Page 21 of Seven Days in June

“Appreciate it.”

Then Eva finally tore her eyes away from Shane. And only then did he seem to remember that he was in public, and let out a small breath.

The audience was loud in its utter silence. No one spoke; everyone was transfixed. In over a decade of authordom, Shane Hall had barely spoken five (comprehensible) sentences to the public. And suddenly, he was here, in person, delivering a clear-eyed, feminist monologue. About Eva Mercy? It was so thrillingly random. And curiously, unmistakably charged. Hardly anyone in the audience had read theCursedseries before tonight, and now they couldn’t get on their Amazon apps fast enough.

Eva forgot about the audience. It was just her up there, trapped in the spaces between Shane’s words—the things he didn’t say.

Eva nervously twisted her cameo ring around her finger.

He’s read my entire series, she thought, frantically fidgeting with her ring.Every word.

Just then, the singleCursedfan in the audience burst into applause, his purple witch hat wiggling. Then he exclaimed, “You’re a fellow fangirl! Do you have Sebastian’sSpin?”

“Nah, it’s been sold out every time I’ve logged on to EvaMercyMercyMe.com.”

Eva’s face was on fire.He’s tried to buy the pin? He knows my website?

“One more question, then we’ll let Mr. Hall go,” said Cece, breaking the spell with a dainty cough. She had to do this because Khalil was so upset about losing the audience’s attention he was practically spurting cartoon steam out of his ears.

A twenty-something ginger stood up. He looked like Prince Harry, if Prince Harry lived in Red Hook.

“Hi, I’m Rich fromSlate. Brenda, Khalil, and Shane, your work is powerful. Eva, I wasn’t familiar with you before this evening, but that was quite a testimony from Shane.”

Eva smiled weakly, like a woman on her deathbed trying to be brave for her loved ones.

“Can you detail some of the explicit racism you face as Black authors? Shane?”

“Me? Uh…no.”

“No?”

Shane repeated, “No.”

“Is that not why we’re here?” said Khalil.

“It’s why you’re here,” said Shane.

Okay, but why are YOU here?Eva’s brain screamed. Temples throbbing, she unconsciously snapped her trusty rubber band against the flesh of her right wrist.

As if hearing her thoughts telepathically, Shane shot her a quick glance. When he saw the rubber band, his expression went cloudy, concerned. He paused, as if forgetting what to say next. It was a look she remembered vividly. Eva dropped her hand to her side.

“You want the truth, Rich?” asked Shane.

“Please,” said Rich, his eyes lighting up in the way that so many liberal white people’s had since the election. Like they were aching to be told how bad it was, how bad they were, their guilt turning them into masochists. Rich’s thumb hovered over the voice-recorder app on his phone. “In this climate, it’s important to share testimonies. Let’s hold America accountable. Let’s take her crimes seriously.”

Shane thumbed his bottom lip, thinking.

“I don’t take America seriously, though,” he said with the blithe ease of a person who’d never needed to care about political correctness. Or correctness in general. (The Random House publicity department would have an apologetic press release drafted by 8:00 a.m. the next morning.)

On the surface, he looked at ease. No one but Eva noticed that since their exchange, his hand had been gripping his mic so tightly, his fingertips were turning white. It was the only thing that gave him away.

That, and his mic was shaking.

“Look, this quote-unquote current sociopolitical climate? It’s always been my climate. I’ve been up against Trumps and Pences and Lindsey Grahams since forever. The first one was the guard I was trapped alone in a cell with at eight years old. No laws, no cameras, no mercy. What happened in that hour made me the kind of person who doesn’t feel obligated to workshop racism with white people.” He shrugged. “The burden isn’t on me to explain it, Rich. The burden’s on y’all to fix it. Good luck.”

Shane spoke with such blandness, it wasn’t clear whether he cared in the extreme or not at all. Whatever the case, he’d delivered one hell of a sound bite. After refusing to shed light on The Struggle, he did exactly that, and his one brief personal anecdote resonated more than an hour of Khalil’s dick-first rants.

“Understood,” said Rich.

---