“No, wait,” I say. “Wait. Just take me. They didn’t do anything. It was all me.”

“Listen, I don’t care if it’s just you or the whole lot.”

I turn back to the others. “I don’t want Q to miss the show. He has to see the show.”

“I don’t wanna see it without you,” Q says. “This was your idea.”

I shrug, because there’s no way I’m letting Q down today. “Nah, I’m actually more partial to Much Later Tonight anyway.”

“Jason, what’s going on up there?” says a voice I’ve heard so many times on TV but never in person. I look down at the stage and there’s Kendrick cupping his hand above his eyes, squinting, as he fights off the spotlights.

The security guard—Jason, apparently—shakes his head. “Sorry, boss. We’ll be out of the way in a moment.”

In a moment.

And it dawns on me, why can’t this be the moment?

Kendrick nods and is about to turn around when I yell out:

“Kendrick, sir, I’m so incredibly sorry to interrupt your show! You’re brilliant and funny and you seem like an awesome human, which is why we’re here! Why we came here to see you because . . .”

Kendrick offers the faintest wave—he’s unmoved. This is a speech he’s heard before, can recite from memory, only he’d write it better. “Thank you for coming,” he says, walking toward the stage wings.

“Wait, Kendrick! My friend is sick! He’s gonna die in a couple of days and all he wanted, the only thing, was to come see you! Please, please, just give him a second of your time. Please. I’m begging you.”

Kendrick pauses, turns his head back to us. “What’s your friend’s name?”

“Q! Quincy!”

“Quincy, you up there?”

Quincy nods but doesn’t move—if Q were a cartoon his pupils would be two black spirals spinning, like when someone’s hypnotized.

“Feel free to talk, Quincy,” Kendrick says, laughing.

“You’re my comedic hero.”

“Thank you, Quincy. And thank you for using your last . . . thank you for coming all this way from . . .”

“Ohio,” Ms. Barrantes pipes up.

“Ohio,” Kendrick repeats. “I wish you and your family peace and solace.”

“I’ve watched Purple Tape a hundred times,” Quincy blurts.

Kendrick’s brow lifts. “My mom hasn’t even watched Purple Tape. There are probably only four people who even know it exists.”

“I bought it online. It’s not the best copy, and there’s a couple spots where the video goes out for a second, but it’s all there. I saved up for it for a long time. But it was so worth it. Your jokes are like a freaking master class in writing. Most of the time they don’t even feel like jokes. Just like awesome stories that make you laugh.”