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The game.
I welcome the designation, which makes it easier to see the frenzy for what it really is. For a good majority of the people in this realm—in thiscity—pictures of Kara and me are nothing but ten seconds of their time while riding a train to work or standing in line at the grocery store. After that, more important things are on their minds. Stuff I know about firsthand. Jobs. Bills. Families. Everyone just wants to make it to the next day. This world is nothing but a separate, silly game marked by shouted phrases that seem set torepeatmode.
“Kara!”
“Maximus!”
“Over here. Over here!”
“Kara!”
“Maximus!”
Marco.
Polo.
Fish out of water!
I almost laugh. It all meshes into the same rhythms, demanding similar rote moves.
Until, between one flashbulb flurry and the next, it isn’t.
My goldfish bowl, such a thick barrier between this and reality, gains a crack.
A scary one.
I blink to make sure I’m not imagining the sight at the back of the media crush…
I’m not.
But I don’t dare expose my disquiet to anyone, least of all the ravishing female fitted into the crook of my arm. Kara’s too busy doing exactly what I’ve asked of her—charming every reporter in this crowd nearly out of their skins—to heed the multi-braided head toward the back of the crowd.
Regina.
Who, at the immediate moment, is moving much too quickly for a mere recon sweep.
I know it without a shadow of a doubt. Even in her last-second tuxedo rental and at this early point of the night’s revelry, my warrioress friend has sighted a possible target. I only hope, with every synapse in my mind and spirit, that it’s the quarry she came here for.
Thatwecame here for.
If she’d only give me some kind of sign…
The swift snap of her head, with sights arrowed at me, wasn’t what I expected. But I’ll happily take it.
Or will I?
With her braids pulled back and coiled in a bun, I can read my friend’s whole expression. The experience brings another unexpected—and unpleasant—punch.
Reg’s gritted teeth are exposed, white and angry. The new jut of her head hurls yet another new message at me.
She’s wasting the effort. I’m not picking up a thing. What the hell does she need?
I start shaking my head, feigning wonder at this whole spectacle, in hopes that she’ll comprehend…
Except it turns into the moment thatIdo.
When she gestures with her head again, including Kara in that frantic dart. At once, she flashes the look back at me. A look that, in some ancient TV sitcoms, would be a stand-in for expressions likehanky-pankyandgetting it on.
