“I can’t just look at you. I have to interact with the audience.”

Zarar takes my hand in his. I let him. My arm’s a limp fish between us.

“You are hard-wired to perform. It’s part of your personality. You’re going to pull off this comedy thing. It’s just a matter of when. You have another shot to practice right now. That’s all this is. You’re going to have to do hundreds of practice gigs before you’re ready for a big gig. Start knocking out the practice gigs now. Get back on the horse. You’re going to get back on it eventually. I know you will. You’re as persistent as I am, just in a different way.”

I shift my eyes from the crook of my arm to his pupils. How does he know these things that I need to hear and manage to say them in the most precise and calming way?

“Okay,” I huff. “You’re so rational and annoying.”

He nods. “Okay.”

“Glad that’s settled.”

“You’re on in ten minutes.”

I stare at a yellow stain on the concrete floor. I’m praying to the universe that Dawn decides to defy her text and call me, all the way up till the second Z pops his head back into the green room and says, “You’re on, canoe thief.”

I follow him to the edge of the stage on shaky legs and watch him take the aisle seat of the front row.

How many times has Dawn asked to come to a gig? Asked to hear the act? Asked just to see my notes—and I’ve turned her down.

I was afraid of what she might suggest, and if her suggestions would be better than what I had originally written and therefore prove that I’m not good enough on my own.

“Our next performer is doing ten minutes of stand-up for us. Jamie Federov.” The announcer claps politely with the audience and clears the stage.

I swallow, smile, and step out toward the microphone.

The spotlight hits me and everything else goes dark. For a second, it’s just me and the light and the pressure of its attention. Then the front row slowly comes back into focus. Zarar nods at me, the side of his lip kicked up.

I pick up the mic. “Hey hey hey, my name’s Jamie Federov! Your friendly neighborhood vampire.” There are some scattered huffs. No gasps of horror or surprise though, so I must not magically flicker back into myself. The Siri mirage glitter dust magic is holding for the masses.

“Excuse the mess.” I make circles around my chin area with my finger. “I’ve been waiting backstage for two hours and I got hungry.” A few chuckles. “They don’t feed open mic-ers, you guys. I have to feed myself.”