NANOWRIMO 2020

11.26 Among Us

Mickey looked out at the measly crowd waiting for him to appear. His stomach dropped and if there was anything in it, it would be on its way out.

"Don't be nervous," Michelle tapped him on the shoulder with her clipboard. "There's only about 30 people out there. That's barely anything."

"That's a lot of people," Mickey mumbled.

"What?" Michelle cupped her ear. "I can't hear you. If I can't hear you and I'm standing right next to you, imagine all those poor people in the audience who won't be able to hear you."

Mickey swallowed but there was nothing to swallow and he gagged on his dry tongue. "That's," Mickey said. "That is a lot of people. Out there."

Michelle nodded. Her short bob looked aggressive in the corner of Mickey's eye and he turned to look at her. "Then what are you going to do?"

Run. Is what he wanted to say. Run away, or maybe hide in the bookshelves until their time slot was over and everyone was forced to leave. But with the look in Michelle's eye, Mickey knew that that was the wrong answer. "Go on that stage," Mickey's voice was small and squeaky.

"Exactly!" Michelle slapped him with her clipboard this time. "You go out on that stage and you smile at them!"

"What if they boo me?"

"And what if they cheer?" Michelle retorted. "What if they throw tomatoes? And what if they throw flowers? You won't know until you go out on that stage."

"They're probably all out there out of p-pity," Mickey stuttered. "They're, uh they're probably feeling bad and just stopping cus there's a c-crowd and and they wanna know what's happening—"

"So?" Michelle checked her watch and fixed her hair. "They've stopped. You have their attention. What are you going to do with it? And if it makes you feel better," she added. "Half of those people are probably your relatives or friends. So none of them want to see you fail.

"And there might even be one or two of them who are actual fans," Michelle said. She clicked clacked clicked away in her stilettos and spoke into her earpiece, looking to all the world like a secret service agent.

"I don't want to disappoint them," Mickey whispered and shoved his hands into his pockets. He paced around and around and watched the clock tick down to showtime. Michelle came strutting back, still talking on her earpiece.

"Set up that meeting for two and make sure you send out that email ASAP," Michelle spoke to whoever was on the opposite side of her phone call. "You ready?" she mouthed to Mickey.

He shook his head frantically, but Michelle smiled in that devilish way of hers, gave him a chocolate and pushed him out into the open.

"Introducing Mickey Lee, author of The Dial of Time," a moderator intoned. A smattering of applause.

Mickey ducked his head and waved. Oh Christ why'd he do that? Now he looks like an idiot.

He walked over to his seat, across from Levy Chels, the moderator for his book signing and she smiled at him with gentle eyes. You ready? They seemed to be asking.

Mickey gave her an imperceptible nod and she turned back to the audience. "Now we asked you guys to send in your questions and we'll try to get to as many as we can today..."

"Was it as bad as you thought it was gonna be?" Michelle sipped her coffee and looked at Mickey over her lid.

"I honestly don't remember," Mickey smiled. "I made it out alive, I don't remember falling down, I guess it was okay."

"It was perfectly fine kid. You looked like a champ up there, like you'd been there all your life," Michelle said. "You answered questions in a kind of roundabout way and you looked so confused whenever she asked about your characters and your plot but other than that, not bad at all. We'll work on the stage fright."

"Do you ever feel," Mickey began. "Like it's an accident? That you're a wolf hiding in sheep's clothing, but the just let you be because they don't really care?

"No," Michelle stared at him. Of course she knew exactly what he meant. The feeling of being an imposter or a liar. The feeling that his work isn't valid or that he cheated or lied his way to get to where he is and that this is all a hoax. But he didn't need that validation. Not after this little victory they had. "Not at all. What do you mean? For a writer you're very bad at expressing your self."

Mickey turned a light shade of pink. "Yeah you're right haha that didn't make sense, pretend you didn't hear it," he sputtered.

"You deserve this," Michelle repeated. "This is what you've been working for these past three years. Don't discredit yourself."

"Yeah. Yeah you're right," Mickey said. "You're right." And he smiled, but he still didn't' sound like he believed it. But Michelle thought that was fine. Something to work at over time.