“And that’s Birdie.” Dotty laughs.
“Is that you?” I ask, probably sounding a little too amazed at a photograph of a young woman hanging on the wall. Even though it’s black-and-white, the woman in the picture radiates warmth. She’s wrapped up a young man in a long measuring tape, and her eyes are crinkled and laughing. He looks at her like Lincoln looks at me. Used to look at me.
“Long, long time ago.” Dotty takes the cloak from my shoulders and lays it on the ironing board. Then I realize she’s in all of these pictures; pinning and measuring. Fitting beautiful costumes on even more beautiful people.
“You used to design costumes for the theater? That’s my dream. Well, I guess mine is for the movies.”
“There are no costumes better than those in the theater,” she says.
“But a smaller audience.”
“I’d say Broadway is pretty big.”
“You worked on Broadway?!”
“Like I said, it was a long, long time ago. Now, come help me with this.” She waves me over, iron in hand.
“Tell me about it! What are you even doing here? Why did you leave New York?” I take the iron from her and start pressing down seams.
“A little boy needed me to make him Halloween costumes. Tea?” she offers, dashing through a door I didn’t even notice into a tiny kitchenette. I’ve never thought about Lincoln’s parents, where they are. Link and Dotty seem like such a natural pair, I didn’t even question it. No wonder he feels like he can’t leave her. I’d never be able to.
“Sure,” I reply. “Thank you.”
Without asking, Dotty unrolls the lining onto her parquet floor, cutting with abandon. She doesn’t need to measure. Her eyes are sharp and impeccable. She uses the same silver scissors I use, and I feel connected to her.
“Want to finish it?” she asks from the floor.
“Now?”
“I don’t see why not!” Dotty sweeps the cloak off the ironing board and into the kitchen, where her sewing machine is nestled in a corner. With another glittery-green flick she turns on a brass lamp; the shade looks like a seashell. Before I can even ask if she has any pins, Dotty runs one side of the cloak and the lining fabric through her machine. I barely have time to blink before she’s almost finished the whole damn thing. I want to be that good. I need to be that good.
“Now, shall we do the hem together?” She hands me the cloak.
“Yes, of course.”
Dotty sits down on her overstuffed sofa, and I drape the cloak over our laps. She picks up a cookie tin from a side table and opens it. It’s stuffed with supplies. My heart aches, remembering Lincoln telling me about this exact tin, and how it fools him every time. Dotty threads each of us a needle. We sew from the outside edges until we meet in the middle.
“You’ve got some pretty good techniques there.” She holds the stitching up to her glasses. “But I bet I could still teach you a thing or two, if you’d be interested.”
“Dotty, I’d be honored.” All the photographs of her work are proof of her impeccable skill. I’d be lucky to learn from her. I’d be lucky to live a life like hers. Even if it meant ending up back in Eugene.
“Voila.” She holds it out for me. Finished.
“Dotty. It’s perfect.”
“You did all the hard work.” She winks over her glasses. I fold the cloak back up and have a few more sips of tea. We sit in silence, admiring our handiwork and enjoying a moment of peace. Everything in Dotty’s life is adorned with so much love. All of it so incredibly girly, womanly. She wears her womanhood like a badge of honor. Now, I want to sew that badge on myself.
“I think I have a few more things I need to buy. You don’t mind, do you?”
“Never.”
* * *
“Where are you going?! Hey, stop!” Brody shouts at me from the doorway of Atomix. I tried to pass by on the way from Kozy’s as quickly as I could. Not wanting to accidentally bump into Why. I’m feeling okay after my sewing session with Dotty, and I’m not ready to have the conversation we need to have. Especially since I know he isn’t going to forgive me.
“I have to go!” I holler back.
“Dude, he isn’t even here yet!”
“Then what is it? What do you want from me?!” I turn around and yell in the middle of the sidewalk.
“Chill. I just…”
“Wanted to call me a fake-geek-girl? A fraud? A bitch?”
“Jesus, Cameron.” He looks around, embarrassed, but I don’t care. He said all of those things. Not to my face, of course, but I might as well make him face me now. “Come on.” He disappears into Atomix. When it looks like I’m not following him, he pops out of the door again and waves. “Seriously, just come in. It’ll only take a second.”
Atomix is dead at this hour. It’s just me and Brody and that good ol’ cutout of Dr. Strange. The gaming table is folded up and leaning against the back wall. It’s hard to take my eyes off it.
“So…What?” I’m already angry.
“Do you think we’re gonna get to play again?”
“Is that really all you’re worried about?”
“I was having a good time. Weren’t you?” Brody pretends to organize a stack of paperbacks.
“Yeah. I was.”
“I still don’t get why you did all that.”
“I know you don’t.”
“So that’s it, then? Game over?”
“Probably.”
“Fuck. No, no, there’s gotta be a way. I’m sure you can work it out.”
“I really don’t think so.” I start to pace around the shop; my feet don’t want to stay in one place for too long. I spot exactly what I need to finish my last portfolio piece. I pull four back issues out of their box.
“Just work your girl magic on Lincoln or something.”
“Please tell me that’s a joke.”
“It’s half a joke. You can take half a joke, can’t you?”
“I can take a whole joke, if it’s a good one.” He doesn’t scare me anymore. I slam the comics down on the counter. Brody looks at them and winces.
“Now you’re joking, right?”
“Not even a little. Ring me up,” I demand. He obliges and slides the comics into a plastic bag.
“Look. I’m sorry, okay? If I knew you were a chick—”
“What? You would have waited for me to leave before acting like a jerk? Sat me down in the girl section while the big boys got to have their fun?”
“I just don’t know how to act around girls. I’m a nice guy!” Brody hangs his head. I’m sure he believes what he’s saying. But it’s not true.
“You’re not a nice guy. Not to girls, at least. You wrote that whole post talking about how you hate us.”
“No, I said all you girls hate me. I only hate the fake ones.”
“How can you tell who’s fake and who’s real?” I ask him, leaning in.
“I just can.”
“Was boy-Cam a faker?” I drum my freshly painted nails on the counter.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because you actually played. You came in and proved that you weren’t just trying to get attention.”
“You would never have given me, dressed like I am now, the same benefit of the doubt. Girls pick up on that. It’s rude. It’s the opposite of nice.”
“What do you know?” he whines. I can tell he might be rethinking what I’m saying, though.
“Dude! A whole damn lot! We both know that when I came in here with my beanie and baggy shorts, you treated me differently.”
“So what? You were a different person.”
“No. I wasn’t. I’m the same exact person. In the dress or in the jeans. Treat me the same; treat us the same!” I can see the light go off above his head.
“I’m sure you don’t mean to. But you need to try harder. Not every girl has some secret agenda. Not every girl who actually wants to be your friend is going to want to date you. Some girls are just gonna be your bros.”
“Or stab you in the back.” Cooper seems to be my nagging shadow today.
“Are you following me now?” I spin around and ask. Why is standing right next to him. “Oh damn it. I’m sorry, Why, I didn’t know you were—”
“Sure,” he says before taking his place behind the register.
“I gotta get…something from the back.” Brody practically sprints to the storeroom.
“Can we talk?” I ask Why, hoping he’s had enough time to calm down.
“I already explained for you,” Cooper chimes in. Why nods, not making eye contact.
“Well, he didn’t explain all of it.” I plead with Why, trying to get him to look at me. “I want you to hear it from me, hear my side.”
“I don’t know,” he mumbles.
“Why, please. If you still hate me, I can drop it. I’ll never bother you again.”
“I…I don’t know,” he repeats himself.
“I told him everything, Snip. Leave him alone, for crying out loud. He wants some space.” Cooper flips through an issue of Catwoman. He’s not looking at me either.
“No, you didn’t tell him everything, because you don’t know everything.” My voice cracks; I swallow, trying to keep from crying. “I don’t tell you every little thing that goes on in my life, you know. You have no idea what I’ve been through this summer. Neither of you do.” I slam the door so hard on my way out it almost shatters.
* * *
One more design. One more day. I dump out the comics and fabric I bought. Two yards of dark wine-colored pleather, another yard of silver holographic spandex. Pink denim. Pink cotton. Everything is pink or glittering.
I start sewing the pants first. Ripped-up mauve skinny jeans. They fit like a glove. The top comes together quickly. Nowhere near as fast as Dotty can sew, but I’m proud of the progress. It’s spandex but oversized; the wrinkles ripple and pick up the light as I move around the studio.
The fake-leather jacket takes the most time and effort. Weeks ago I thought about making Jubilee’s signature yellow jacket. But that was before I knew who Dazzler was, and she needs a seriously bomb-ass bomber jacket.
“I have something for you!” Dad calls from the bottom of the stairs.
“Another thimble?” I answer, not getting up. I’m sewing a zipper into the breast pocket, and I don’t want to move.
“Nope.” He huffs up the stairs. “Cameron. Rose. Birch.”
“You okay?”
“This is what you’ve been doing all summer? All of this?” He walks around the studio, looking at each costume.
“Yep.”
“When…How did you learn how to do all of this? Your mother can barely sew a button on a shirt.”
“YouTube.”
“This is something else. Truly.”
“Thanks, Dad.” He has to love it. He’s my dad. If he were reviewing my portfolio, I’d be a shoo-in. But he isn’t; Gillian Grayson is. She’s taking time off from working on X-Men: No Time like the Present to review portfolios, and I’m not going to waste it.
“Did you ever find your phone?”
“ ’Fraid not,” I answer as quickly as I can. I don’t like lying to him. I want to be done with lying for a while.
“Take this for now.” He holds out his own phone.
“Dad, I don’t need your phone.”
“You’re going into Portland all on your own tomorrow—you need a phone.” He thrusts it at me until I take it from him. “How are you going to get all of this there?”
“Crap. I hadn’t thought about that.”
“I’ll leave the rolling suitcase for you, the big one, in the kitchen.”
“Yeah, that’ll work.”
“I’m so proud of you, little Snip. What a summer.”
“Yeah. You can say that again.” I finish sewing in the zipper as Dad looks around again. He leans in close to inspect the details. Every now and then he mutters something under his breath.
“Oh, Mom wanted me to tell you she ordered your train ticket. Check your email and make sure you got it, okay?”
“Sure.”
“You’re gonna knock their socks off. And then you can knit them new socks. And that will impress them even more, so, you know, you’ll need more socks.”
“Oookay, weirdo,” I groan.
“Love you.”
“Love you.”
* * *
The last place in the world I want to be is the six-thirty a.m. train to Portland. The costumes came together; everything fit in Dad’s giant rolling suitcase; I was ready. Then I checked my email. There were more messages in my inbox than I’ve ever had in my life.
They took my post as a challenge, and one of the creeps found my address and put it up online. But it’s not my new address, thank Yondalla, goddess of halflings—it’s our old apartment. In Portland. The city I’m headed to faster than a speeding bullet. Alone.
The college where the reviews are being held isn’t close to the apartment, but it’s not exactly far away either. The angry mob having my phone number was one thing; an address, the area where I used to hang out every day, sends shivers down my spine.
It doesn’t help that I’m wearing my Dazzler getup. But I tailored it to wear; it looks better on me than hanging up, and I think Gillian would appreciate the effort. I’ll stick out like a sore thumb the entire way from the train station to the school, but I don’t think anyone is actually going to be on the lookout for me. At least I hope not. Plus, it’s Portland.
I zip up the bomber jacket to hide the holographic shirt underneath and roll the enormous suitcase down off the platform. I’ve missed Portland. Big Pink standing tall and proud, our one and only skyscraper. The arch of the Fremont Bridge smiles at the sky behind me. Someone is playing the harmonica.
“Excuse me.” There’s a tap on my shoulder, and I jump straight up. How could they have found me already? “Where’s Voodoo Doughnuts?” I take a second, exhaling all my pent-up anxiety before pointing him in the right direction.
“I’d get Blue Star instead,” I offer. “Voodoo can be overrated.” The tourist nods, but I know he’s not going to take my suggestion. He came to Portland to take a selfie with that pink box, and he’s gonna get it.
“There she is! Cam! Hey!” Liv and Jen rush up to me. “Wooooo!” Jen waves a sign with my name spelled out in glitter. Liv is holding two floating Mylar balloons. One of them says IT’S A GIRL!
“Ha. Ha.” I point to the balloon.
“You look incredible!” Liv throws her arms around me.
“I missed you so much.” Jen grabs my hand. Her voice is barely above a whisper.
“How did you even know I’d be here?” I ask, amazed that they showed up for me.
“We looked up the date online!” Jen boasts.
“And I called your mom,” Liv snickers mischievously.
“You didn’t need to—” I start.
“We couldn’t let you come to Portland without a visit!” A wave of relief washes over me. It feels so good to be back in my old city with my old friends. To know that I won’t have to walk around alone after that post went up. It’s a small miracle, and I cling to it.
“How much time do you have before the review?” Liv asks. I check the time on Dad’s cell phone.
“A few hours. Got here early.”
“Good. Come on, let’s get out of here.” Liv leads the way, and Jen and I follow.
“Where are we going?” Jen asks.
“Shopping.”
* * *
Books with Pictures is n
othing like Atomix Comix. COMICS FOR EVERYONE! their logo boasts proudly. The inside is bright and cheerful, with zines up front and dozens of shelves of graphic novels. Even the weekly single issues look inviting.
“Hey, Katie, just dropping by.” Liv nods to the girl behind the counter. God, I miss Portland. I wonder how many other girls work at this comic shop.
“Gurl, your outfit!” Katie points at me. “I love it.”
“She flippin’ made it! Can you believe it?” Liv brags for me.
“You know who you look like?” Katie smiles. “Dazzler.” I start laughing, and I can’t stop. How different would my life be if I had never moved to Eugene?
“What? What is it?” she asks.
“That’s exactly who I’m supposed to be.”
“Come on, we’ve gotta take your picture with the X-Men wall.” She grabs her phone, and we all follow her to the back of the store. There’s a huge X-Men sign hanging up. It looks like a wanted poster with rows and rows of characters. Each with their name and wanted status over their picture. Some say SLAIN, some APPREHENDED. The whole thing looks very cool.
“Okay, go stand over there.” She motions to the wall. Jen and Liv look on, excited. I unzip the jacket and untuck the holographic top. I do my best superhero pose with my hands on my hips.
“Fuckin’ epic,” Katie says, and takes a few pictures.
“Get in here!” I wave for my friends to join me. Liv bounces over and loops her arm through mine. Jen hesitates.
“I won’t post it online, I promise. It’s just for me,” I assure her.
“You know what? If you want to post it, post it.” She skips over to us and strikes her own heroic pose. Katie promises to email me the photos. I can’t wait to have my friends’ faces populate my inbox again.
“How’d you do it?” I ask Katie as we get ready to leave.
“Do what?”
Chaotic Good Page 18