Za starts to clap, then stops when she looks at me.
I stand.
I don’t say a word.
I just grab my clutch and walk straight out of the ballroom before the camera can pan to the losing nominees. Beforethey can zoom in on my face and catch the exact second disappointment guts me.
It’s insulting.
No—worse.
It’s embarrassing.
Losing to a knockoffPokémon–Tetrislovechild coded in what had to be a single weekend?Please.
Chastityhad depth.
Narrative.
Strategy.
Actual thought behind it.
You needed more than five functioning brain cells to win a level. But apparently that’s not what sells.
I push through the lobby doors and step into the cool night air. The door clicks shut behind me, muffling the celebration inside. The red carpet, the flashes, the interviewers calling out names all fade into background noise.
For a second, I just stand there, breathing.
Then my phone vibrates in my hand.
Za.
I don’t answer it.
I walk farther down the pavement, away from the entrance, heels clicking too loud against the concrete. The noise inside still leaks out every time the doors open.
There’s a small group standing near the side of the building, half-hidden by a column. Two men, one woman.
All of them smoking and talking low.
I stop in front of them without thinking.
“Can I bum a cig?”
They all look up. There’s a brief pause, then the woman nods and passes me one without a word. One of the guys flicks his lighter and holds it out.
I lean in, light the cigarette, inhale.
I haven’t smoked one in years because Mum made me stop but tonight it feels earned.
It burns going in and I welcome it.
“Yo,” one of them says, squinting at me. “Wait. You’re—aren’t you?—?”
I don’t help him. I already know what he’s about to say.
“Francine! You’re from RudeGal Gaming,” he continues, more confident now. “You won Best Sound Design, didn’t you? That was sick. Congrats.”
