The audience, confused by his weird rolling and Macarena, cheers when Lucas, eyes wide with alarm, grips Jenna by the waist and hefts her over his head. Finally, he’s doing something impressive! Something that makes sense. Except he doesn’t put her down. He runs back and forth from one edge of the stage to the other, carrying Jenna, whose hair bounces along, hanging in her face.

I time this stunt to continue for exactly a minute. Which, in rushing-back-and-forth-carrying-a-woman time, feels like roughly an hour. He’s pink in the face from exertion, arms wobbling, legs bowing. His grin is pained, big white teeth clenched like Bender’s from Futurama. Jenna is clearly bewildered. It isn’t her fault that he’s such a douchewarbler, so I let him put her down. I am a benevolent goddess, after all.

“Rubber snakes,” I whisper. “Rubber snakes everywhere.”

Rubber snakes rain from the ceiling. Lucas jumps, dodging them, anxious fingers splaying. He’s terrified of snakes. Jenna’s head tilts, scouring the ceiling to find out where they’re coming from.

This music will never do. I instruct Hall to replace it with a non-Auto-Tuned recording of “I Blame Myself,” a song Lucas never sings live because he simply doesn’t have the range. His unfiltered voice explodes across the room, embarrassingly pitchy. I cannot describe in words how cathartic this is for me.

“The fuck?” Dad says hoarsely.

I double over, clutching my stomach, muscles cramped from holding in laughter. Kaia throws me an electric smile, eyes wide—“It’s the hex!” she cries.

“Are you watching this?” Grandpa calls to Grandma. “Get in here! Look at this asshole.”

Grandma, who’d wandered off, returns. Her brows lift, eyes cool and haughty as they slide to mine. “You must’ve done a number on him.”

You have no idea.

Her lips twist into a small but approving smile. She holds up her wineglass in a silent toast, then turns and leaves the room.

This salute is the first positive reinforcement I’ve received from her in years. It bolsters me. “Make Lucas crab-walk,” I tell Hall.

We all delight in the crab-walk. Felix is crying real tears by the time Lucas, who has gone six minutes over his allotted time, slips his socks onto his hands and makes them talk to each other.

The show tries to cut to commercial, but I force them right back on the air. Lucas karate-chops the host and two judges when they attempt to coax him offstage.

“Maybe we should stop,” Hall advises hesitantly. “Don’t want to go overboard.”

I’m too deep now. “Overboard! What a great suggestion. Does this stage come with curtains? Give it curtains and close them. I want a nautical scene.”

“Bettie—”

“Make my wish come true.”

His mouth snaps shut, grim. But curtains dutifully sweep across the stage, closing around Lucas. Cameras pan to the judges, some of whom are standing with their hands in their hair, jaws slack. A million reaction GIFs have just been born. I can’t hear what they’re saying over Kaia’s hooting laughter. Then the cameras snag on Lucas again, curtains parting to reveal him wearing a gold-trimmed bicorne hat and black greatcoat atop a wooden prop ship. Three people Hall culled from the audience are circling him in Baby Shark costumes. The show attempts to cut to commercial again, but no dice.