The room tastes like other people’s exhilaration as I grab my coat and shuffle toward the exit. I’m grateful to go back to Amber’s-slash-my-parents’ house. It’s too late to watch a movie, but I downloaded a new romance novel today—Ivana Ryker’sBone on the Fourth of July,the highly anticipated sequel toThe Bone IdentityandThe Bone Supremacy. Plus there’s a Christmas novella—Bone-Again Christian. I password-protect them on my e-reader for Eleanor reasons, and also so Amber won’t lecture me about reading something more “realistic.” It wouldn’t help our relationship if I told her the brain-bending sex might be unrealistic compared tohermarriage, but it wasn’t that far off for me and Tobin, once upon a time.
“Liz! Hey, scout. Stick around?”
“Yes, McHuge?” I glance at my phone, hinting I have an urgent appointment at ten o’clock on a Friday night.
He steps discreetly away from everyone, but he’s six and a half feet tall and built like a brick wall. Points for trying, though.
“Liz. Sorry for the spit take; Tobin didn’t warn me you’d be here. I wanna let you know, what happens at improv stays at improv. This is your safe space.”
“Thanks,” I say tightly, not believing him. He’s Tobin’s friend first, like everyone else.
“If you’d rather not have someone you know as an instructor, I’ll make sure you get a full refund.”
“Oh. Thanks. I might try to transfer—”
“Personally, I feel good energy between us. And some of the best people start slow.”
“Slow?How bad was I?” Galactically terrible, if the teacher held me back after class. I thought improv would be the answer, but it’s just another place I don’t fit.
McHuge rumbles thoughtfully. “What brings you to improv?”
No reason. Just a million-to-one shot I decided to take when my whole life cratered a week ago.
“Craig sent me. For leadership development. I have to become excellent at improv in eight weeks.”
“Oh. Okay, well, that’s great and all, but I see the best results when there’s a personal motivation to connect more deeply to the practice.”
“I don’t need to connect to anything. I just need to be very, very expert.” I don’t like how he nods, like I need to be humored.
“Let’s put a pin in that. What were your scenes about tonight?”
Sigh. He won’t find any hidden potential in this list. “Sharon and I did a long bit about dogs and teenagers. With Jason, K-pop and penetrating injuries, and we kind of took a detour into nail polish at one point? Béa and I talked muscle cars and indigenous art traditions. Dick Head—uh, sorry, David—”
McHuge coughs into one bearlike paw. Maybe the truthisfunny.
“That’s plenty. First, you remember everything your partners said.”
I shrug. “Yeah, so?”
“So, remembering what’s happened is huge. You have skills, my dude. Thing two: How muchLizwas in your scenes?”
As little as possibleis what I don’t say. Until I figure out this magic thing, my two available personality modes are Weird Unlikeable Liz Lewis and Boring Beige Liz Lewis. I don’t want to show either of those, so I agreed to every topic my partners suggested. Even Dick Head’s.
“Exaaaactly,” McHuge says. “You’re giving your partners a lot of yes. Amazing.” He whispers “amazing” like he’s spotted a rare white spirit bear. “But they need yes,and. Bringyourtruth, Liz. Improv will only teach you as much as you let it.”
McHuge lets this marinate as I look at the floor. Before, I categorized him as one of Tobin’s charming brethren. This other side of him, where he knows a lot about comedy and is a generous, encouraging teacher—I didn’t expect that.
I need another side to myself, like McHuge has. If I can find one, I can get this promotion. Prove to everyone that I can succeed even if I’m not naturally a McHuge.
Or a Tobin.
He chucks me on the shoulder. “Find a partner for extra practice once a week-ish. Focus on puttingLizin the games. Do the work, and you’ll get what you’re looking for.”
“Thanks, McHuge.”
“Peace, yo,” he returns, stacking tiny chairs.
Outside, I make a note.Practice improv once/week.I can make up for my lack of talent by working hard and never giving up.
