If hell had a green room, it would smell exactly like this… nerves, perfume, and desperation. The air in the studio was thick with artificial calm, makeup lights, and fake smiles. Cameras blinked red like predators. Amara stood near the monitors, headset on, radiating the kind of energy that said don't mess this up or I'll ruin your Google search results forever.
"Just remember," she said, pacing in front of me and Teddy like a general prepping her soldiers for a war we didn't sign up for. "You're not answering questions… you're redirecting them. Keep your posture open, maintain eye contact, and if you don't know what to say, laugh. America loves laughter."
I tried to breathe. "America also loves trainwrecks."
"Then let's make sure you're the right kind of one," she said sweetly
