| jenni |
my hands shook, my right palm pulsing from the impact with the buzzer. my arms felt slack, and my throat was parched. i gulped. "who is... tootie?" i croaked, my voice echoing hollowly in my head.
alex trebek loomed over me like a god, judging, imperious, brutal. with his pause and slow, barely-perceptible wince, i saw all my aspirations flutter away like so much confetti in times square, muddy and trampled by homeward-bound tourists by 12:15am.
"i'm sorry," he intoned, his eyebrows bunching in mock suffering, "but the correct answer is mrs. garrett."
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