Kendrick nods. “Well, thank you, Quincy. That’s one of the nicest things anyone’s ever said.” He takes a step toward the wing. Looks back again. “Take care, man.”

And then he’s gone, presumably to change clothes for another bit, or grab a beer, or whatever hosts do in between segments.

Q trash-compacts his cheeks with both hands. “Ohmigod! Did that just . . . did Kendrick stop and talk . . . did . . . ?”

And I’m laughing because this is what it’s all about. This is why we’ve come. To see Q’s face look like this. To witness Q’s tongue make these sounds. To see Q’s eyes stretch this wide.

The guard pokes my back, pops my thought bubble. “All right, you’ve had your fun. Let’s go, kid.”

“Is there like a phrase book all you security people use?” I ask.

“Hardy-har, now get moving,” he barks.

Whit tries to push herself up from her bucket seat. “You aren’t taking my brother anywhere. I’m his guardian and he didn’t do anything wrong.”

The guard holds up his hands. “Look, we’re just headed for the lobby, ma’am. There’s a TV in there, he can watch. Bagels, too, if he behaves.”

I step into the aisle. “See, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you guys after, okay?” But I’m already walking down the stairs toward the exit before they can protest anymore.

It’s not the worst thing, watching in the lobby. Chairs are comfortable enough, and there’s free coffee. I sit on the edge of my seat for most of the taping, fingers crossed, hoping by some miracle Q finds his way onto the stage. But then the television monitor dims and the screen falls black, flipping the switch on the last of my optimism. But I don’t move. I know it’s not happening, but I can’t accept we’ve failed. I failed.

Maybe I could run onto the stage.

Or slip behind it and find Kendrick’s dressing room and do that action-movie thing where I get some momentum and then lead with my shoulder into the heart of the door, ripping the bolt from its lock.

Or find his car. I find his car and wait there for him to come out. There are probably pictures of his car online, shouldn’t be that hard to find, and if the other guards are anything like this one, how hard could it be to sneak through undetected?

“Don’t even think about it,” the security guard says, reading my mind. “Here, have another bagel.”

I look at the door behind him, the door from whence we came. No way he’s fast enough to stop me. I stand up and fall into a track-meet stance.

The security guard laughs. “Kid, I’ve been second runner-up at five amateur wrestling tournaments. I’ll suplex you so hard your kids’ll come out dizzy.”