He let out a full-body sigh of relief once he retreated upstage to assume his place in the lineup. Soon enough, he was able to escape backstage again until it was his turn for his talent. He’d already seen most of them during the dress rehearsal the day before, but he wished he could see Merritt’s reaction when Khalid, the local orthopedist, performed an acoustic cover of “Wonderwall.”
When he returned to the stage, dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, the stagehands had already set everything up for him: an easel with a giant pad of paper, and a camera trained on it, broadcasting a magnified feed to the giant projector screen behind it. He was extremely grateful that, for once, it hadn’t been his job to figure out how to make that happen.
He stood in the center of the stage, looking out into the gaping black pit of the audience.
Breathe.
“Hi,” he said, which was about all he had the stamina for.
“Hi, Niko!” someone who sounded a whole lot like Jo hollered back, to scattered laughter.
A surge of adrenaline pumped through him. “I’m going to draw a quick portrait for you guys tonight, if that’s okay.”
“It’s okay!” someone else yelled, to more laughter. Niko wasn’t sure if this was the reaction he was looking for or if things were getting away from him. His heart beat a steadily accelerating rhythm in his chest.
“Um, okay, good. That’s good. But, uh, first I need someone to be my model.”
As he looked out into the audience, the shapes of individual people slowly began to come into view. It had been Merritt’s idea to have him pick a volunteer.
And up until the moment he got on that stage, he’d genuinely been sure he’d pick a random person.
Instead, he turned to the judging table. “Ms. Valentine, would you do me the honor?”
Merritt’s eyes widened in shock, and he could tell her brain was working a mile a minute, calculating whether she should turn him down.
Wouldshe? He was sweating again.
But before he knew it, she’d pushed her chair back and gracefully gotten to her feet, smiling calmly like this had been their plan all along. “Of course, Mr. Petrakis,” she said, matching his formal tone with only a hint of teasing.
She sat on the stool upstage, facing the easel, on a small platform so the whole audience could see her. “How do you want me?” she asked quietly, all innocence, but still, his throat went dry.
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea, after all.
“However you want, as long as you don’t move.” He tried to keep any flirtation out of his tone—especially since that wasn’t an instruction that sounded appealing for her to follow—but her cheeks went pink anyway. He was thankful that the camera was trained on the paper and not her face so no one else could see it.
In a way, it felt like cheating to draw her. He’d already spent so long studying her, getting comfortable with the lines and curves of her face, that translating them to paper was almost second nature now. He had five minutes and was pretty sure he’d already wasted one, so he started the timer on his phone and set it on the easel.
He’d been worried that this would be boring to watch, but even though neither of them said anything, the stage silent except the squeak of his marker against the pad, the audience stayed quiet and attentive, too. Merritt had been right that facing away from the crowd was enough to ignore them, so helooked back and forth between the paper and her face until the beeping of the timer pulled him out of his reverie.
The audience applauded as he stood up, beckoning Merritt to come look at the finished product. In that moment, he forgot all about the competition—his only concern was whether she was pleased. And as she took it in, her face lighting up in a genuine smile, he already felt like he’d won the whole damn thing.
She looked up at him, emotion shining behind her eyes, and he had to remind himself that this was absolutely the wrong moment to kiss her.
Thankfully, the judges didn’t score him until he was offstage, and he didn’t bother sticking around in the wings to hear how he’d done.
He couldn’t fully relax, though, because there was still one more segment, the one he was most worried about: the Q&A. They’d been given a list of the potential questions beforehand, none of which were very hard-hitting, but he could picture himself getting up there and going blank for anything more complex than his own name.
All twelve of them filed back onstage, standing in the same arrangement as when they’d been introduced earlier in the evening, trying not to fidget while they waited to be called into the hot seat.
Three people left…two…and, of course, he was the very last one to step up to the microphone, his underarms soaked with sweat.
Susan read off the card in front of her: “What do you love most about Crested Peak?”
“It’s home,” he said immediately, before he could think about it. He paused, taking a breath to collect himself. “When I was growing up, most people I knew were desperate to get away. Gosomewhere else. I think this is the somewhere they meant. Everyone who lives here is here because theywantto be, because they love it, because they care about keeping it special.” He cleared his throat, trying in vain to keep it from tightening.
“My whole life, I never felt like I really belonged anywhere. I never expected to find that here. Living here…knowing all of you…it’s changed me more than I ever expected. But as I’ve changed, the town has changed, too. It held me for as long as it was able to. It made me ready to move on. And now that I…that it’s time for me to leave…”
He swallowed, overwhelmed with emotion, as a distressed murmur rolled through the crowd. “I wonder if I would’ve been able to make this life here if I had to start over today. I want to win tonight so that next lost twenty-two-year-old has the opportunity to find themselves a home, too. Even if it’s fleeting. Because even when I’m gone, this place…the people…you’ll all be with me forever.”
