“Are you just teasing?” I asked him. “Because you—you said you were going to bring a surprise.” My tone sounded plaintive, almost desperate, and I knew I had to buck up. Our mics were on. People could hear. “Nope, wasn’t me,” he said. “Maybe your buddy Dave Potts left it.” He was rifling through a stack of notes in front of him, not bothering to meet my eyes. It was because of the item that morning. I’d been called the secret of the show’s success, not him. But who had left the brownie? I could feel panic flooding me, making my arms and legs limp. C., I thought. Who was C.? Charlotte? There was no way she would have done anything sweet like that. Stacy? No, no, what was I thinking? Her name started with an S. I felt loopy suddenly, listless. “One minute,” the director said in my earpiece. I needed water. I reached beneath the table for one of the bottles kept there. My hand touched the cap, but I knocked the bottle over, and I could hear it roll away. I looked down, searching for it.
