A new comment pops up.
-Well, why don’t I just come with you?
I read it automatically, brain on autopilot, and then the username registers.
@Kerberos_42.
My heart stops.
Another comment.
-Sorry to interrupt. It’s Jacob. “Bird boy”. I’m watching this.
The room tilts for a second.
The comments explode.
-BIRD BOY IS HERE
-OMG OMG HIIIIIIIII
-SAY “GREEK COLUMN” IF IT’S REALLY YOU
“Well, shit, this is mortifying,” I say faintly. “Hi, Jacob.”
Another line appears.
-Hello. You look beautiful. Also: I’m at the door.
My head snaps toward the front of the house like it might suddenly become transparent.
“He’s joking,” I tell the chat weakly.
And then there’s a knock.
The live goes feral.
-OPEN THE DOOR
-GIRL RUN
-This is better than Netflix!!!!!!
-SOMEONE SCREEN RECORD
“Oh my god,” I whisper. Adrenaline slams into my veins. “OK. Everyone calm your tits.”
They do not calm their tits. And nor do I.
I fumble the phone off its makeshift stand, still broadcasting to several thousand people, and half-jog down the hallway on shaking legs. My heart is hammering so hard I can feel it in my teeth.
When I open the door, Jacob isthere in his work clothes, slightly rumpled, hair mussed by the breeze, breathing a little hard like he walked faster than his usual decorous pace.
He looks up at me, eyes soft, mouth tense. “Hi,” he says.
I shove the phone sideways against my hip so the camera shows only my fingers and a blur of hallway. “Uh. Internet, this is Jacob. Jacob, this is… far too many people.”
A polite wave enters frame; his long fingers, the edge of his sleeve. Then his voice, low and careful. “Hello. I apologize for… intruding on what appears to be a support group.”
