And then he starts coughing, wheezing so hard he bends over at the waist, and I’m not sure if I should slap his back or let him go. He stops, finally, and holds a hand in front of his mouth, spitting into it.

He opens his fist and lifts out the queen of spades. Holding it delicately between his middle and pointer fingers, he shows it to the audience. “Found it.”

He hands it to me, and I take it, grimacing at the dampness.

“That’s your card, is it not?”

“Mine was drier.”

The crowd laughs, and this time it belongs to me, not him. They’re in my hand. I meet his stare to make sure he knows it. He does. He gives me the tiniest nod of respect, then joins their laughter, turning back to them. “Quite a character, eh?”

They clap and roar for me, and I swear the blood in my veins is carbonated, bubbling against the skin containing it. I feel sick and powerful all at once—like I could explode and have everything I’ve ever wanted. I bend slightly at the waist. The magician observes me for a moment, and I know he recognizes what I’m feeling—maybe this is what everyone feels onstage. Maybe this is why everyone wants to be a singer or an actor as a kid—to feel like this.

The magician shakes his head slightly, almost like he’s breaking his own trance. He reaches forward and grips my hand in his, raising our joined fists above our heads as he spins us to face the audience. He bows, and I awkwardly follow his lead, a second behind, as he pulls our hands down together. When we rise, his fingers slide from my palm to my elbow as he leads me to the stairs. I expect him to let me go then, but he takes me all the way to my seat as people clap and watch.

He lets me go when we reach my chair, and I slump down on the cold plastic, ignoring the gaping mouth of the guy next to me. The green-haired magician leans down until his lips almost touch my ear. “You’ve been lovely. See you later.”

He walks away and disappears behind the scenes. My heart pounds fast enough to impair my breathing, and I’m not sure if it’s from the rush of applause or so much contact with another human being. My face already heats from the memory of his lips so close to my skin.

I try to control my breathing and fail. Part of me wants to vomit and part of me wants to run back onstage and never get off again.

A tall girl with long black hair takes the stage, and I’m sure whatever she’s about to do will be amazing.