Chapter 17: Reykjavik Hall

The hall in Reykjavik held nine hundred people, and by six forty-five it was full.

I stood behind a black curtain and listened to them through the cloth.

It sounded loud and happy, and I wanted to go home.

"You are breathing too loudly," Sunna said, beside me.

"I'm not."

"You are. Nine hundred people can hear it."

She had braided her hair again, tight, and she wore a dark blue jacket that I had never seen.

She looked me over and straightened my collar.

"The stool is on your left," she said. "There is water under it. The microphone is warm. If you forget what you were saying, look at me."

"Where will you be?"

"Third row, aisle. I will wave."

"You'll wave."

"Like a fool, yes. Go."

I walked out onto a stage for the first time in my life.

The noise hit me all at once.

Nine hundred people were on their feet, and half of them were holding signs.

One said "A LITTLE SOFTER."

Another said "WE HEARD YOU."

A girl in the front row had written "THANK YOU FOR THE STAR" on her arm in marker.

I stood on my mark, because I had spent six years taping marks for other people, and I couldn't think of anything else to do.

"Hi," I said.

They roared.

I laughed, and the microphone picked it up, and they roared harder.

"Okay," I said. "Okay, sit down. I don't know what to do with this."

They sat.

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