Chills are rushing all over my skin as Norm sings it.
The entire studio has gone silent, save for his baritone voice, right on pitch, his rhythm perfect.
Did I say chills?
What do you call it when your chills get goosebumps?
Whoisthis guy? Why do I feel like I know him? And why do I want to go throw up?
He stumbled over the last line in the chorus, glancing around at the gape-mouthed audience of mostly moms and young girls around him, and abruptly stops. “I—sorry. And thank you. I just wanted—”
“Oh, wow, that wasamazing.” I beam at him and clap. That’s what you do, even when every system inside your body is squirming and roiling and yellingsomething is wrong.
The audience erupts in cheers too, and I shoot a glance off-camera, to where Kiva is standing ready.
We’ve been on shakier ground the past few weeks, but I know she sees that I’m nervous. Hiramys pops up behind her too, clearly ready to leap into action if need be.
Aunt Zinnia’s hovering beyond them, her face pale.
I hope the audience can’t tell how creeped out I am, especially since I can’t even define why I’m creeped out.
“Norm, what wasthat?” Calista says as the audience’s cheers die down. “And how have you been hiding from the music industry for all these years? Someone get Simon Cowell on the phone.Well done, sir. Well done.”
He blushes so deep that it goes all the way down his neck, and he looks at me again. “I—thank you. For letting me sing. I’ve wanted to sing to you ever since—well, ever since I found out I’m your father.”
Yep.
Full alarm bells.
Kiva rushes the stage. Calista’s security people quietly move to the top of the stairs leading down this man’s aisle.
He shoots a look around. “I’m sperm donor number one-four-six-seven-three from theNext Genfacility in San Francisco,” he blurts, talking faster and faster like he knows he’s about to be thrown out. “I registered withMatchDNA, and they sent me a new match with your name last week, and I—look.” He points to his face. “We have the same eyes. And—”
“And we’ll be cutting this part before it airs,” Calista says quietly as the show’s security team surrounds him and removes his access to the mic.
“I don’t want anything, Waverly,” he yells. “I don’t want anything. I just wanted to say I’m proud of you and making that donation is the best thing I’ve ever done with my life.”
I touch my face.
Then my throat, because it’s the closest thing to my voice.
Then my stomach, which is in absolute panicwhat the fuck just happenedmode.
And I look at Calista.
You okay?she mouths.
I open my mouth to answer her—no, I’ve never done a DNA test—but I suddenly can’t.
Because my stomach is doing what it does best.
And there is no way I’m going to reach a bathroom in time.
I rise, ready to bolt, and I make eye contact with Aunt Zinnia.
She knew.
She knew.
