t help thinking back to that first, burningly awkward lecture he’d given at the start of the workshop. The difference was astounding. I felt like a proud mama bird watching their offspring fly confidently toward an invisible jet turbine.
After a while, the moderator took it upon himself to make sure some of the other panelists had an opportunity to answer questions from the audience before the time was up. Armand slumped back in his seat and covered his eyes for a few moments as if to catch his breath. But then he found Lucas’s gaze again and those two made sweet, sweet eyeball love for all the world to see.
The panel ended with thunderous applause, and Armand shot to his feet. He started for the stairs that led off the stage, but a whole pack of eager fans barred his path, and even more of them were inadvertently blocking Lucas’s. Oh no, I couldn’t take this anymore.
I got up, raised both hands and said in a loud voice, “Out of the way,out of the way! Ladies and gentlemen, please make way for Mr. Demetrio and hisroommate, clear the stairs,nowladies and gentlemen! Everybodymove!”
Amazingly, they actually listened to me, and Armand made it down the stairs without impediment. Lucas managed to push to the front of the crowd, and in classic meet-cute fashion, neither of them quelled their momentum in time and they crashed into each other pretty spectacularly.
Luckily, Lucas’s camera and Armand’s cane were tucked away and they didn’t do anything as silly as bonk heads. Armand gripped Lucas’s shoulders to steady them both, and they stared into each other’s eyes for about twenty seconds longer than was comfortable for the rest of us.
Armand eventually seemed to come to his senses and let go of Lucas, color rising rapidly to his face. “Errmhmm ... er, hi.” He coughed.
Lucas, for his part, had never stopped grinning and didn’t so much speak as chuckle in response. “Hi! Finally.”
Armand swallowed and tried unsuccessfully to stuff one of his hands into the pockets of his very tight jeans. Again. “Yeah, finally. Eheh.” He seemed to have realized they were still surrounded by people, and was looking around anxiously as if hoping they would just disappear.Ha, as if they would, when he and Lucas were giving us all such a good show.
Sure enough, the crowd that had initially gathered had maintained its size and a surprising level of silence while watching the star-crossed roommates.
Despite the crowd, Armand couldn’t seem to keep the next bit down. “I wasn’t sure you were coming. I thought maybe ... after last night ...”
