Bite Me, Royce Taslim

36

A FEW DAYS AFTER THE RHODE ISLAND OFFER ARRIVES, VERN COMES TOmy shift at the Grub Hub with a candy bouquet and more apologies. His sincerity thaws the last of my anger, and I decide to give him another chance. I can’t discount the many times he’d come to my aid when no one did, so I tell myself that sometimes things aren’t always so black and white—I should know.

I don’t expect anyone to care about my win, but I’m swamped by well-wishers at school, in person, and over social media. I get DMs from everyone, from the Flashes—Suraya and Tavleen going as far as to post a flashback reel of us, laughing, arm in arm after a meet. Everyone just loves a winner, especially one that’s going places, by which I mean places that matter to my generation—the internet. When TentPole Productions posted one of my bits on a reel, and Taylor Addison, one of the hottest zillennial stand-up comics, liked it and commented as much, the numbers of my social media followers ballooned overnight. What’s more, the JOGGCo competition has become a legit mainstream hit beyond the region, thanks in part to many of the bits that have gone viral on TikTok, so much so that TentPole Productions posted that exciting new developments are in the works.

Not everyone is impressed by my new celebrity fandom, though. Vern sees the reel from Suraya and screenshots it, saying, Faker.

I know, I type. But what can I do?

Call her out, he says. Expose that fake little ass kisser.

I don’t want to, and he needles me. Says I’m too nice. But what’s the point? I’m back on top, and it feels good, and this time I won’t have a shelf life.

I’d been doing things all wrong, chasing top scores in a sport where everybody has a shelf life. In comedy, on the internet, you—by and more importantly, your money-generating content—can live as long as you want, if you play it right.

I try to catch up with Royce, but he seems preoccupied. Every time he sees me, he smiles, waves, and ducks into the nearest open door, which I’m sure has nothing to do with me. It must be the upcoming exams in a month—the last ones for seniors—which finish about two weeks before we fly to New York during spring break. I hold back from telling him about Rhode Island, not just because it is a pipe dream still, but also because every fleeting encounter we have in person feels like he’s radiating stress.

Yet on texts—he’s the same Royce, only more affectionate than ever.

Royce:Sorry I’m a bit absent. It’s not a good time, we’ll connect after the exams…but I can’t stop thinking of you xoxo

Royce:I love that you’re taking off xx

Royce:You make my whole being light up, I can’t wait to be with you once this madness is over xx

Royce:Dreamed of you last night, wish I had you here for real in my arms…xo

~

I’m so distracted by everything that’s going on with my upcoming exams and shifts and stand-up that I almost miss the update on the Instagram account of TentPole Productions, Lai’s “friend” Nigel’s events company.

The post says: Following the overwhelming interest in the competition, the organizers have discussed with all relevant parties, including the event sponsors Frisson Cola and Swoosh Airlines, and have come to the decision that we will allow 3 contestants from both legs of the competition to go through, instead of 2. The prizes also been adjusted upward to USD25,000 , USD15,000, and USD10,000 for first, second, and third prize respectively. May the best comic win.

TentPole explains in the post’s comments that the organizers had officially changed the format of the competition so that the finals would have six contestants, instead of four, thanks to the expanded budget approved by its original sponsors and the production company that would allow more broadcast time for the finale.

I almost drop my phone in surprise and happiness—what a miracle! That means Royce will be coming with me to New York! His journey isn’t over yet. And that prize money is mind-boggling. I’m even more determined to win.

I message Zee with the update.

Zee:Er, sign from the heavens that you guys are meant to be? Woo-hoo!

Zee:

Zee:Oh wait, sorry that was meant for someone else.

Me:Ew?

Then I text Royce: HAVE YOU HEARD? ON THE COMIC COMPETITION? CONGRATS??! Xoxo

Royce reads the text—I see the green ticks. He doesn’t reply.

I send him two more gentle nudges after a couple of hours. He doesn’t reply.

I drop a kiss emoji. Nothing. It’s now been eighteen hours.

Give him another day, my inner voice urges.

Burn him! another voice that sounds strangely like Rosie says cheerfully.

I go to sleep, uneasy.

The next day, TentPole Productions releases another post on IG: The secret is out! We’ve been teasing the identity of the comic the winner of this inaugural JOGGCo Young Comedian Competition will open for, and here it is at last!

The lucky winner will have five minutes to open for red-hot Canadian comedian Amina Kaur on the first night of the New York leg of her nationwide tour at the Comedy City!

Vern texts me: AMINA KAUR! Opening for her

Me:I KNOW!

I try once more to reach out to Royce.

Me:Have you heard? We have a chance to perform for our favorite comic!

Thirty-eight minutes later—

Royce:

THUMBS-UP? What am I, his grandmother?

What’s going on?I type, dread settling over me. Tell me the truth.

Royce:I’m sorry….It’s…it’s complicated.

Royce is typing. He stays typing for the longest time.

And then, for whatever reason, he goes dark.