"My na is Frank William Abagnale Jr."
Who would've thought that such a simple line could captivate so many people? But once the lights ca on and the faces on stage beca clear, it was obvious that this guy, though handso, wasn't Anson.
The screams and cheers that had just erupted abruptly stopped. Everyone stood there, stunned and shocked, frozen in confusion, unable to react.
So, what kind of performance art was this?
Wait!
Could this be a prank from NYU? Did they think imitating Anson's pop-up event to ss with the crowd's emotions was so sort of fun joke? Were they treating the audience like fools?
Amidst the confusion and shock, a wave of anger surged.
One by one, a few audience mbers angrily stood up.
But before they could protest, another figure appeared behind the large screen. This person didn't move to the front but stood off to the side of the stage—
Blair noticed right away.
Even though there were no lights, and it was just a blurry silhouette, sothing about that tall, slender figure caught her attention and pulled her gaze in, locking onto it with a sharp focus.
Her heart stopped.
That shadow picked up a microphone, and a deep voice ca through.
"My na is Frank William Abagnale Jr."
Another one?
"Oh, sorry, my mistake. Actually, my na is Anson Wood."
Click.
The spotlight shifted to the left, illuminating the figure standing on the side of the stage—
The entire world fell silent, completely still, without a sound.
Vroom.
The sound of cars passing on the main road behind them only highlighted how quiet Washington Square had beco. There were no protests, no complaints, no discussions, and no confusion. It was as if soone had hit the pause button.
Thousands of eyes were fixed on that single figure.
Wearing a simple NYU hoodie over a white T-shirt, along with a leather baseball jacket, he stood casually, exuding a youthful energy. It was as if he had just walked out of the gentle spring breeze, making even the chilly late-night Manhattan air seem warr.
So close, yet so far, like the North Star.
Blair felt like a fool. Caught off guard, tears suddenly stread down her face, and the world blurred into a halo of light through her burning tears.
Thump. Thump.
The sound of her heartbeat echoed, lingering in the space around her.
Joy? Happiness? Excitent?
No, it was none of these. It was a pure, overwhelming emotion, powerful enough to ignite her soul, coursing through her like electricity from her toes to her heart.
"Ah!"
Blair was the first to scream, standing up without thinking, not caring if anyone thought she was crazy.
"Ahhh!"
As she scread, she began to laugh, her smile breaking through her tears like a triumphant bloom; as she shouted, her entire being seed to burst into flas.
So this was what surprise felt like.
In the next mont—
Karen finally reacted, her eyes wide with disbelief, hurriedly standing up and grabbing Blair's arm in confusion.
"Blair."
"Blair..."
"I think I just saw Anson."
Blair turned, her eyes brimming with tears, gripping her friend's hands tightly and shouting excitedly, "Anson! Anson! That's Anson!"
Karen's eyes widened, as if she'd just been shocked.
Then, that familiar voice ca through.
"Surprise, New York!"
Ah.
Ahhh!
Karen finally snapped out of it, watching Blair scream madly. Blair had lost all sense, jumping and yelling wildly.
Ahhh!
Ahhh!
The heat rose steadily.
The crowd in Washington Square, still reeling from the shock, began to realize what was happening. One by one, they exchanged incredulous looks, full of disbelief. But as they called out to each other, the truth slowly dawned on them, and before they could fully process it, they were swept up in the storm.
Ahhh.
Ahhh!
Chaos. Complete chaos, with an explosion of energy so powerful it swept through the entire square. Even pedestrians and residents nearby turned to look, and NYU students poured out in droves.
The night was on fire.
Even Anson, standing on stage, was startled. His eyes widened in surprise at the scene in front of him. Despite two weeks of these surprise events, the energy of this wave still left him stunned.
Rushing from Boston to New York, with helicopters, private jets, and cars in a dizzying whirlwind of transport, Anson had made it here in just about an hour, but he still felt like he was floating, overwheld by the chaos.
And then—
A tidal wave of heat ca crashing toward him.
Like a mirage.
...
"Anson's at Washington Square."
Nicholas Flynn: "What?"
The New York Tis reporter nearly choked on the burger in his mouth. He had to take a huge gulp of soda to force it down, almost dying from the shock. But before the voice on the phone could explain further, the noise in the restaurant confird it.
"Anson's downtown."
"What? When? How did he get here?"
"It's only a two-hour drive from Philly..."
"Anson wasn't in Philly, he was in Boston."
"What? Boston? When did that happen?"
"Idiot, he's already in New York now."
Amid the commotion, the TV in the restaurant switched to Fox News.
"Breaking news: Anson Wood has made a surprise appearance at Washington Square, marking the final stop of his 'Catch If You Can' pop-up tour."
On the screen, a Fox helicopter was hovering over the scene—
No reporters.
Anyone experienced could tell that Fox had been caught off guard, too. They didn't have ti to send reporters, so they just sent the helicopter first to capture whatever footage they could. Journalists were probably on their way to the square now.
From the helicopter's view, you could see Washington Square below, buzzing with activity. A massive crowd surged toward a single point, looking like ants swarming in from all directions.
At the sa ti, the area around Washington Square had been cordoned off, with orderly lines forming at the entrance near the arch. The queue was quickly growing, winding further and further back.
At the center of it all, a spotlight focused on the stage. The giant screen had gone dark, and all eyes were on the single figure standing in the middle of it all.
In the loud drone of the helicopter's blades, faint chants echoed through the air like waves.
"Anson."
"Anson."
"Anson."
The crowd chanted in unison, loud and fervent, spreading like a mushroom cloud across the square.
It was truly a spectacle.
Despite two weeks of this pop-up tour and plenty of incredible monts, nothing compared to what was happening now.
This—this was truly epic.
Anson had chosen Washington Square as his final stop.
Suddenly, Nicholas jumped to his feet, leaving his burger and soda behind as he rushed out the door.
Then, just as quickly, he ran back.
Forget the burger and soda, but he definitely needed his phone.
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