Fuck.It sounded like a football stadium out there.
Their moderator today was Wystan Ruiz, a decorated playwright with a deep passion for the show. His intros for the cast were so twee, AJ would have laughed if she hadn’t felt so sick.
“Xiaobo Lee, aka Captain Quentin Chan, disaffected leader!”
“Break a leg!” Xiaobo whispered over his shoulder.
He walked onstage to deafening shrieks, a stunned grin spreading across his face.Whoa,he mouthed offstage, before taking one of six tall black director’s chairs.
As AJ advanced, she caught her first glimpse of the audience. Suddenly she wasn’t getting enough air.
Ballroom A was a cavernous carpeted conference room the size of a large car dealership.SNL’s studio capacity was three hundred seats; this venue looked at least five times that.
The crowd was on their feet cheering for Xiaobo, fathoms of fans in Blue Coat blue, peppered with makeshift Petes, and Navis, and Zoras, and Irises, and Anas, and Rhos. Once again, AJ felt staggered that this many people had seen the show. That this many people were…here.
Now her lungs weren’t filling at all.
Her mind was skipping backward, pastSNLand UCB Chelsea, to her high school cafetorium, where she’d hyperventilated while auditioning forUncle Vanya.Fuck.It was happening again. She couldn’t get air. There wasn’t enough air.
“Toni O’Brian, aka First Mate Zora Ganz, wounded warrior!”
Toni walked on to a tidal wave of applause, and Dave took another step down the gangplank.
AJ willed her legs to follow, but they wouldn’t carry her forward.
Instead, they turned toward the exit, bringing her face-to-face with Noah. AJ couldn’t see the door past his irritatingly large frame. His expression became serious the moment he saw hers.
“I don’t think I can do this,” whispered AJ.
Noah looked around, probably for someone to intervene. He didn’t want to deal with her acting out, or acting like Eudora, and AJ didn’t even care, she just wanted to get to the exit and—
Noah stepped toward her. “Breathe,” he said in a low voice.
AJ shook her head furiously. “You were right,” she gasped. “I hate this. I don’t want to be seen. I don’t belong here.”
“Dave Marans, aka Peter Hobbes, technological trickster!”
Now Dave was onstage, and they were alone in the wing. As the crowd erupted again, AJ was pitched into another wave of panic. She wasnext. They would call her name, and she would still be frozen, and the room would go silent, and they’d all know she’d imploded and—
“Oh God—”
Noah caught her by the shoulder and pressed his other hand to her sternum. “Breathe.”
The heat of his palm felt like sun pouring directly into her lungs. Every fiber of her being now focused on the part where it was connected to his. For a second, his nearness fixed her in place.
Then,shit.This was bad. AJ wasn’t supposed to have this. She was fucking up again and—
Noah must have felt her heart rate spike. He bowed so their foreheads touched; his eyes were closed, long lashes fanned out across his cheekbones. AJ felt his bangs brush her brow, felt his energy surround her like a moat. Her eyes sank shut. She took one breath, then another.
When her eyes reopened, the world had receded, and it was just them. Noah’s eyes were still closed, and he was breathing deeply, pouring his warmth into her. AJ stilled in his grasp, her body yielding to its mate. She breathed. She breathed again. Her eyelids shut once more.
When they reopened, they were back in the wing. Gently, Noah lifted his head, his eyes soft on hers. He did not remove his hands. They stood together like that for one breath, then another.
“AJ Graves, aka Ana Tar, seeker.”
Noah still hadn’t let go, those dark eyes of his inked in memory, and now AJ was seventeen again, in another wing, at another convention. “Hi,” he said roughly.
Despite everything, AJ smiled. “Hi.”
