But I can’t stay any longer. The rush I feel doesn’t belong to me. It’s like wearing expensive hand-me-down clothes. Right now the world is magical and full of promises, but what about tomorrow when the show is over? The memory will haunt me with all the magic I’ll never really have in my life. If Dad and Mom had lived… if even one of them had lived, it would have been me onstage, pulling someone from the audience and making them feel alive for a moment. They would have trained me. We could’ve been a family act. But none of that is possible, and this magic is almost too good. It makes me want, and that’s never wise. Better to leave now before I make it worse.

I slip from my seat, and in a moment, I’m through the door and on the now-empty street. It’s colder than earlier, and I curse myself for not bringing a jacket. I pull my beanie down almost to my eyes and bury my fists in my pockets like that will help.

The cool security of my coins greets me. I pull one out and flip it into the air, holding my palm open to catch it.

But it doesn’t land in my palm.

I stare down at the sidewalk, thinking I missed it. Nothing.

I can’t leave without it. I’ve had the same four quarters forever.

I dig the other three coins out of my pocket like they can help me find their missing sibling.

But I’m holding all four. I stare at them, counting them again and again like one will disappear.

A slow clap almost makes me drop them all.

I jerk toward the sound, hungry for it. Addicted. I bite the inside of my lip and draw blood, distracting myself from the desire.

The green-haired boy leans against the brick wall in a narrow alleyway that must have a side entrance into the building.

“Nice trick,” he says.

I open my mouth to say I didn’t do a trick, but I did. I must have done it without thinking—on instinct, high on the rush of being onstage.

“Thanks.” My voice is casual. I slide my coins back into my pocket, resisting the urge to count them one more time just to be sure.

“You’re leaving. Did you not like it?” His arms are folded across his chest, which is still covered in only his performance vest.

“Do you not like clothes?”

He looks at me hard for a moment and then bursts out in laughter.

A breeze hits me, and I shiver.

He sees it. “I’m not the one who’s cold. I’d offer you a jacket, but…” He lets his arms drop, and he holds his palms out toward me in case I needed extra evidence that he doesn’t have an extra scrap to give me.