by Ryan La Sala
My phone buzzes. A text from Luca.
Where are you? I’m in the room.
I expect it to vanish, but the letters stay. I stare at them as I stumble out of the elevator and down the hall. I feel like a totally different person by the time I reach the door of our room. My anger fades beneath startling relief, and I realize that once again, my anxiety has been showing me a lowlight reel of what the future could be. Anxiety is awful like that; it shows you only the worst, and all at once.
I give myself a minute to recover before going in. I want to calm down as much as I can. I realize now that there are about a million possible explanations for where Luca and Inaya might have gone and why they’ve been ignoring me. Maybe they didn’t even know they were ignoring me.
Then I get another text from Luca.
We need to talk.
I die on the inside. All of me dies, all at once. I’m at the door, but I don’t go in. My fear propels me backward, past the elevators, to the little room where you can get ice. There’s a vending machine, and I hide myself behind it.
I text Luca back.
Hey! What’s up?
And he calls me right away. The second I pick up, he’s talking.
“Raffy. I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing. Actually, everything. My family is asking all these questions, and my parents are mad. Like, mad mad. They know I’m not home.”
I slide to the floor, my head tapping against the warm vibrating side of the vending machine. No, not this. Anything but this.
“Please don’t go,” I say. “We came all this way. Just tell them you’ll be home tonight.”
“You don’t understand,” Luca says. “It’s not about where I am, it’s about what I’m doing. And who I’m with.”
I hear a suitcase being zipped in the background.
I can’t help but beg. “Come on, Luca, please don’t do this. Just say you’re with Inaya. They love Inaya. You don’t even need to tell them about me. We can just pretend we came separately. Or that I don’t even exist.”
“Raffy, stop.”
I stop.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he says. “I can’t risk dressing up with you. If my family sees even one photo of us, it’s going to prove them right about all the shit they believe.”
“We won’t take photos. I won’t even post that I’m here,” I blurt.
“You’d be happy with that?” Luca says grimly. “Now I’m making you hide, too? Be honest, Raffy. You want someone you can dress up with and create with and be out with. Someone at your level. I’m not that person, and I’m never going to be. I made a mistake thinking I could do this. Any of this.”
I suck in a breath. “Any of this?”
“Yeah,” he sighs. “You, the art shows, cosplaying. It’s just…too much for me. I’m sorry. I’m sorry I’m fucking everything up. I know how seriously you take all this, and I wanted to be part of it, but I can’t. I have to go. They’re calling me.”
I try to talk, but tears get the better of me.
“Don’t cry. Don’t fucking cry,” Luca demands. It’s cold. And mean. But at the edge of his voice, I hear him breaking, too.
“I can’t help it,” I say. I push the tears away with my shaking fingers. “Please. Just stay. We’ll figure it out together, remember?”
“I was wrong, Raffy. We can’t figure it out, because we are the problem.”
I’m the problem here. Not cosplay, not sneaking out. Me. Raffy.
“I gotta go,” Luca says. He sniffs, recovers. His voice is stern now. “I’m sorry, Raff. Please don’t hate me forever. I promise I’ll make it right one day. Just…just give me some time, okay?”
I’m the one who hangs up, because I can’t even attempt an answer. I just give myself over to seismic sobs that quake through me, so forceful that I don’t make a sound. I try to stand and can’t. I am confused and scared, and nothing feels real. Not the wall, not the vending machine, not even my phone, clutched in my hand as it rings again and again.
I block Luca’s number.
I hear a door open down the hall, and a suitcase drags over the carpet. I hear a sniff, then another. Luca. Or maybe someone else. I nearly jump out from where I’ve hidden myself, but fear pins me in place. I wait in the silence as whoever it is slams the button for the elevators, and I don’t move until they’ve descended. Then I’m racing for the door, convinced it wasn’t Luca, that I’ll find him unpacking. He’ll hug me, and we’ll cry together, and then we’ll figure it out.
But the room is empty. Luca is gone.
And I let him go.
* * *
I stand in the hotel room for a long time, trying to breathe in the quiet. I don’t know the extent of what I just lost, but it feels like I’ve lost everything all at once. Luca left. He left minutes before we were supposed to get dressed and have the best day ever.
I don’t text him. I don’t call. I don’t cry. I don’t really know how to do any of that stuff right now. I have spent my entire morning reacting to an imagined crisis that has suddenly, horribly become real. I know I didn’t cause this, but I feel like I must have.
Fury flashes through me as I look at our builds, diligently laid out last night. I cannot imagine being this close to showing up, only to deny all your hard work and run away. These cosplays took so much time. They took so much life. And, because of it, they’re magically alive. This armor is made of dreams and effort, and now it’s being abandoned, just like me.
I hate looking at these costumes. They humiliate me. In this moment, they are the awful evidence of how stupid I was to let Luca work alongside me. Now no one will get to see them. They will be wasted. I was so proud of them, proud of myself for creating them while also creating a structure to hold together this confused relationship. But the relationship was also a waste. A distraction. I’m furious with myself for being so stupid for so long.
I hate the way these costumes look at me. And I hate the idea that Luca walked away from them so easily, as though they’d always be there to take him back.
Before I can stop myself, I’m breaking them. The first thing I break is my own armor, for all the good it did protecting me. The pieces aren’t real, just foam and glue slapped together in ugly imitation. Flimsiness shaped like artistry. I crush the helmet next, driving my entire fist through it. A flash of pain reminds me too late of the wire I used to give the helmet structure, and suddenly there’s blood spilling over the rent foam and unglued gore. The sight awakens me to what I’m doing, and I step away abruptly.
“Fuck this,” I say.
I clean myself up as best I can, using supplies from my emergency craft kit to tape tissues to my cut-up hand. I should try to clean up the mess I’ve made, but I’m afraid if I lay hands on what’s left of the cosplays, I won’t be able to keep myself from tearing everything else apart. So instead, I grab all my other things—my civilian clothes, my charger, my overnight bag—and I leave. Just like Luca, I make a run for it, unable to spend one more second amid the evidence of all my mistakes.
I don’t stop moving until I’m far away from the convention center, near the train station. I don’t let myself look at my phone until I’m seated on a train back to Boston. I have a bunch of missed calls and texts from Inaya.
I tried to talk him out of leaving.
He said you’d understand.
She’s still texting me.
Where are you? Are you okay??? There’s blood in the room.
I let her know I’m fine. She calls right away, but I don’t pick up. I text her instead.
I’m on the train. I’m fine. Physically. Sorry. Do you mind bringing Phobos and Deimos back? You can throw out the stuff I ruined.
You did this? Wtf???
Sorry
I was mad.
I’m stil
l mad. I’m ashamed of my reaction, too.
It’s cool. I’m going to get dressed. You sure you don’t want to come back? I’m texting Luca, too.
Good luck with that.
I turn my phone off, press my forehead to the glass, and watch the south shore roll by as I leave Blitz Con, and Luca, behind.
Twenty-Nine
Now
Losing sucks. Like, we all know this, right? No matter what you do to prepare for it, no matter how much you downplay your chance of winning, it sucks to lose. People who tell you that it’s okay are just used to it—sorry if that’s you, no offense. And sure, there’s the upside of having even tried. It’s the journey, it’s the climb, blah blah. I believe all that, but it doesn’t change the fact that no matter what, it sucks to lose.
So why am I jumping up and down, ecstatic, as we lose?
The moment we get second, I turn to Luca. It stings, but from the way he looks at me, it’s clear he feels only excitement. And as he pulls me into a hug in front of everyone, I feel the same. It’s hard to feel like I’ve lost anything at all when I’ve gained so much back in such a short period of time. A few months ago, I was crying on the commuter rail, devastated by the outcome of the relationship Luca and I tried to build around our many shaky secrets. Right now, we stand here in the glory of a second chance that we were brave enough to take. And that makes it feel like we’ve won something bigger than any Controverse cosplay competition.
We move forward to accept our silver trophies. Luca takes my hand and raises it up into the air, so high that I have to stand on my toes to keep from lifting off the stage. Any higher, and we’d be spinning above the crowd, elevated by their elation.
A clubber appears with a giant check for two thousand (two thousand?) dollars. Another has medals. They swoop them around our necks and then line us up for photos with the judges. We nestle among them, everyone smiling as the crowd starts chanting our names. Dimly, I register that Luca’s mom has been joined by quite a large family.
The photographer checks her shot, then goes in for another. Luca pulls me even closer, whispering, “Raff. Raff.”
I glance at him, sensing the mischief in that grin immediately. He’s going to go in for a kiss, isn’t he?
Now, this particular kiss is a work in progress. Has been a work in progress. It began a long, long time ago with me sitting among the shredded ruins of our costumes in a hotel room. It gathered within the sudden and shocked silence between us in the weeks after, like threads twisted tighter and tighter until they formed an ugly knot. It sealed itself in a grudge. It warmed, just slightly, in the sunlit hallway overlooking Controverse. And then it stitched itself together, glued itself together, bedazzled itself completely, as Luca and I found our way back to each other over the re-creation of the costumes that broke us.
The kiss, like all epic kisses, is the final touch of everything that led up to it. Luca’s lips brush mine, then mine brush his. We kiss, sharing one breath for what feels like minutes, the crowd cheering us on until finally, Luca lets me go. Just an inch. Just enough to let me know I should maybe keep my wits about me. We are still in public, after all.
“We did it,” I say.
“We did it,” he says back.
Our time in the spotlight ends, and we shuffle to the side with our gigantic check, trophies, and medals. I spot May at the front of the audience and throw up a V for victory.
Waldorf Waldorf asks for silence. Then he hands the mic off to Irma Worthy herself as she steps onto the stage.
“Every year, we at Craft Club are simply dazzled by the talent, ingenuity, determination, and spirit of you amazing cosplayers. What you do is special. What you do is magical. We’re so happy to serve you and so proud to call Boston the home of Craft Club.”
Awwww, goes the crowd.
Clubbers usher the two remaining teams forward. Inaya’s jaw is set, her nostrils flared. Christina smiles big, not a trace of her former cunning visible. The Satoh twins stay completely in character, their confidence radiant.
“And now, it’s my honor to name our Controverse Champions of Cosplay. This year, the grand prize goes to…”
The lights zip over the crowd, up onto the glassy ceiling, and then back down.
“Christina and Inaya with Eternal Sailor Moon!”
Now we all start jumping. The makeshift stage rocks beneath us, setting off a metallic squeal that cuts through the bright air of the arena. Is there bitterness to not winning? Of course. But does it affect the blitz of joy that goes off in me at seeing Inaya’s shocked face as she’s awarded this title? Not at all. Even if I were mad, I’m still a crafter first. I know that Inaya does incredible work, and I want that work to be recognized no matter what. She earned this. They both did.
Luca and I throw down our check and raise Inaya up. Her wings batter against Luca’s, and it’s clumsy, and I’m pretty sure Irma nearly faints at what looks like an impending lawsuit, but it doesn’t matter. We hoist our friend up like it’s nothing, and she grips our shoulders like she trusts us, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like our little group might have a future.
When we put Inaya down, she and Christina are led to the front, where they’re crowned as champions. Luca and I slip from the stage and into the back area so Luca can get changed. We have to be quick—already, crews are starting to disassemble the makeshift studio—but this doesn’t stop Luca from using the brief privacy to back me into a kiss. This time, I don’t see it coming at all. It just happens, like a gift. Like a surprise birthday party. In my mouth.
“Sorry,” he says, breaking off. “Is this okay?”
“It’s more than okay,” I say, and we kiss until a clubber clears their throat.
“Your phones?” he says, offering us back our devices.
I take mine without looking at it while Luca scrolls through the onslaught of notifications that have been flooding in. He laughs and whistles and gasps, then tries to show me something. He notices I’m not looking at my screen and picks up on why right away.
“You’re nervous about Evie?”
I nod. He takes my phone.
“Want me to turn it on?”
I nod.
As soon as he does, Evie calls.
Thirty
Then
Five months ago
The trash barrels roll and scrape as I drag them out to the curb. I arrange the two barrels lovingly, correcting their alignment twice before I’m satisfied. I’m doting. Fussing. Stalling.
The barrels are stuffed with Phobos and Deimos, laid to rest in these two upright coffins. It was the first thing I did after Inaya dropped them off on my stoop a few days ago. It’s not that I’m done with cosplay; I’m just done with these birds and everything they remind me of. I’m done with distraction. Done with Luca. All of this just confirms that the only person I can count on is myself.
Right now, I’m trying to focus on what comes next. I don’t know what that is. I only know that I’ll definitely be doing it alone.
My resolve lasts right up until I need to walk away from the trash cans. Instead, I just sit down. Right on the lawn, next to the driveway. It’s not like I’m obsessed with the trash cans. I’m not, like, sobbing adoringly while caressing their plastic bodies. But like magnets, a force greater than me and mysterious to me keeps me in their orbit.
Mysterious is maybe not quite what this is. It’s the sense of starting fresh. It’s hope, but it comes with the painful truth: I am alone again. Luca and I are done. Luca is gone. He’s not in the trash can, but he might as well be rolled up with all of the broken wings we created, now rent apart and collapsed into layers of foam and glue and fabric.
The sense of him being near me is so vivid. Even though I am sitting on the lawn, I let my face crumple into my knees. My sobs are quiet, but they echo in the small cavern I have created with the knot of my body. I stop a
s quickly as I started—I know Evie is likely in the house, and even though I feel like she’d sort of respect the performance piece of me sobbing beside some trash, I just cannot take any questions from her about my strange, melancholic behavior today.
When I lift my head up, a car has pulled over to see if I’m okay. I’m so shocked by the sudden appearance of the big metal beast that I don’t recognize it until the driver’s window rolls down and May shouts, “Did someone call for a pick-me-up?”
“That’s a horrible joke,” I say, getting into the passenger seat of her dad’s car. It’s just us. “How did you know to come?”
“Just knew.”
We drive for a bit. Then she sighs.
“Actually, sorry, you’ll find out eventually if you haven’t already seen. Here, did you see?”
She passes me her phone from the cup holder. Ion is already up, specifically Inaya’s feed. At the top is, of course, a shot of her at the Blitz Cosplay Games. She’s holding a huge check—runner-up, and five hundred dollars richer. I sent her a congrats when I heard. Just Congrats, no hearts or emojis or anything. She sent back a blue heart. I expected her to reach out again after that, but she hasn’t yet. I figured she was giving me space, which is what I wanted, but now I see there’s a bit more to it as May scrolls further down Inaya’s feed, into the older posts.
“You didn’t see this one, did you?” May asks, opening a post entitled “Blitz Vlog.”
“Nope.”
“You’re not curious about what happened that day?”
“I know what happened that day. It happened to me.”
“No, no, I mean what else happened. After you left.”
I don’t answer, and May pauses. Then she says, “I guess he wouldn’t have posted any of this himself, but I figured you’d have at least stumbled upon it watching Inaya’s stuff. I guess you avoided everything, though.”
Everything. May’s dire tone distresses me. What could be so bad that she drove all the way here to make sure I didn’t see it alone?
“Here.” She hands me her phone again.