Ship It(88)

And I hold my breath that maybe what I see in her eyes is hope. That maybe I can stop being quite so dumb. That maybe I’m not the big freaking coward she thought I was. That maybe she and I could…

Then she leans in a little closer so that everyone else in this line fades away and it’s just me and her. I can feel her breath on my cheek as she whispers, “I really want to try again… if you do.” Then she pulls back a bit and looks me in the eye.

I do. I really do.

“I’d like that,” I say, and watch as her face breaks into a smile. I want to say more, but my phone buzzes. It’s a text from Caty: Where are you?

I look back at Tess. I really don’t want this moment to end, but: “I gotta go.”

Tess frowns. “You’re not gonna sit with us?”

A smile pulls at the corner of my mouth as I realize she doesn’t know. “No, I can’t, I’m sorry. Find me after, though, okay?”

Tess nods. I wave at Jillian, who gives me a little smile.

I hurry off down the hallway. I pass my parents down the line, and they’re giving me thumbs-up and waving. Oh god, they weren’t watching that, were they? I feel my cheeks flush hot, and I put my head down and push through some service doors to an employee access corridor.

I bring my hand up to my cheek to feel where Tess’s breath was on it just moments ago. My heart zips as I think about meeting up with her later.

I walk through the hallways toward the greenroom. I’m familiar with the ugly white industrial cinder-block look of these corridors now. It’s ironic that the more successful you get, the uglier the hallways you walk through are. Maybe that’s a metaphor for something.

The long walk gives me time to think about what I’m going to say onstage. I could use my very first question to ask about SmokeHeart, and then use the remaining time to ask follow-up questions about it. Or I could ask a bunch of regular questions and then use my last question to be about SmokeHeart.

I want to ask Jamie a million questions; I want him to say all the frustrating, complicated stuff he told me back in Ballroom 6E in Seattle, about how the TV industry works, about how he doesn’t feel like he’s in charge of his own show sometimes, and mostly about how he doesn’t give a rat’s ass whether we think his characters are gay or not, because he says they’re not. I could press him on it today, I could get him talking. I could use this time onstage to finally expose Jamie’s real opinions.

But how would that affect Forest?

Forest said his situation with Red Zone was very fragile at the moment, and it would be better if SmokeHeart didn’t come up at all. If I push it, if I make a big deal out of it, will that sink his chances for that role? Will that tank his career?

And for what? At this point, Jamie has made it as clear as he can that he’s never going to make it canon. Everyone has said that Smokey’s dead for good, Forest is off the show. All I can do today is get some kind of cathartic release for the fans, but I can’t make SmokeHeart happen. It’s over.

Is it worth it to press them on it if it’s not going to happen, and it might kill Forest’s chances at his next job? The job he really wants, and is, let’s face it, much better suited for?

I don’t know.

When I reach the greenroom, I slip in through the doors and stand near the back. I see Ms. Greenhill chewing out one of her assistants as he cowers. I don’t envy him, but I smile a little, remembering how terrifying Ms. Greenhill can be and glad she’s not directing that anger at me. I see Caty sitting sideways across one of the chairs, wearing a matching kelly-green pantsuit with a hot-pink belt. She looks up from her phone to give me a nod. On the far side of the room, Rico waves at me from the snack table. I realize to my surprise that I actually have some friends here. Is that sad? That my only friends are the cast and employees of the probably soon-to-be-canceled show Demon Heart? Or is that actually really cool? I can’t decide.

I spot Jamie, hunched in the corner, completely ignoring me. I don’t see Forest anywhere. Ms. Greenhill finishes dressing down her assistant and walks over, running her hand through her short black bob like she’s wiping away his incompetence.

“Hi, Claire,” she says. “Just a few minutes left. You ready?”

No, not at all. Why did I even demand to do this? I have no idea what I’m going to ask when I get up there, I have no idea how to hold my hands, or if my hair looks okay. I can feel the nerves creeping in the closer we get to showtime.

Ms. Greenhill reads the anxiety on my face. “You’re gonna be fine. Honestly. We wouldn’t have said yes unless we thought you’d kill it.”

She gives me a comforting pat on my shoulder and moves off. My knees are starting to feel weak. Where the hell is Forest?


“I DON’T KNOW how the press got it—we’ve been having problems with leaks all year,” Reynolds says, thwacking me on the back with a heavy hand. My agent told me Reynolds wanted to talk to me alone, so I waited like an idiot in the service corridor to catch him as he came out of a panel about the future of the video game in Hollywood. My agent also said the trades are running stories that the studio is circling me for the Red Zone role.

“I want you to be careful because there may be some Red Zone fans at your panel today. You know, eager to meet the new guy, see whatcha got,” he says.

The idea of new fans, new expectations, it gives me heartburn. What ideas do they have about Jack Tension that they’re going to ask me to comment on? What standards are they going to hold me to? I’ve barely gotten used to the Demon Heart fans.