“When I hired you, I said this was a six-day schedule. No exceptions.”
“I know.”
“You’ve been a great little worker up until this point. What’s this about?”
Mir took a deep breath. The whole story hovered on the tip of her tongue, ready to spill out. She bit it back.
“Comics,” she said weakly.
Holly looked curious.
“How’s this about comics?”
“I need to go to San Diego,” Mir said. “To, um, San Diego Comic-Con. There’s something there waiting for me. A gift, I think. But I don’t know what it is.”
“This is all very mysterious,” Holly said, deadpan. Mir shrugged helplessly.
“I know. It’s all—all I know is I have to go.”
Holly stared at Mir for what felt like an eternity, eyes half closed, a carrot held up to her lips. Mir stared back, heart thudding between her ribs. After what to Mir seemed like several hours, Holly reached behind her and fumbled in a backpack, searching for something. She pulled out a bagged and boarded comic book, and slapped it on the desk in front of Mir. It was New TomorrowMen #68. Holly tapped the comic.
“You can have Saturday off if you get this signed by Stuart Samuel. I know he’s a special guest at Comic-Con this year. I really like his art.”
Mir stared at Holly, astonished.
“I didn’t know you read comics.”
“Yeah, well,” said Holly, waving a dismissive hand. “I’m a closet geek. When I was a teenager, girls made fun of me for reading comics and boys thought I was weird for liking the same stuff they did.” She looked at Mir, a measuring, slightly approving look. “I’m glad things are changing. Comics should be for everyone.”
“They should be,” said Mir softly.
Holly made a shooing gesture.
“You have Saturday off. Get going to San Diego before I change my mind.”
Mir snatched the TomorrowMen comic from the desk, and ran from Holly’s office.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Standing at the crosswalk in front of the San Diego Convention Center, Weldon glowered at the towering hulk in front of him. Sunlight winked off the domed windows at the front of the building, seeming to glare back. A mass of humanity milled around outside the center, people in T-shirts and jeans, backpacks already bursting with spoils from the convention. Adults in finely crafted costumes, pausing to pose for photographs or respond to delighted shouts with an imperious wave. Wide-eyed kids trailing after parents already frustrated by the crowd and heat, a torrent of people pushing through the glass doors to the convention entrance, desperate to reach the promised land inside.
Weldon sighed, already sick of it all. At the other side of the street, the crosswalk sign blinked on, and he walked toward the building, a swell of people bobbing along beside him. He waved his badge at a security guard and wove through the crowds at the front entrance, into the massive exhibition hall. It was briskly cool inside, air conditioners working overtime. Weldon glanced around, trying to get his bearings. The hall was already packed, eager attendees wandering from booth to booth, hands on their wallets. The booths stretched as far as Weldon could see, massive advertisements for television shows or movies dwarfing smaller booths selling anime cells and embroidered cat pillows. A towering red-and-white Marvel sign hung from the rafters to Weldon’s left, opposite the familiar Warrick Studios logo. Dodging a squealing group of Teen Titan cosplayers, Weldon headed toward the Warrick Studios booth.
Weldon slowed as he saw his father, standing with a group of men in a roped-off area inside the Warrick booth. The booth was massive, two arcing displays encircling a bright blue carpet. Banners with art from the TomorrowMen comics were hung from the convention ceiling, Skylark and Skybound flying across the fabric, arms outstretched. An illustration of Tristan Terrific smiled slyly from a nearby banner, his hand gesturing toward Weldon. Other heroes fought and punched their way across the booth, men with blue hair, with indecipherable designs on their chests, women in pigtails wearing sexy, thigh-high boots. Weldon didn’t recognize most of the characters.
“Hi, Dad.”
David Warrick turned toward Weldon. They’d texted twice since Weldon had landed in San Diego. Once for Weldon to let his dad know that he had arrived and it was not the fault of the poor airport driver that he hadn’t gotten to the hotel as planned, and the second time to ask when he should be at the convention to see the TomorrowMen movie trailer. Both texts had elicited brief, workmanlike replies from his father.
“Weldon, finally!” David Warrick said, laughing. His dark hair was combed back from his forehead and the tension lines around his eyes had faded. He looked like he’d been sleeping well, a man who had everything under control. Weldon barely recognized him.
David Warrick waved a hand at the man standing next to him.
“Stuart, you remember my son, Weldon, don’t you?”
The man next to David Warrick looked vaguely familiar. Tall and thin, with gray shoulder-length hair and a closely trimmed beard, he had the coiled energy of someone who hated spending time sitting down.
“Stuart Samuel,” said Weldon, surprised he’d remembered the name so quickly. Stuart Samuel, artist on New TomorrowMen for the past twenty-two issues, grinned, looking Weldon up and down. He extended a hand and Weldon shook it.
“I think it’s been about seven years since I last saw you, Weldon,” he said. “Good job coming out the other side of puberty.”
“Uh, thanks,” Weldon said.
“Seriously, I think you were about this big when I saw you last.” Stuart held his hand a scant three feet from the floor.
“Maybe a little bigger,” Weldon said, amused and a little insulted. “Are you still living in Portland?”
“Yeah, the boss here”—Stuart pointed a thumb in David Warrick’s direction—“keeps bugging me to move to LA, but I like the rain.”
“The TomorrowMen comics you’ve been drawing look amazing,” Weldon said. “I mean, your art’s always been amazing. I still love the Tristan Terrific spin-off you did. But now it’s like, I dunno, next-level amazing.”
“Thanks,” said Stuart with a dry chuckle. He looked over at Weldon’s father. “See? Some people like how I draw those comics.”
“Everyone loves how you draw the TomorrowMen,” David Warrick said. “The last twenty-two issues have been incredible, an artistic master class. These comics will stand the test of time.”
Weldon remembered wandering through the halls of Warrick Studios, pausing outside his father’s office door. David Warrick had been yelling at someone on the phone, and from the way the conversation was going, Weldon thought the person on the other end of the call was yelling back. On the drive home from the studio, Weldon’s father had muttered: “Stuart Samuel is such a pain in the ass. He’s giving me crap because he doesn’t think the summer TomorrowMen crossover is any good. He’s threatening not to draw it if the writer doesn’t get his act together, can you believe that?” David Warrick shook his head in disbelief. “If it was any other artist, I’d fire him on the spot. But he’s not just any other artist.” Weldon’s father laughed, staring over the steering wheel as he drove. “Damn, the man can draw. That’s why I put up with his winning personality.” He looked toward Weldon, sitting in the passenger seat. “Sales for the New TomorrowMen are the best they’ve been in the past ten years. Who knew comic book readers cared about quality?”
“What’ve you been up to these past few years?” Stuart asked now. “Besides growing, that is.”
“Mostly growing,” Weldon said. “And running. And school. And—” He thought of Mir, then pushed her away. “Yeah, mostly school. Pretty boring. But you—you did the design for the TomorrowMen movie costumes. That’s really cool. So many people are going to see the movie.”
“Yeah,” said Stuart, glancing grimly toward Weldon’s father. “That was an opportunity.”
David Warrick seemed not to notice the look, and beamed happily at them.
&
nbsp; “The movie’s going to be wonderful,” Weldon’s father said. He was all but vibrating with excitement. Weldon watched him nervously, wondering how many energy drinks his father had consumed at breakfast. “The first trailer for the movie will premiere in Hall H this afternoon. All the lead actors are here, as well as the director. They’ll be doing a Q and A after the trailer and I’ll be moderating the panel. Stuart will be there too. He’s an important contributor.”
“That I am,” Stuart muttered.
“It’s going to be amazing,” David Warrick said, practically glowing with enthusiasm. Beside him, Stuart let out a tiny sigh.
“I’m really excited to see it, Dad,” Weldon said. His father reached out and patted his shoulder, almost fondly.
“Excuse me, I see someone I need to have a word with,” David Warrick said, his gaze catching on something. He waved a hand at Weldon. “You know where to meet us for the panel? You’re coming backstage to watch, right?”
“Sure,” said Weldon, pulling a careful smile over his face. He had wanted this so badly. He had ached to join his father at Comic-Con, to listen to the screams of thousands of frenzied TomorrowMen fans, all howling for a glimpse of the movie, the TomorrowMen finally made real. Then everything he and his father had fought about would be wiped clean and forgiven. He was inches from everything he’d ever wanted. But all Weldon felt like doing was going back to his hotel room and crawling into bed. He missed Mir so much.
David Warrick turned away from his son and walked toward a group of men (and one woman) in impeccably tailored suits. They smiled at him, five perfect, identical smiles.
“I hate Comic-Con,” Stuart said.
Weldon glanced at him. Stuart was staring after Weldon’s father, his expression defeated.
“I know it’s been this way for a decade, but comics don’t matter here. It’s all movies and actors and goddamn celebrities. Comics don’t matter to any of these people.” He waved his hand at the Warrick Studios banner.
“I can’t do it anymore. I’m tired of fighting with everyone at this company, tired of hearing people say ‘It doesn’t matter, it’s just comics.’ What does that mean? Of course it matters. Comics matter.” He laughed bitterly, shrugging. “They matter to me.”
“Me too,” said Weldon.
“I just want to draw and tell stories,” Stuart sighed. “My contract’s up after New TomorrowMen #30, and I’m gonna go do my own thing for a bit. I don’t know, I’ll self-publish something, maybe. Maybe comics about birds. I like bird-watching.”
Weldon laughed.
“I’d read that.”
Stuart looked at him, appraising.
“You would?”
“Sure,” said Weldon. “I love your art. I’d watch you draw the phone book.”
Stuart shook his head.
“Thanks, I appreciate that,” he said. “At least someone at Warrick Comics gets me.”
* * *
Mir stumbled out of the airplane walkway and into the fluorescent glare of the San Diego International Airport. She blinked her eyes, squinting at the airport and the vague shapes of people hurrying past her. Her eyelids felt like there was grit coating their underside. She rubbed them with the back of her hand. It didn’t help.
Towing her carry-on bag, Mir walked toward the nearest washroom and splashed cold water on her face. She stared at her reflection in the mirror: her hair was exploding out from her head in a mushroom cloud of curls, and there were dark smudges under her eyes. She looked like she’d flown overnight from one coast to the other, which was exactly what she’d just done.
Mir looked at her reflection grimly. She reminded herself that she had wanted to make this trip. Because—because I want to see Weldon, she thought. And I don’t know why, but if I wait until after Comic-Con, I think it might be too late. He might not come back to Sandford. Everything about this trip was Weldon’s mother’s idea. Emma Sanders had organized every detail, all expenses paid. She’d gotten Mir a pass for the convention, something supposedly as rare as diamonds. I know people, Emma had laughed when Mir had told her that passes for the con had sold out the minute they’d gone up for sale. Emma even had a guest room for Mir to stay in overnight.
Stella hadn’t said a word when Mir had told her about the trip. She had watched Mir pack, hovering in the doorway to Mir’s bedroom.
“Do you not want me to go?” Mir had asked.
“I don’t know,” Stella said. Her perfectly shaped eyebrows were creased, sharp worry lines jutting up between them. “You’ll be alone there, with all the Warricks. Why does that bring out my overprotective mom complex?” She looked down at her hands, twisting worriedly in front of her.
“I like Weldon,” Stella said softly. “I’ve always liked Alex. They’re Warricks.”
She looked up at Mir, still anxious.
“I’ve forgiven them. I’ve made my peace. But it’s a big step to go beyond that and really trust them. I don’t like that they bring out this side of me.”
Mir nodded, understanding.
“We all have work to do,” Stella said. Then she drove Mir to the airport and hugged her tightly, hands pressed to Mir’s back.
“Mom,” said Mir, “do you want to make a comic book?”
Stella had pulled away from Mir, surprised.
Mir grinned, shrugging helplessly.
“Evan and I want to make an original comic. Want to draw it?”
Stella smiled, cupping her hands around Mir’s face.
“I suppose it would only be natural,” she said. She stood on tiptoe, kissing Mir on the forehead. “Let’s talk about it when you get back.”
Mir waved at her mother as she walked through security. Stella waved back until Mir rounded a corner in the security line and couldn’t see her anymore.
Mir had slept a little on the airplane. She hadn’t thought she would; her stomach was turning too many cartwheels. But eventually exhaustion caught up with her. She leaned her head down on the tray table in front of her and slept. When she woke up, the plane was landing and she was in California.
Shaking droplets of water out of her still-messy hair, Mir rode an escalator down to the ground level of the airport. Ahead of her, wide automatic doors opened on a row of taxis waiting for passengers. Mir walked toward the door, towing her luggage behind her.
“Miriam?”
Mir turned. The most beautiful woman she’d ever seen was standing next to her, silver-blond hair shining in the airport’s fluorescent light. The woman stared at Mir, and her slender hand went to her mouth, lines appearing on her smooth, perfect forehead.
“You look like Micah Kendrick drew you,” said the woman. “You look so much like Skylark.”
Mir stared at the woman, baffled. The woman shook her silvery head, smiling sadly.
“I’m sorry, that was—I’m Emma Sanders. Weldon’s mom.”
“Hi,” said Mir, feeling exhausted and overwhelmed, unsure how to process anything. “I’m Miriam Kendrick.”
“Of course you are,” said Emma, and smiled at Mir. “Let’s go to Comic-Con.”
To Mir’s relief, they didn’t go directly to Comic-Con.
“Overnight flights aren’t fun,” said Emma, guiding her little Toyota through the San Diego streets. “Let’s get you home and showered, and then we’ll head over to the convention center. Plus, I want to show you the thing I brought you all the way out here for.”
As they drove, Mir peeked at Emma out of the corner of her eye. Weldon looked a lot like her. The nose was different. There was nothing crooked about Emma Sanders’s perfect nose, but Mir saw a lot of Weldon in the shape of her chin and mouth.
Emma talked incessantly as she drove, pointing out San Diego landmarks and commenting on the behavior of other drivers. She laughed a little too often, not seeming to notice when Mir didn’t respond. It was far beyond ordinary nervousness. She gave Mir the impression she was stretched very thin, her skin holding together a woman made of many broken pieces. Mir thought of her own
mother: Stella painting, Stella gathering vegetables from the garden, Stella hugging her husband, her face turned up to his, bright and whole and content. Mir remembered Weldon standing in the dark with her after that first family dinner. He had seemed stunned by what he had just witnessed.
Your family is amazing, he’d said. And she’d responded so glibly. Yeah, I guess. They work really hard at it. She hadn’t understood why he’d said what he did. She thought she understood better now.
Mir showered at Emma’s tiny, perfect house, washing the grit from the flight from her hair and eyes. There was a small pink guest room with a twin bed, its headboard made of looping metal. Mir dumped her carry-on suitcase on the bed and opened it, sifting through the shirts and pants she’d brought. A bolt of nervousness hit her, and it took a good fifteen minutes to decide on an outfit: red button-up shirt, skinny dark jeans. Mir piled her hair on top of her head in a loose bun and stared critically at her reflection. It would do.
In the kitchen, Emma was bending over a stack of papers piled on the table. Mir approached her cautiously. Emma glanced up, and smiled. She waved a hand at the papers in front of her.
“These are what I wanted to give you. Original comic book pages drawn by your grandfather years ago. They’re from a very old comic, Spectacular Space Stories #3, the issue where Skybound shows Skylark that the Earth is worth saving.”
Mir reached out a hand and touched the dusty paper in front of her. The paper was dry and coarse, and a bit of grit rubbed off onto her fingers. She recognized the ink strokes on the page, the way the lines formed to make a face or a hand. They were as familiar to her as the sound of her parents’ voices.
“Weldon wanted you to have them,” Emma said. Mir heard her voice, but it sounded far away, like Emma was calling to her from a great distance.
“They’re probably worth a lot of money,” Emma said. “Especially now that the movie’s coming out. Weldon said you’re going to university after you graduate high school, so maybe you could sell them for tuition. Or keep them forever. It’s up to you.” Emma smiled, and the smile was a little sad.
Comics Will Break Your Heart Page 24