I look at her. Think about Mrs. Henderson. Old. Judgmental. Always clutches her purse when I walk by.
"Your cat's fat," I say.
Maris's mouth falls open. "What? No! Why would you say that?"
"It's true. Mr. Whiskers weighs at least twenty pounds. She feeds him too much."
"You don't tell someone their cat is fat!"
"Even if it's unhealthy?"
"Especially then! Find something nice. Something complimentary."
I think harder. "Her garden doesn't have as many weeds as last month?"
Maris drops her face into her hands. Laughs. The sound comes out strangled. Helpless.
"I'm terrible at this," I say.
She looks up. Eyes wet from laughing. "You really are. It's kind of adorable."
"Adorable doesn't win people over."
"No. But genuine does." She steps closer. "Here's the thing. You don't have to be smooth. You don't have to say perfect things. You just have to be yourself. The real you. The one who talks to kittens and brings crushed flowers and says what he means."
"That's what got me in trouble in the first place."
"No. Vance got you in trouble. Your honesty is what made people like you. The video went viral because it was real. You were real. Don't lose that trying to be something you're not."
I want to believe her. Want to think being myself is enough.
But the arena taught me different. Taught me that real gets you hurt. Gets you killed.
Still. For Maris, I'll try.
"Okay," I say. "I'll be real. At the fundraiser. All of it."
She nods. Satisfied. "Good. Now let's practice hosting. You'll need to greet people at the door. Make them feel welcome."
The next hour blurs into a series of disasters.
I practice greeting. Break the doorframe leaning on it casually.
Practice pouring coffee. Overfill three cups and flood the saucer.
Practice carrying pastries. Drop a tray. Pebble appears from nowhere to investigate the fallen scones.
"Maybe you don't pour coffee," Maris says. Sweeping up crumbs. "Or carry things. Or touch the door."
I meet her eyes, searching for instruction in the wreckage of my practice session. "What do I do then?"
"Stand there. Look friendly. Let people come to you." She says it like it's simple. Like my body knows how to be anything other than what the arena made it.
I nod. Force my spine straighter. "I can do that."
Her mouth quirks. Doubt written in the curve of it. "Can you?"
I try. Really try. Plant my feet shoulder-width apart and will the tension out of my muscles. My shoulders drop. I let my arms hang loose at my sides instead of crossing them like armor. Soften the hard line of my jaw, the way my mouth wants to flatten into something grim. I think about kittens. About crushed flowers. About Maris laughing, bright and real.
