In a very un–Candice Montgomery manner, she turns around and beams her distaste right into me. When the Fitzy, Fitzy, Fitzy chants start up, I think for a minute that half of my problems might be solved right here and now because my mother might die of a stroke.

I’m not that lucky, though, but I do take pride in the fact I see the teleprompter and know she wraps her speech up early. I’m about to fulfill my last requirement, a strong wave like I’m Miss America as I cross the stage, when my phone vibrates from inside my blazer.

As discreetly as I can, I pull it out as my mother and the mayor shake hands with the university personnel co-hosting the event.

I ignore Fitz’s text, and instead open FaceTime, peeking up at the crowd as I wait for the connection to go through. When his face pops up, I take one more look at my mother, smiling because she isn’t distracted. Her eyes are exactly where I want them—right on me.

“Just checking on you.” I barely make out the sound of his voice as I inch toward the podium, increasing my pace as I pass it.

I give Candice one more smile before I spin, raising the phone.

“Check this out.”

There’s a slight chance I could make a fool out of myself, or at least give my family fodder for future institutionalizations, because I’m not sure anyone can even see my screen.

But one person in the front row does.

And then another.

And another.

And soon enough, the chanting resumes.

Fitzy. Fitzy. Fitzy.

I can’t hear Fitz’s laughter over the noise behind me, but his mouth is gaping and there’s a light shudder of his body. I take a screenshot as fast as I can before the view changes and I see nothing more than the Rebels emblem, telling me he’s at the team facility, until Josh’s face comes into view, and he laughs too for a few seconds before drifting to the side.

And then there’s Mr. Foller, who narrows his eyes. After two more Fitzys, the call ends.

I stare at my call log before I feel a stare boring into me. Candice is calling. She might be a few feet away and not say a word, but the look says it all.

Knock it off, Parker.

I turn on my heel, lifting an arm and giving a gentle wave, but not before an agent arrives at my side as soon as I get off the stage and out of view. It’s not Agent Samuels, who, though I don’t like, is at least familiar. I don’t know this guy. And when he takes a hold of my elbow, I decide I don’t need to know his name to hate him.