a little girl approaches our table, wearing a pink Warrior Nation T-shirt and a replica of Girl Power’s baby-blue eye mask as a headband. Joy finishes up her first autograph and then turns to give her tiny fan her full attention.
“Hello!” Joy says, leaning down to meet the girl’s eyes.
“Hi, um, are you for really the real Girl Power?” the girl asks, bouncing on her tippy toes in excitement.
“I was going to ask you the same thing!” Joy replies, causing the little fan to giggle with pure happiness. The girl asks to take a picture, and once the selfie is snapped, the floodgates open, everyone in the restaurant coming over to get an autograph and photo, abandoning their plates of French toast and omelets to get a piece of a Warrior. The booth is swarmed by bodies, all pushing against each other, with some even getting so close, they’re practically sitting on top of me. An oversize purse hits me in the face; our silverware and cups get knocked over from stray hands reaching out for her. Suddenly I know what it feels like to be in a trash compactor, as walls of people close in from every side. I call out Joy’s name, but since I’m not the only one, my call for help is lost in the crowd. I slouch down in my seat, making myself as small as I can, panic-sweating from the lack of space around me. I’ve even lost sight of Joy, who must be making progress because, eventually, the swarm begins to subside, fans slowly returning to their tables, taking my sanity with them.
But whereas all this surrounding activity has me drained, Joy looks recharged, somehow even more radiant than before.
“Wow! That was…Holy crap!” she exclaims, fanning her glowing face with the menu we never ordered from. “Did you see all those people?”
“Uh, it was kind of hard not to. Some dude had his elbow in my cheek.” My tone is less than enthused.
“What? That’s gross.” She cringes. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I tried to!”
“Really? Sorry. I’ve never had anything like that happen to me before.” She pulls out her ponytail, golden waves falling down her back, before getting up and moving to my side of the booth. As she snuggles up to me, a sea of smartphones pop up all around us, technological telescopes aiming to record Joy’s every move. A wave of self-consciousness runs through me, and I pull my hoodie up over my head. I know they aren’t looking at me—no one seems to notice I’m even here—but I must be in every shot, panic sweat and all. Slideshows of Vaporizer with Bridgette pop into my head, WarNats drawing devil horns or witch warts onto her face. I used to laugh at them, reading though all the funny comments about how stupid and simple she seemed compared to him. I wonder if they’ll do that to me too.
“So, what did you want to ask me?” Joy asks hopefully.
“Actually, I think I’m ready to go.”
“What? Aren’t you hungry?”
“Starved, actually. But everyone is…watching us.”
She looks around, noticing the phones for the first time. “Try to ignore them; that’s what I do when they start filming while I’m fighting.” What? How can I ignore this? I think of the thousands of Warrior candids I’ve viewed over the years, WarNats overanalyzing every little thing. Oh, she ordered eggs? Must be low on protein, or gearing up for a fight. Rambling, overreaching conversations about the most inane details. I freely admit I used to be right there with them, building these imaginary stories around every shot of Blue Streak. But being here now, seeing how…ordinary these moments are…how did Bridgette deal with this? How did she hold on for four years while having zero privacy and total strangers unfairly ripping her apart?
“Yeah, I can’t. Okay? Can we go? Please?” I beg, already standing.
She frowns, worried. “Of course, yeah, let’s go. Are there any other good places around here?”
Outside, I take a deep breath, trading claustrophobic diner air for hot summer humidity. But it still feels better than having people breathing down my neck, clawing for my girl and prying at me.
“Are you okay?” Joy asks, rubbing my back gently. We’re not even ten steps outside the door when her phone rings, playing the familiar tones of the Warrior Nation theme song.
“Yes?” she answers, and her face immediately falls. She paces up and down the sidewalk, covering her other ear with her hand so as not to