Be Dazzled

by Ryan La Sala

  “I like you.”

  “I like me, too, especially when I’m with you,” he says. “Can you tell me why you’re crying now?”

  “It’s dumb. Evie found some of my work, and I was anxious about our texts earlier. I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be. You can’t help it. I can’t help my parents, either.”

  I nod.

  “We’ll figure it out.”

  I nod.

  “Can I kiss you?” he asks.

  Before I can nod, May breaks into our small moment. She must have followed us.

  “Enough,” she groans. “This is a gallery, not couples therapy. Can we go silently judge some art, now?”

  Luca and I clasp hands, and I notice he’s even painted his nails black.

  “Come on, let’s go be artsy,” he says. And we do, but we let each other go right before we re-enter the crowd. Instead, all night, I feel his eyes on me until I finally give in and glance back, drawing out his triumphant smile.

  Inaya’s exhibit is a world of colors and textures. She’s got a collection of paintings that mix embroidery and acrylic, giving the paintings a distinct sense of movement and depth that’s uncanny and beautiful. That sort of describes her, too, I think. I try to focus on the work, but seeing it reminds me of how far I have to go with my own work. The second I think of Plasma Siren, I shut my mind down. Not now, I think. Right now, I’m here to support Inaya, which I do by hanging out in her mini exhibit and talking up her work to potential buyers. As per usual, Inaya is swamped with interest. We don’t really get to talk to her until a few hours later, after she’s sold her last piece.

  “That was quick,” May muses as we walk out to the parking lot.

  “I price them low,” Inaya says, shrugging. “I’d rather they go on walls than in the trash. I’ve got other stuff to make. Plus, I’ve got to get going on some builds. Cons are coming up, right, Raffy?”

  My stomach twists. I stay quiet.

  “Luca, what did you think?” Inaya asks.

  “You do really amazing stuff,” Luca says. “I wish I could paint like that.”

  “Thank you, but I meant about the show in general.”

  Luca thinks about this. “It was cool. I’d go to another. I’m glad we’re leaving, though. I’m starving. Can we get food?”

  Inaya giggles. “Did Raffy tell you about our post-show tradition?”

  I did not. I realize now that I never thought past the show. I figured by now Luca would be running. But he’s still here, his hand brushing mine as we walk out together. Guiltily, I look up at him and ask, “How do you feel about karaoke?”

  The karaoke place isn’t your typical Boston bar. It’s an Eastern-style joint where you book a room with just your friends and the staff leaves you alone unless you ring for food or drinks. We’re not of age, but Inaya got tight with the staff last summer when she worked here, and we sneak in our own alcohol. The place has a confused theme that’s a mix of old film studio and camouflage. The staff wears fatigue pants. Very camp. Even better is the name: Miss Sing, in Action!

  Our usual room at Miss Sing’s is the first one, which is the smallest. It has two doors in case a cop comes to check IDs and we need to make a break for it. The staff, recognizing me, waves us through the crowd of people camped by the elevator doors. Inaya drove with May, which means they got here way faster. Luca and I might have stopped for drive-through fries at Burger King.

  May and Inaya are already at it when we enter, and they don’t break their duet for us. They incorporate us, pushing us onto the couches so we can witness the chaotic end of “Let It Go” from Frozen. When they finish, they sweep into bows, and we clap boisterously. A staff member enters, throwing down some snacks, and after they leave, May busts out a few beers she’s smuggled in from home. We drink and eat, and Inaya talks about behind-the-scenes stuff from the show. We shower her with more praise, which she accepts, and then it’s time to sing.

  I wonder: What now? Usually, I grab for the microphone right away, ready to scream my ass off to “MOON PRIDE” by Momoiro Clover Z, but with Luca here, I find myself suddenly shy. If I’m singing, he’s alone with the girls. I resolve to sit and watch them instead to make sure he’s good, but to everyone’s surprise, Luca takes the mic next.

  He’s looking right at me when he says, “This one is for…” but then he throws a wink sideways and says, “…May. We don’t know each other that well, but something tells me you’ll like this.”

  And like magic, the opening notes to “Sora Ni Utaeba” play. May screams. This is her absolute favorite song from one of her absolute favorite animes: My Hero Academia. It’s actually one of her favorite songs to sing herself, but the fact that Luca knows it and has prepared ahead of time to give it a go? I get chills. Inaya gives me a wide-eyed stare as if to say, Where did you find this boy?

  Luca hits every word in his best Japanese without even looking at the words, and he even mimics some of the iconic character poses as the animation plays on the screen behind him. May watches, chin cupped in her hands, until Luca drags her up. They finish the end together, hand in hand. It sounds atrocious, but it also sounds wonderful, and I’m on my feet clapping. Clapping and cheering with abandon, because I don’t just like what I’ve seen. I don’t just adore it. I love it.

  I realize that I was scared of this moment—of bringing Luca out of our own private world and into the world of my friends—but it’s going so well. I’m excited, and I’m relieved. It’s my turn to go next, and I’m not nervous now.

  Inside, I’m already singing.

  Thirteen

  Now

  It is the night before Primes, and I don’t dream.

  But I don’t not dream.

  The entire night, I’m on the verge of sleep, of dreams, but I just hang there, too anxious to give myself over to my exhaustion but too stubborn to get up and get ready. The result is a long stretch of nothing until the sun starts rising and there’s no denying that Saturday has arrived.

  Tomorrow becomes today. And today, I compete in Primes.

  I text May, pack up a few last-minute items, and then walk to her place super early. Most of my stuff is already at her house, where I left it after our makeup test. It’s just safer that way. It’s bright and warm—strange for October, but not unheard of. I stop at Starbucks for a breakfast of cold brew, texting May again to see if she wants anything. By the time I’m at her front door, she still isn’t answering, and I’m getting annoyed. I ring the doorbell. Hard.

  Her father answers.

  “She said she was meeting up with a few people for breakfast near the con,” he says, confused by my presence. He’s used to seeing us together. I’m confused, too.

  “Did she say who?”

  “She said you knew them. Weren’t you guys hanging out together last night?”

  “We were,” I assure him.

  May knows we’re competing today. Why would she go to the con without me? She knows we’ve got a strict schedule. Where could she be? Why wouldn’t she tell me?

  I breathe through my rising anxiety, telling myself it’s okay. I am super early, after all. We have tons of time. We’ll be able to get dressed, do makeup, and be ready for prejudging with no problem. Our time slot isn’t until four thirty.

  “Did she say when she’d be back?” I ask.

  “Nope. Maybe soon? You can wait here if you want. We’re heading to the Seaport later to see her, if you want a ride.”

  “What time?”

  “Maybe in an hour? We’re just finishing up breakfast. Want to come in? We made tots.”

  I love tots. Who would say no to tots? Plus, I’m still trying really hard to be reasonable and to relax. So I say yes, and I sit at May’s kitchen table while her parents ask me about our latest cosplay and the strangeness that was yesterday. But then, a weird thing happens. I get a text from Inay
a, but she’s not the one who wrote it.

  This is Luca. I think you still have me blocked. Sorry for using Inaya’s phone, but when are you getting here? Can we talk?

  Luca is already at Controverse. So is Inaya. I’m sure they’re already in their cosplays. Suddenly, sitting and chatting about cosplay while totting out feels like sitting in a grave and pulling dirt over myself. My anxiety crashes over me, and I stand up abruptly.

  “Thanks for the tots,” I say, running up to May’s room. Our stuff is where I left it, all packed up and ready to go, but I unpack it again to make sure I have all that we’ll need. Then I repack, seething the whole time.

  If May isn’t here to get ready, I’ll bring the readiness to her. Today is maybe the biggest day of my life, and I can’t waste time on patience and tater tots. What the hell was I thinking, sitting down?

  I rush out of May’s house and into a waiting Uber, and the first thing I do when the door closes is delete Luca’s text.

  * * *

  It’s an hour later, and all the deep breaths in the world couldn’t calm the simmering panic pulsing through my brain. All semblance of reasonable Raffy has dissolved. I’ve had to wait in like three security lines to get this dumb suitcase and bulging tote into the con, then unpack everything for the prop checker and repack it, and still May has not responded to a single text. But I know where I’ll find her. By the time I spot her through the crowd in the Art Mart, I’ve got the velocity and trajectory of a world-ending meteor.

  “What are you doing?” I say to the side of her head, blowing apart whatever conversation she’s in the middle of. May doesn’t look at me right away, but I see the shock of my arrival in the tightness of her eyes.

  “Sorry, one second,” she says to the man she’s talking to. He gives me a nervous glance, but I just pull May away, my bag catching someone’s shoulder as I spin.

  “Raffy, Jesus. What is going on with you?”

  “What’s going on with you? I had to bring all our stuff by myself today because you left without me.”

  May eyes the suitcase. “It’s like ten o’clock in the morning. The competition isn’t until this afternoon, I thought.”

  “Did you forget about prejudging? And what about building buzz? Luca and Inaya are probably already dressed, and we’re not. I can’t believe you’d just leave and not tell me!”

  I don’t get a chance to say any more, because May turns and walks back to the booths. She’s shaking her head, heat emanating from her. Is she mad? Why? She has no right.

  I chase after her, finally catching her at the head of the next aisle.

  “I’m not letting you do this in front of these people,” she says. Her face is flushed, her lips tight.

  “Do what?”

  “Reprimand me like I’m a kid. I’d never do this in front of your peers.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  May folds her arms over her chest in a perfect imitation of my posture, and seeing this, I catch my first glimpse of how much of an ass I’m being. May whines in my voice: “Maaaaaay, you know how much this matters to me! I can’t be-lieve you! How dare you do anything for yourself when we’re here to help me further my career? Heaven forbid you take a few fucking hours to network with other artists! Don’t you know we always have to be in cosplay? Don’t you know it’s going to take”—she checks her phone, not breaking her mimicry—“six fucking hours to put on a goddamn costume?”

  I’m stunned.

  Something catches on my tote bag, and it rips open, spilling a cloud of bright pink tulle over my shoes. The people around us barely notice as they stomp across our outfits. I fall over the mess, dragging it together beneath me. I am frantic. This isn’t just a costume to me. It’s months of work. It’s money. It’s years of knowledge that I’ve pieced together by myself. Always by myself, until Luca came along. Until Inaya came along. And now they’re gone, and I’ve only got May, and I feel like she’s another tote bag that has just exploded. Another composite of time and memories and friendship unraveling, but I’m here on the ground, only able to fix one and not the other.

  “Here,” May says, handing me a shoe that has rolled away. We pick up the pieces together, and then, because I am kind of hiccup-sobbing, May leads me to the side of the room. She’s silent as we refold the costume pieces, checking to make sure everything is properly accounted for before bundling it in the remains of the bag. When that’s done, May folds her hands in her lap and looks at me.

  We both apologize at the same time.

  “No, listen,” she cuts me off. “I was being an asshole. I know this matters and you’re under a lot of pressure, but—”

  “But nothing.”

  May’s lips tighten, but I manage to keep going before her anger can return. “Don’t apologize. I deserved all that. I deserve worse. You’re right. Controverse is as much an opportunity for you as it is for me. And you’re doing me a huge favor by competing with me. I’m sorry I was so mad. And I’m sorry I got in your face, especially here. I just get so focused, and when I’m angry, it’s hard to snap myself out of it.”

  “Raffy, I know.”

  “That I get too mad about dumb shit?”

  “No, I know the stakes are high. I know that if you have to choose between your art and anything else, you’ll choose your art. It’s part of who you are, and I admire the shit out of your determination.”

  I don’t know why she is telling me this. I don’t even think it’s true. I feel like I am constantly chasing after time to work, choosing everything else and then getting mad at myself.

  “But you’re letting the competition get to you. You’re taking this so seriously that you’re not having any actual fun anymore. But you don’t need to be so serious. You’ve got me to help you,” May says. “I figured if I got here early enough, I could see the people I wanted to see. Then we could get ready together at my place, like we planned. I texted you last night, but maybe you missed it.”

  I pull out my phone, and sure enough, above all my frantic texts is a message from May, letting me know she’ll be home around noon. I didn’t even see it in my rush to get the day started.

  “Didn’t see it, did you?” she says.

  I shake my head no. And then I grumble an agreement to her plan, which is pretty solid. I must have slept last night after all, and of course I managed to miss the one message that would have saved me a freak-out, a warpath, and a fight with my bestie on the con floor.

  “Shit, I’m so sorry,” I say again. “Usually I am prepared for anything. But after yesterday, I don’t know what’s coming.”

  “Have you ever considered that you can’t be prepared for every future, but all the work you’ve ever done has prepared you for whatever happens in the present?”

  I give her a quizzical look. “When did you get so wise?”

  May smirks. “It’s from Cherry Cherry, you idiot.”

  I have, of course, read every panel of May’s comic. I have a few hung up in my room, blown up to poster size. I’ve got shirts and pins, too. Anything May makes, I buy.

  I think about the quote, then say, “San Diego says that to March when March is freaking out about her future visions not being accurate, right?”

  May’s face blooms in surprise. “Yes! You remember!”

  “Of course I remember. I love Cherry Cherry.”

  May helps me up. She takes the suitcase so I can carry the bundled tote in my arms. We walk slowly between the aisles of artists, picking out the things we like, saying hi to a few of May’s new friends as we make the rounds. By the end of the next aisle, I’m feeling much better.

  “So listen…” May starts slow. “Some of the people I’m trying to meet aren’t going to be here until later, and—hey, don’t panic, just let me finish, okay? I’ll still compete with you. I promised I would, and I will, okay?”

  She wait
s for me to say okay. I do.

  “Okay, cool. But can you promise me that the second we’re done on stage tonight, I’m free? There’s a rumor that there will be a mandatory Craft Club photo shoot all day on Sunday for anyone who places. You said I could have Sunday to do art stuff, and I need you to promise you’re not going to freak out if I take you up on that. Okay? Sunday is going to be, like, my only chance to meet up with some of these people, and I’m confirmed to do one of the drop-in amateur booths. I’ve been preparing stuff to sell all summer, and this is a huge chance for me, too. If I wait until the end of the day to set up, no one is going to be here. Okay?”

  May waits for me to panic, but I surprise her (and myself) by keeping it cool. I haven’t told her about my impromptu trip with Evie on Sunday. I won’t even be able to attend that photo shoot even if we do place.

  “It’s cool,” I say. “Sunday is May day. No cosplay whatsoever.”

  “Really? You’re really saying that?”

  “I did promise, didn’t I?”

  At minimum, I owe May this reassurance. But, truth be told, I’m now pretty stressed by the realization that even if we do well, we may not be around to revel in the spoils of our success. But I tuck away the panic, knowing I should stress about this later when I’m by myself. May is right that part of being good at what you do is knowing you’ll be able to handle yourself no matter what the present becomes, so I’ve got to be good right now, and I’ll have to be good no matter what happens next.

  “You got it. After tonight, you’re free. It’s a promise.”

  “Cool. And Raffy?”

  “What?”

  “There’s a lot more to Controverse than just cosplay, remember? I think you’d really like some of the stuff on the floor this year. I know you’re nervous, but maybe everything wouldn’t feel unknown if you did a little exploring? I’ve got some time; we can hang out if you want. We used to just show up and talk to people, remember? No agenda, just fun.”

  “Yeah, I remember.” I lift up my broken bag. “But I’ve got to do a few last-minute adjustments. And honestly, I’ve wasted enough of your day. I want you to make the most of this, too.”