Evan sat until his ass was numb on the plastic seat. He decided to get up and take a walk. The sections across the arena were draining out like sand from an hourglass.

"I'm gonna get something to eat," he told Lily. "You want anything?"

"No, I'm good."

Evan got up and mounted the steep stairs to the nearest exit, grimacing as his pinched nerves awoke and set his buttocks on fire.

The vestibules were packed with roaming contestants. The waiting sections in the arena had emptied as everyone killed time in the atriums upstairs, where their legs and hindquarters could be free to breathe.

They conversed, paced, and practiced their singing into corners. They wore earbuds and sang in the bathroom stalls, in the hallways. The air was filled with mediocre voices and shy, feeble attempts at glory notes. Everyone seemed to be sizing everyone else up, but there was also a jubilant spirit of camaraderie. Everyone was going to be on TV, together. Most people were smiling.

Evan took a place in line at a concession booth advertising hot dogs, nachos and hot pretzels. He watched an ad for Justin Bieber's upcoming tour repeat on the television monitors that hung overhead. Justin flashed his killer teen smile and sang his syrupy teen ballads to hordes of dancing, horny teen girls.

Bieber wasn't worth the effort it takes to hate someone, but he was annoying. Evan thought of Maddie, who'd always liked Justin Bieber but had the grace to be somewhat embarrassed about it. Her desktop was the only thing that betrayed her fandom of him, besides a small poster in her bedroom and the playlists on her iPod.

That little fucker never has to worry about anything again, Evan thought, watching Justin dance. He'll go through life thinking he's better than everyone and no one will ever tell him different.

When Evan got to the front of the line nearly twenty minutes later, he ordered some of the worst-looking nachos he'd ever seen in his life. They were like paper made from corn, and the cheese was like heated snot. Evan ate them anyway, and he got a Pepsi to wash it down with. The nachos cost ten dollars and the medium Pepsi cost seven.

He took his snack over to an area with rows of chairs. He sat down and crunched the chips and gulped down the Pepsi. He was so famished it took him only a few minutes to render the greasy cardboard boat vacant. He tossed it in the nearest trash can with his empty Pepsi cup.

Next, he took a stroll around the internal perimeter of the arena, enjoying the sensation of his stiff leg muscles getting some movement. He took in the sights, all the different people who'd come to try their hand at pop stardom.

He passed a group of people watching a chubby blonde teenager sing I Don't Want To Miss A Thing in a country twang. She was very good, and the people around her applauded when she finished. She looked young, early high school at least. They'd lowered the qualifying age to fifteen for the first time in show history that year, probably hoping to find the next Bieber.

Evan took a few laps and then headed back. The arena was nearly half empty when he got back to his row. Amelia and her mother were gone, off to stretch their own legs. Lily looked stir crazy, her knees up against her chest, texting obsessively as usual.

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"We should have brought trail mix or something," Evan said as he sat down. "I don't know how you're going to go this long without eating anything."

"I'll be fine," she said. "I don't need to eat. I refuse to eat the food at any sporting venue. I need a cigarette, though. And to piss. BRB."

She got up and was gone up the stairs without another word.

Evan knocked knees with the fauxhawk- sporting emo kid next to him and watched the lines down on the floor shift and bustle. Everyone seemed to be bouncing with anticipation, and the judges at the tables all looked like people at work behind a fast food counter.

Evan noticed the rare golden ticket getters all had distinct looks about them. There was one guy who looked like some psycho biker cowboy, another like a dreadlocked stoner extraordinaire. There was a manic pixie dream girl, all short hair, scrawny hipster face and knobby-kneed energy. There was a guy who appeared to be a Hasidic Jew, there was a bald kid who looked albino, there was a bandanna'd ballerina type girl, rockers and crooners and jocks and teen queens. They all strode towards the winner's door like bosses, the guys all swelled up with pride and the girls all high school cheerleader crazy-happy. They were characters.

One of the girls from the seats down on the arena floor came running over from her turn at the judges tables.

She spoke to her mother, stammering with excitement and frantically motioning over at the winner's door before taking off without waiting for an answer.

The mom followed as quickly as her hippo legs could carry her.

Amelia and her mother came back from wherever they'd been and settled back into the seats. They sat down, chatting about Gilmore Girls. They didn't acknowledge Evan. Grizz the Guitar Wielder on Evan's left played some Tetris-like game on his iPhone.

Evan noted he hadn't received a reply from his parents after he'd texted them.

The nachos were not sitting well with him. His stomach churned and protested absorbing them.

Lily returned from the bathroom and plopped down in her seat again.

"Christ, I need a cigarette," she said.

"They don't have a smoking area?"

"No, they told me I have to wait until you audition before I can go outside again."

"Oh," said Evan. "Sorry."

Lily shrugged. Out came her phone again.

"Service in here blows ass," she said.

"Can I by chance see some of these epic conversations you're having?" Evan asked, reaching for the phone.

"Uh, no," said Lily, pulling it away from him. "You don't know any of these people anyway."

"I know Daddy well enough to get drugs for him, apparently."

"The answer is no, Evan. That's actually really fucking rude to even ask."

"Like how it's rude to ask someone to move drugs for you? How many of these conversations are about drug trafficking?"

"Right now none of them."

"How many are about your job?"

"Probably like 30 percent."

"How many conversations are you having right now?"

"Two, but they're not really conversations because the service is so bad."

"What's the most you've ever had in one day?"

"I don't know, why do you care?"

"Because I've never seen someone text as much as you do. I wonder what your life would be like if you didn't have access to your phone."

"It's like you said-- once you get a smartphone, you're addicted to it."

"I guess so. But I still won't have a bunch of people clamoring for my time."

"It's not, like, that great or anything. And it's not all guys, either. There's my work friends..."

"Do you ever text Marty?"

"I don't really talk to Marty that often, but every once in a while, yeah."

"Tell him I say hi, would you?"

"I will."

"How are you texting in here anyway? I don't have any service."

"Well, yeah, your phone sucks. It's got to be at least five years old."

"It is, Jason got it in 2006, and it was an older phone even then."

"Well, yeah, there you go."

"I texted my parents this morning, just told them we're in line."

"That's nice."

Lily's thumbs flew once again. The tint on her screen prevented Evan from seeing what she was typing. The pink DADDY'S LIL' MONSTER case was still present.

Evan sat back in his seat and looked up at the rafters and the bright white lights blasting down and the immense scoreboard with the American Idol logo spinning soundlessly. He wondered if he could sleep then decided it was impossible.

The arena was more than half-empty, they had about three sections to go before Evan's, and the lines of contestants down on the floor shuffled along in an undying current towards certain destiny.