by J. C. Lillis
“Did he do that?”
“Who?”
I roll my eyes. “Him. Jonathan.”
Abel picks at his thumbnail. “There was definite weirdness. Yeah.”
“Well, I am completely fine.”
“Really? Hundred percent?” He reaches over and hooks my pinky with his. “I’ll also accept ninety-five. Or ninety…”
I consider my answer. Bad thoughts still creep around in my subconscious; I’m not dumb enough to think one night with Abel’s blasted them away. But for now I’m too happy to let them get close. I’ve got a force field around me made of Abel’s kisses and hey_mamacita’s evangelical ranting and the steady blue thrum of my mechanical heart.
Thank you, I venture. Thank you thank you thank you. I send it out to the universe, to Abel’s loving creative higher power that wants everyone to be happy. Right now that seems so incredibly possible.
“Okay, you’re pausing way too long,” says Abel.
“Well. I do have one confession,” I tell him.
“Sure. Sure, get it out.” He unhooks our pinkies and shifts under the sheet, bracing for full-on Catholic-boy freakout.
“It’s about Cadmus and Sim.”
“Oh!”
“I might sort of…” Say it. Get it over with. “…thinkit’salittlebithotnow. Just a little!”
I bite my knuckle, awaiting judgment.
Abel lets out a deep relieved laugh. He pulls a pillow over his face and crosses his arms over it.
“You too?” I tug the pillow.
“Uggggghhhh,” he moans.
“Since when?”
“Dunno. I guess since the coffee shop marathon?” He shoves the pillow away and props himself up on one elbow. “The stupid cave scene felt different. I like, watched you watching it. Watching him. And I started…” He sighs.
“Feeling things?”
“To my horror. Yes.”
“There were twinges?”
“Definite twinges. Oh my God, Brandon.” He shakes his head at our spooning action figures. “Are we turning into…Cadsim shippers?”
“It’s possible.”
“What about the dumb bet?”
I shrug. “Call it off.”
“Just like that?” He does a low whistle. “Miss Maxima would—”
“Who cares?” I twist Plastic Sim’s waist and tweak his legs so he can cuddle Cadmus with maximum efficiency. “Why waste time feuding with the Cadsim girls? I’d much rather hang in the Church of Abandon.”
Abel studies me. A grin sneaks across his face.
“What,” I say.
“What? Nothing.”
“You’re plotting.”
“Is it that obvious?”
I shove at him with my foot. He rolls off the bed and goes for his big black bag, humming that Blondie song about hearts of glass. I pull on my boxers from last night.
“Don’t look,” he says. “Close your eyes.”
I hear the contents of the bag shift and clink; he’s got enough souvenirs and truck-stop junk and retro shirts in there to fill a Goodwill. A plastic pop: a marker uncapping? I wait till I feel light cotton whap my face, and then I pull it off and unfold it.
A white v-neck undershirt, ABANDON Sharpied across it. He’s got one to match.
“What are these for?”
“We’re making a vlog post.”
“Here?”
“Yes sir.”
“What for?”
He whispers in my ear, even though no one else is in the room.
“Oh no. No no. We can’t.”
“It’ll be epic.”
“They’ll die.”
He slips the shirt over my head and kisses my nose.
“In a good way,” he says. “Trust me.”
***
He turns the camera on.
“’Morning, Casties. It is now…five a.m., Pacific time, and Brandon and I can’t sleep. We have a very important announcement that will be of great interest to quite a few…”
He keeps talking. I barely hear a word; I’m just watching his lips move, mystified that I kissed them and can do it again whenever I want.
“…so first of all, to Miss Maxie and the rest of the Cadsim girls: We’d like to call a truce with you. It deeply, deeply pains us to admit this, especially since we’ve seen better writers in the 7th Heaven archive on fanfic.net, but whatever: Cadsim is kiiiind of hot. Okay? We said it. So I guess we’re all playing on the same team now. Miss Max, we know you’re going to be at the next con in Salt Lake City, so we’d like to invite you to ask the cave scene question at the Della Wolfe-Williams Q&A, presuming you still want to know the answer. And in the interest of burying the hatchet, we’d like to invite you to lunch with us after.”
He elbows me.
“Definitely,” I say.
“Long as you don’t expect us to rec your fanfic or anything. Which brings us to our second purpose—right, Brandon?”
“Uh…I guess.”
“Don’t chicken out. Look right into the camera and say hi to the Church of Abandon—oh, right, ladies. We know about you. We have for a few weeks, and we’d like to inform you that you’re living every real-person-shipper’s dream: your fanfic totally brought us together last night.”
He’s spreading it on so thick. I pull the sheet over my head.
“It’s true!” Abel pokes me. “As of 9:48 this evening, Brandon and I are officially Doing It. Ladies, our love lives were ready to stall out, but you inspired us to unprecedented heights of passion with all your wackadoodle sex melodramas and extraneous adjectives.” He yanks the sheet off me and he looks so adorable with his mussy sex hair that I have to laugh. “Bran. What do you say to our freako fairy godmothers out there?
I shut my eyes. “Thanks guys.”
Abel tugs off his ABANDON shirt. “We’re going back to bed now.”
He switches off the camera and tackles me, laughing, and I can’t believe we said that and did that and there’s no way in hell we’re posting it on Screw Your Sensors. But then he leaves a trail of soft electric kisses down my chest and slips my boxers down again, and by the time he’s done I wouldn’t care if Xaarg himself poofed into the room and challenged us to a life-or-death game of WordWhap.
I lay there sweaty under the sheet, trying to catch my breath. Abel crawls over to the laptop and uploads the vid. He rubs his hands together and grins, which is supposed to be cute but gives me a sinister chill.
Twenty minutes later, while we’re molding Plastic Cadmus and Plastic Sim into X-rated positions and crafting an impromptu photo essay, we get a direct message from our former enemy at the Cadsim fanjournal: Miss Maxima: laughing so hard I legit peed a little. YES. I will meet up with you lovebirds for lunch in Salt Lake. I’ll even buy. See you then, boys.
You have no idea how much I’m looking forward to it.
CastieCon #5
Salt Lake City, Utah
Chapter Twenty
I want to make a sweater out of this week and wrap myself up in it until it falls apart.
If someone made an Abandon fanvid of the road between Long Beach and Salt Lake City, collaging our good times to a chirpy pop-country song, this is what it would be like:
Scene 1: Vegas. We score last-minute tickets to a cheesy jukebox musical with all 80s pop songs. Abel holds my hand and hums along as guys twirl in neon tanks and acid-washed jeans. We make out shamelessly at the end of the big “Don’t Stop Believin’” number and I pretend we’re in a movie and all the clapping is for us.
Scene 2: Afternoon hike in Fishlake National Forest. I impress Abel with my arcane Boy Scout tree expertise and he makes a ring for me from a twist of sneezeweed stems. We dorkily reenact the cave scene with Plastic Sim, Plastic Cadmus, and an improvised shanty of slate rocks.
Scene 3: A kiss in the rain. A good montage has to have one. On a campground picnic table, wearing stick-on mustaches from a truck stop.
> Scene 4: Bill & Ray’s RV Repairs. Dad found these guys online and prearranged a complete checkup, “just to be safe.” While they’re inspecting the brakes and fixing the busted windshield wiper, Abel and I go around back to watch a rose-and-orange sunset sprawl above Pleasant Grove, Utah, the kind of happy train-set town with rodeos and Heritage Festivals every five minutes. I sit on a rusted riding mower with my guitar and strum his favorite Madonna song (”Like A Prayer”), and I swear these two birds soar over poetically at that very second, settling together in the scrubby grass to feast on a discarded Honey Bun.
It’s Friday now, one day from CastieCon #5. The Sunseeker’s whipping down I-15; we’ll be at our campground near Salt Lake within a few hours. Bec drives with her hair in pigtails and the Futureheads on the speakers; Abel and I sit crosslegged on the bed in the tiny back room. We’re wearing matching white baseball caps that say I GOT LUCKY IN VEGAS in glitter, and beside us on two paper plates are remnants of the world’s unhealthiest lunch: leftover truck stop biscuits and gravy, plus a fried-egg-and-cheese scramble with onions and tomatoes from a roadside stand near Victorville. There’s tomato juice on my Castaway Planet shirt and Utah dirt under my fingernails. I’ve never been happier in my entire life.
He takes a deep breath. “Should we do it?”
“Now?”
“It’s been so long.”
“Three days.”
“Okay. You first.”
“No, together.”
“On three. One, two…”
We whip out our phones. The no-media rule Abel thought up was great in terms of first-boyfriend-bonding, but it’s Day 3 already and our fingers have been itching since Vegas. 72 hours without email or Facebook, not to mention the Cadsim fanjournal, the Church of Abandon, or the newsfeed at the main Castaway site, is kind of like seeing how long you can go without peeing or using the letter A.
“Susannah’s in Tucson with my mom,” Abel reports. “Just did her twentieth book signing. She tweets ‘i miss u, have fun u should kiss brandon.’”
“Aw. Tell her you are, right now.” I lean over and give him a peck. “Okay, new rumor: Sim might have an evil clone next season? Whaaat?”
“Not true. Darras debunked it last night, apparently.”
“When?”
“Twitter party.”
“Thank God…Oh, damn. Got a college orientation email.”
“Begone. We’re not thinking about that.” Abel waves it away. “Ahhh, retro robot. How I’ve missed you…”
Great. Four emails from my parents. I click one.
Hi Sweetie,
We haven’t heard from you since Sun. nite – tried calling you twice today but your phone was off. PLEASE make sure you call us tonite!! You know how we worry. Are you and Becky having fun? Hope you’re really getting a chance to enjoy your alone time together, you 2 are so good for each other. Dad says to tell you, you can take her out for a special dinner anywhere you want. It would be our treat.
Be very safe! Remember, we love you.
Mom (and Dad)
P.S. Helped Fr. Mike with the ice cream social yesterday – he says a big hello.
I reply Sorry! All’s well, having fun! and delete their email fast. Not going to bother me.
“You’re missing some quality flailing over here,” says Abel.
“Yeah?”
Remember, we love you. What was that? The sneakiest guilt trip ever.
“What’s wrong?” Abel says.
“Just—annoying emails.”
“Well, the night after our little afterglow video went up, there was an all-night party post that hit thirty-six pages by morning.”
I grin. “We are legendary.”
“The bards sing of us. whispering!sage wrote a series of haiku about how their community brought us together.”
“Wow!”
“Then a_rose_knows tried to make the #abandonship hashtag happen in our honor.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Several reports of heads exploding, lady parts combusting…doomerang theorizes that she’s actually dead and this is her heavenly reward…lone detective pops in her cynical head to say we’re clearly playing them like a fiddle and laughing our asses off.”
“Mm. I don’t care for her.”
“Me neither. You will also be pleased to know that due to our hookup, sorcha doo melted into a pink puddle of happiness and is now typing with her disembodied eyeballs.”
“This pleases me.”
“It’s so great, Bran. Everyone capslocked the whole entire night and they posted gifs of fireworks and Kermit the Frog flailing, and—Oh.”
Abel’s whole face changes. His eyebrows push together and he cocks his head. “Huh.”
“What?”
“Nothing, just…” He hands me the phone, tries to keep it light. “Their fearless leader appears to be M.I.A.”
retro robot: Um, so…I hate to stop flailing for even a second, but WHERE IS OUR MAMACITA?? Has anyone heard from her?
whispering!sage: omg literally not a thing. like I said, she was supposed to meet up with us at the ball but she never showed.
sorcha doo: u guys. that’s weird. really.
a_rose_knows: I know. BIZARRE. Packs of rabid wolves couldn’t keep her from this place after official Abandon hookup. It is known.
amity crashful: I’m worried, people. I gotta admit.
A little chill flashes down my back. The biscuits and gravy sink in my stomach.
“You don’t think…” Abel clutches my arm. “…her head literally exploded, do you?”
I tap the second page of comments. I scan it, scrolling fast with my thumb.
“Two hot boys are being sought for manslaughter in connection with the cranial detonation of one hey_mamacita,” Abel says into a salt-shaker microphone. “The boys should be considered armed, dangerous, and extremely—”
“Oh God. Look at this.”
retro robot: Guys. Guys. Look. HER JOURNAL’S GONE.
amity crashful: no.
sorcha doo: ok I’m seriously freaked now. WTF??? :-(
lone detective: It’s true. She pulled all her Abandon fic down. Every single story. It’s like she never existed.
amity crashful: omg you guys. WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK is going on?
lone detective: She abandoned Abandon. Heh.
I find her last post, from right before the Castaway Ball, and try to click through to her personal journal. I get a blue screen with an error message.
This journal has been deleted and purged.
She’s vanished. Every single chapter of “How to Repair a Mechanical Heart”: gone with the rest of her.
“O lamentations,” Abel sighs, hand to forehead. “hey_mamacita doesn’t love us anymore.”
I try to swallow. “Guess not.”
“Maybe Miss Max ordered a hit on her.”
“Heh.”
“Whatever shall we do without her literary genius to write us into being?” he snorts.
I hand his phone back and wipe the sweat off my palms, playing it off like I’m scratching my knees. I can’t let him see I care. Not this much. “Hope she’s okay,” I shrug.
“Are you kidding? She’s probably passed out from happiness somewhere.” Abel flops on his back and hangs his tongue out the side of his mouth. “I mean, what else is she going to do? We’re together now. Mission accomplished.”
Or maybe…
“What if something bad happened?”
“Pssh. Like what?”
“What if we embarrassed her when we told them we knew about them, and she got in her car all upset, and then—”
It would be your fault.
“Yeahhh, okay,” Abel smirks. “And what if she stayed in her house five minutes longer to watch our post, and then when she got to Starbucks the guy in front of her took the last scone so she had a bran muffin instead and choked to death on a raisin?”
; “I’m serious.”
“I know. That’s your whole problem.” He kisses me on the cheek and yanks my Vegas cap over my eyes. “I’m sure your little fic friend is fine.”
“Why would she stand them up, though?”
“I don’t know.” He swings his legs off the bed. “She probably got bored. Maybe she found some repressed Star Trek vloggers who are even hotter than us and—ow! Dammit.”
He rubs his heel.
“What?”
He shakes his head, grabs something off the floor.
“Ugh, these things are so cheap. Can’t believe I paid ten bucks for one. Think fast!”
He throws it to me. It’s the mechanical heart from the Castaway Ball, a wide jagged crack exposing its insides.
“Do us both a huge favor, okay?” Abel says.
I flip the switch. The blue heart-light stutters, then winks out.
“Don’t get superstitious.”
Chapter Twenty-One
I’m shut in a bathroom stall at the Royal Court Inn & Conference Center in Salt Lake City, rubbing Plastic Sim’s head for luck.
Q&A with Della Wolfe-Williams. Fifteen minutes away. Since we woke up this morning, I’ve checked the Church of Abandon four times from my phone, trying to do it in secret places like these. I thumb through the few new posts.
Still no sign of hey_mamacita.
And this is on page 1.
thanks4caring: you guys plz don’t flame me but now that b&a are together for real I’m like a little bit over them…I think I just shipped them cause I thought it would never happen but now that it did I actually think they make kind of a bad couple…like there’s no way it’s actually going to last w/ them…probly mamacita thought so too lol