cute.”
He waggled his eyebrows at me. “So are—”
“We don’t have time for this!” Emily yelled, flapping her hands up and down.
“Come on—let’s go!” Sirena called. She and Emily grabbed my hands, and the pile of us hurried down the road.
I twisted around. “Are you coming, Karen?”
“You go on!” Karen called. “I’m not going to run, but I’ll get there as fast as I can!”
“Okay!” Instinctively, I turned to Paloma and pleaded as we ran, “Please tell me what’s happening!”
“Okay,” she huffed, “Varsity did not do your cold open.”
“Oh.” It wasn’t surprising news, but a wave of disappointment still washed over me.
“But hold on,” Paloma continued, “High Ropes Jake walked up to Nina Knightley before the show and handed her a copy of your script. He told her the whole story about Ben and you and you getting kicked off the team for hitting Ben and—”
“How do you know this?” I interrupted.
“Nina told us,” Hanna exclaimed, punching the sky.
“What?” I spat.
“Hold on, Hanna,” Paloma said, whacking Hanna’s shoulder. “I’m not there yet! So, Nina Knightley goes up to the Pauls with the script and points and gestures and I don’t know what really happened because we were so far away, but they looked all flabbergasted and they made calm-down hands and she pointed some more and then Dion and Roger came up, and I think they must have confirmed High Ropes Jake’s story because she huffed and came over to us and asked us if we knew you.”
My knees nearly gave out.
“And we did!” Emily squealed.
I barked out a laugh. “Yes. Okay. Okay. Okay?”
“And then she said, ‘Can you get her over here after the show?’ and Karen showed up out of thin air and said she had an idea.”
Karen to the rescue. Again. “So that’s why I’m dressed as a Boy Scout.”
“Exactly. Because,” Paloma paused for effect, “we’re sneaking you in to meet Nina Knightley.”
The temperature in the Main Lodge was twenty degrees hotter than the air on the porch, and the difference made it feel like we walked through a wall made of warm air. With the Gildas and Jesse as cover, I kept my eyes on my boots and tried to move as masculinely as possible . . . whatever that was supposed to look like.
Laughter swelled in the audience, and I sneaked a look up. Darkness enveloped the crowd, but the stage lights shone bright on the players. My heart lurched, and I focused on my boots again. After this was all over, despite what had happened—or now, because of it—I was going to meet Nina Knightley. I had to remember that was way more important than any one improv show.
We slid into the back row and I looked around, trying to spot her. There was a row of men I didn’t recognize off to the side—probably the guys from Second City and iO and UCB—but Sirena touched my arm before I could find Nina.
“Don’t draw attention to yourself,” she hissed.
I glued my eyes to the floor.
“Thank you so much for coming and for being such a great crowd!” Brandon called out over the applause. “We’ve got some talent scouts and big-name alumni in the audience tonight, and it was an extra pleasure to perform for you!”
I closed my eyes, steadying myself for meeting my hero. What would I even say to her? Sirena elbowed me. I opened my eyes, and she nodded at the stage.
Paul DeLuca and Paul Paulsen were clapping and pointing at the Varsity team, who took an additional bow. Then the team jogged off, waving at the crowd. The Pauls took center stage.
“Well, well, well,” Paul DeLuca bellowed, a microphone in hand, “it’s hard to believe another fortnight of improv at RMTA is coming to a close. And what a performance! Give it up one more time for Varsity!” He clapped his hands against the microphone, which produced a low thudding sound. The applause peaked and died down. “Now, none of this would be possible without all of you coming back year after year, so give yourselves a round of applause, too!”
I exchanged sidelong glances with the Gildas. Less enthusiastic applause accompanied this microphone thudding. I rolled my eyes and resumed looking at the floor.
“RMTA is a great place with great, talented people,” Paul DeLuca continued.
I clenched my jaw.
“And we can’t wait to see you again next summer. We—”
“Paul, do you mind if I say a few words?”
I wasn’t looking at the speaker, but I’d know that voice anywhere. The room erupted into