Diplomat High

Chapter 18 - Meeting up with Kamala

The sun is about to set, and you're hoping that when it does, it disappears forever, so then you'll never have to confront your choices. God, you had more invites than you could count on your hands. Well, that wasn't exactly true, but you weren't very bright, were you?

But you start to think that going out in the first place was a mistake, and you should head home. It is getting a little chilly, too. A breeze sweeps past, and you stick your hands in your pockets. As you do, your eyes widen.

You pull out a piece of paper and realize it's a poem---Kamala's poem. You'd meant to give that back to her ages ago, and it'd slipped your mind. She was supposed to be performing today. 

You gaze around at the streets and manage to spot a coffee shop with the name 'Lis Delis' on it. That was exactly where she said she was performing. You hoped on every bone in your body that you weren't too late.

You hurry over and burst inside of the coffee shop. And you realize you had been a little too loud doing that, and people are tossing you dirty looks. You really needed better spatial awareness. It was why most people thought you were a weirdo to talking to yourself when it was just Abraham Lincoln all along. They'd never understand.

But you make it in just as the person on stage finishes, and an applause rings out. You sift your way through the tables and chair, eyes darting around for Kamala, and then you spot her off to the side, a frantic look in her eyes as she digs through piles of her poems.

You rush over to her. "Kamala?"

She jumps and swivels around. "Y/n? What are you doing here?"

You shove her poem into her hands. "I remembered that I picked this up by accident, and I'd meant to give it back to you."

Relief floods her face all at once, and she sticks her hands out almost to hug you but thinks better of it, clearing her throat with a smile. "Thank you so much, really. I thought I was going crazy."

"Sorry for not getting it to you sooner." You glance around. "You're about to perform?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then I hope you don't mind if I watch?"

She ponders this for a moment. "You know, I think it'd be nice if I had someone I knew in the audience."

"Don't mind if I do then."

The announcer calls out Kamala's name, and you give her a thumbs up. "Good luck!"

"I'll do my best," she says as she takes a deep breath.

You scurry back into the audience into one of the farther back chairs, since those are the only empty ones. The lights dim as Kamala takes to the microphone, her hands shaking slightly.

She intakes a breath and clears her throat. "A ghost that w-waited with bated breath for its name to be muttered---er, I mean uttered. Hunting, hunting though the vicious night."

Murmurs started to fill the room, and it annoyed you that they were talking over her. You could see her tremor slightly. "C'mon, Kamala," you whisper.

It's almost like she hears you, her eyes finding you in the back. And then she straightens and faces the audience once again. "Isn't this an unexpected sight? With the afraid, purehearted, and corrupt sitting in the same room. They stand at the same time, the ground trembling beneath them. A booming voice, thundering, shuddering, echoing, 'Who will answer for this crime?'"

She starts to get on a roll, and wow, she's really killing it. And everyone else seems just as entranced as you are. 

"They fear the admonishing, a man's harsh corrections. Little do they know, the shivering, grinning, and scowling have already coincided," she finishes.