There is no chattering or whispering as everyone takes their seats. Every pair of eyes, glossy as marbles, focus on either myself or Seth. My cheeks go hot. My face must be as red as my hair. I may look like a ghost but at least I don't look like I'm having an allergic reaction—I feel like I am in response to all this attention. Seth stands in the center of the stage with me shuffling off to the side. I wish I was hiding behind the curtain.
There is silence as everyone settles in their seats. Sweat beads by my hairline. Does Seth expect me to speak first? Will he? Who will break the silence? It might have been a good idea to rehearse this. I have no idea what to do...what to say...how to act. Every day is a performance to some degree for most people. Most people prefer their ritual perfor
