The Seat Filler - Sariah Wilson Page 0,1

unless you’re spoken to. You can’t start a conversation with anyone, no matter who it is.”

“Right! Otherwise it’s off with our heads!” I paused before continuing. “But what if I’m a big fan and I’m compelled to share that with them?”

She did not look pleased with my joke. “Don’t. You’re only supposed to be seen and not heard.”

I nodded back in what I hoped was a serious way.

“When you move down the row to get to your seat, be sure that you’re facing the people sitting down.”

I couldn’t help myself, even though I knew better. “So, you’re saying I shouldn’t put my butt in Chris Evans’s face when I scoot past him? That just seems like a missed opportunity.”

Her death glare, one I had very rarely been the object of, was enough to make me knock it off and not ask her if I was allowed to make eye contact with anyone around me or if that had been forbidden, too. Seeing as how I was about to become the lowliest of peasants.

“And most important of all, the number one rule to rule all other rules: all seat fillers must be in a seat or backstage when the lights come on.”

“Like the world’s worst and stupidest game of musical chairs.”

“I’m serious. If you’re out there in the aisles or in front of the stage when they start broadcasting again, Harmony will murder all of us.”

“I wonder who would play me in the Netflix documentary about it.”

“Juliet!” Shelby protested. “Please!”

I took both of her hands in mine. It was just so ridiculous to me that Harmony didn’t adore Shelby that I had to make fun of the entire situation. But it was past time to be serious to make my best friend feel better. “I promise I will behave and be a shining example to all seat fillers across this great land of ours. But I hope that you know that you do not have to kiss up to this crazy lady. You’re marrying Allan, not Harmony.”

She shrugged, and I saw the tears glistening in her eyes, which made me want to hunt Harmony down and punch her in her stupid face. “I want everyone to get along, and maybe if I can show her that I’m . . .”

When she trailed off, I filled in the blanks for her. “That you’re what? Amazing? A survivor? One of the best people I know?”

“That maybe if she gets to know the real me, things will get better.”

I felt like this was all a lost cause, but now was not the time to tell Shelby that. Her relentless optimism had gotten her through her cancer, and who was I to argue with success?

Shelby turned to look at one of the monitors, and my stomach grumbled. As if an answer to my hungry gut, a waiter walked by with a tray of tiny sandwiches. I reached for one as he got close, and he slowed down slightly to let me grab one.

But somebody slapped my hand as I got hold of the toothpick. I managed to hold on to my prize and glared at the woman staring at me. If this was Allan’s mother, very bad things were about to happen. Like, body bags might be necessary. Sensing this, the waiter fled.

“Are you new here? You must be, because anybody that’s been to more than one of these events as a seat filler knows that the food is for the invited attendees only. Throw it away.” She narrowed her eyes at me and got that judgy look some women had, as if they were assessing you based solely on your appearance and immediately dismissing you.

She took in my dark-brown hair and pale skin, and then her gaze lingered on the scars on the right side of my neck. Usually I wore my hair down, like a shield against this kind of attention, but Shelby had convinced me that my dress called for a good updo. That no one would pay any attention to or care about my scars, which had faded to a light silver color. And somehow I’d both believed her and convinced myself that they weren’t that noticeable.

“Did you hear me? I said, throw it away!”

I hated that I let people make me feel self-conscious about the scars, and it made me angry. So after carefully removing the toothpick, I popped the food into my mouth, maintaining eye contact while I chewed. There were only two people in my life who got