Rainer gives him a little salute.
“Sorry about that opening, Rainer,” Penelope says.
Jeremy interrupts. “He gets to go home with Paige Townsen. Don’t feel too bad for him.”
The entire stadium screams. I want to crawl under my seat and die. I see Rainer laugh next to me and smile. I just put my hand over my forehead and shake my head.
“Seriously. Let’s give it up for this trio. The stars ofLocked, ladies and gentlemen!”
Cheers and claps. I see Jordan’s face on the screen—trying to smile. It barely passes for genuine.
They single out a few more people, and then they start with the awards.
Grant Fisher wins for Best Villain. Apple Harrison wins for Best Female Performance. They’re giving out Best Male Performance. Rainer and Jordan are both nominated, and when the camera pans to Jordan, I see him give a small smile and tilt his head.
Then Rainer is up. He flashes on the screen next to me—calm and cool and collected.
“And the MTV Movie Award goes to…”
“Rainer Devon! For his portrayal of Noah inLocked.”
Rainer stands next to me, and I stand, too, moving to hug him. He doesn’t kiss me, thank God. Just a quick embrace, and then he jogs forward, taking the stairs two at a time. He air-kisses the actress holding the popcorn statue, and then takes the microphone.
“You guys are too good to me. This is awesome.”
Everyone goes wild. I swear he could say anything right now. He could read a history textbook, and people would scream.
He’s flashing his dimpled smile and shaking his head. “Settle down,” he tells the crowd. “I just want to say how honored I am. Honestly. We do this for you guys, and the fact that you love it means the world.”
I think he’s done, that he’s about to give them a little salute and walk offstage, but instead he tips his head down with his hand like a brim on his forehead. “PG?” he asks.
Time stops. I can feel every muscle in my body freeze in preparation for impact.
“There are too many lights,” he says. “But I just want to thank my brilliant costar, Paige Townsen.” The screams are hysterical. I am vaguely aware of my lips pulling into a smile. “I wouldn’t be up here without her, and I think we all know that. Thank you, guys!”
The lights fade as he walks offstage, but I still feel out of my body. And I don’t get put back in when the lights come up, because Rainer is right back in his seat, taking my hand, the cameras on us, and they’re introducing Tevin Black, a guy I know is friends with Rainer—some comedy actor—who is giving out the award for Best Kiss.
Here we go. We’re about to have to get up there again—this time together. Best Kiss. They go through the other couples first, then end with both fromLocked, the one with Rainer and the one with Jordan.
They announce my name, and I’m already standing, looking to Rainer. Let’s just do this, get it over with. My hands feel numb by my sides, and my insides feel like they’ve been strung up with live wire.
But then the craziest thing happens. They don’t call Rainer’s name. They call Jordan’s.
I spin to look at him, and he’s just sitting there, bewilderment on his face. But in a split second it’s gone, and he’s standing, his hand on my lower back. “Come on,” he whispers into my ear. “Let’s go.”
I don’t look back at Rainer. He’s a pro, though. If he’s surprised, I know he wouldn’t show it.
Standing onstage at an awards show is one of the most surreal experiences—and I’ve had a lot of them lately. You know there are thousands of people there—millions watching—but you can’t see anyone. It’s too bright. It feels like looking out into a sea of kinetic energy. The air crackles with light, sparks,mania.
We get up onstage and take our golden awards shaped like popcorn in movie-theater cups. They are heavier than they look on TV. Jordan flashes me a side smile and then takes the microphone. “Thanks, guys,” he says. “I don’t think we were expecting this.” He’s less assured than Rainer was up here. Jordan is different. Jordan told me once that to him it’s not about the celebrity, it’s about the work. We share that. Neither one of us knows how to deal. Which is why it sucks we’re up here together.
But the crowd doesn’t want us to talk. They don’t want us to act, either. They’re chanting.Kiss. Kiss.
Jordan looks at me again. His shoulders edge up, just slightly. And then everything seems to dim down. Almost fade entirely. I hear the crowd like a distant roar—far off, away. It’s like standing outside a football stadium. The noise feels like it doesn’t even belong to us.
My feet start moving toward him. I think about that day on the beach in Hawaii. About how he rolled me on top of him in the cabana in the rain. About how wonderful and terrible it felt—like the beginning and ending of everything, all at once. The dawn of the world in one single, blinding moment. But even that memory doesn’t stick. Up here nothing seems to hold any weight. It’s like being underwater.
I don’t know how long it has been—mere milliseconds, probably—but I’m standing in front of him now. And he’s looking at me in a way he hasn’t in so long. He’s looking at me in a way I don’t dare think about, not even in my dreams.
