by Jen Wilde
“That’s one word for it,” I say. “I’m crapping my pants.”
He laughs. “You’ll be fine. You know everything about the books, movies, and Skyler. You’re pretty much a pro fangirl.”
I giggle. “I totally am.”
“Okay,” he says. “Let’s get you back to the hotel to get your Firestone gear. You’ve got a cosplay contest to win.”
* * *
An hour later, I’m backstage. My fingers are twirling my hair, pulling and twisting and smoothing it out again and again. I keep my head down, but sneak glances at all the other contestants. Most are wearing the same outfit as I am: the long black trench coat, torn gray jeans, Doc Martens, and a dark charcoal tank top. But few trench coats have the silver crown sewn into the back like mine. I’m hoping that gives me an advantage, but I have no idea how these contests work. Thinking it will help to know what to expect when we go out there, I peek around the wall.
The hall is filled with people.
The lights are bright.
The chatter is loud.
I step back. Peeking was definitely a bad idea.
“I can’t do this,” I whisper. I spin on my heels and start to leave, my heart racing in my chest.
“Taylor?” a cheery voice calls. I turn to see Brianna walking toward me, in full Firestone cosplay. “Hey! It’s me, Brianna!”
“Hey,” I say, pulling my hand away from my hair and shoving it into my pocket.
“Are you nervous? I’m so nervous!” She clasps her hands over her heart and flops her tongue out. “I think I’m going to pass out I’m so nervous.”
I force out a friendly chuckle. “Yeah, same.”
She scrunches her face up into a smile. “I’m so glad it’s not just me!” She swoops an arm into mine and huddles closer. “Let’s stick together, you and me. We can be nervous wrecks together.”
I pat her hand and nod. “Deal.”
I can’t bear to tell her I’m chickening out, so I stay. And as silly as it sounds, just having her say that we can stick together makes me feel a little better. Three teens in SupaCon staff T-shirts hand out square cards with numbers on them. I get number forty-four out of fifty. Brianna gets number forty-three. I hold my card against my chest to stop my hands from shaking. The woman with the iPad appears again, this time wearing a headset, and calls for us to be quiet so she can give us instructions. I fantasize about running away, just turning around and running as fast as I can until I’m back in our hotel room, lying on the bed with Jamie and watching movies. A voice in my head keeps telling me I can’t do this, and if I could quit without embarrassing myself, I’d listen to it.
“Okay,” headset woman says. “One by one, you’ll go out onto the stage. Walk to the gold star in the middle of the floor, pause, hold your number in front of you so the judges can see. Then keep walking to the other end of the stage. If you want to pose or twirl or do something to get the audience cheering when you reach the middle, go for it. As long as it’s not obscene or offensive, of course.” She makes eye contact with a few people in the group. “Judges will be choosing winners based on craft, performance, and the way the audience reacts to you, so make sure they remember you if you want to get through to round two.” She pauses to say something into her headpiece. “Everyone ready? Good.”
One by one, contestants start walking along the stage.
Brianna goes before me, and I watch as she struts confidently across the stage, trying to soak up some of her courage. She twirls like a ballerina when she reaches the star, holds her number card out, and ends it with a bow. I’m instantly jealous of how well she’s doing.
Then it’s my turn. I shift into autopilot, and everything that follows is like an out-of-body experience.
I enter the stage and suddenly become horrifyingly aware of how I walk.
I try to swing my hips more but then stop, worried that I just look stupid.
I’m so focused on trying to walk normally that I completely miss the star.
When I realize, I gasp, spin around and run back a few steps.
The audience laughs. I laugh, too—even though I’m dying inside.
I look down, making sure my feet are directly on the star, and hold my number card out. I even manage to give a big, toothy grin like I’m in a beauty pageant.
And then I walk as quickly as possible off the stage, feeling like I’m in over my head.
“That was so smart!” Brianna whispers to me. “Pretending to forget to stop on the star. It was so cute and awkward. The audience loved it! They’ll definitely remember you after that.”
I snort with laughter. “Yeah. Go me.” I realize I should say something complimentary about her stage walk, and add, “They’ll remember you, too. Nice touch with the bow.”
She grins. “Thank you!” She holds up her hands, her fingers crossed. “Let’s hope we both get in!”
I cross my fingers, too, as the last few contestants join us backstage, all of them breathing a sigh of relief once their walk is over. It’s comforting to know I’m not the only one filled with nerves.
“And now,” Brianna says as the fiftieth contestant exits the stage, “we wait.”
Ten minutes later, after anxiously chatting with Brianna about our shared passion for Queen Firestone, which greatly calmed me down, cheery iPad woman tells us only ten contestants will be making it through to the next round. I’m eager to find out if I’ll be one of them, even though a huge part of me would be relieved if I’m not. We’re called onto the stage and told that winners should step forward when their number is called.
“The contestants going through to round two are … seven.”
A girl in a Queen Firestone armor costume jumps forward, giggling uncontrollably as the audience cheers.
“Please hold applause until all numbers have been called,” the host says. “Eleven. Eighteen. Twenty-two. Twenty-eight. Thirty-one. Thirty-six. Forty-three.” Brianna squeals and steps forward, beaming with pride. “Forty-four. And forty-nine.”
Electric excitement surges through me. I look at Brianna, who’s waving me forward, and I move up and stand next to her.
“We’re in!” she whispers excitedly, giving me a thumbs-up.
I stand there, smiling out over the crowd, and see Jamie sitting in the front row, grinning from ear to ear. He sees me smiling at him and winks. Once we’re free to leave, I run down the stairs of the stage. Most of the audience has already left, but Jamie is waiting for me, leaning against a door frame.
“Hey, loser,” I say as I skip over to him.
He tsks and shakes his head. “She wins one cosplay contest and suddenly everyone else is ‘loser,’” he teases.
“Not everyone else. Just you.” I give him a mischievous smile.
He rolls his eyes and pushes himself off the wall. “I know you love me.”
My heart does a weird double thump in my chest before I realize he’s joking. My cheeks don’t get the memo, and they burn red hot. His eyes flick to my cheeks, but he doesn’t point it out or laugh at me, which is greatly appreciated. He looks away and smiles. “Come on, we can celebrate your win in the Star Wars aisle. There’s a Hoth-themed ice cream parlor there.”
As we walk through the crowd, I can still feel my stomach twisting in knots from being in front of all those people. But a strange high fills me, too, like adrenaline mixed with elation. It feels weird, but good.
CHAPTER 16
CHARLIE
I’m sitting on Alyssa’s couch, pretending to be focused on editing the video.
But really, I’m focused on her.
She’s standing by the television, looking over the room service menu and humming to herself. “What do you think? Nachos? Salad? Club sandwich? Pasta?”
My stomach rumbles. “Nachos would be amazing right now.”
She nods. “Agreed.”
She turns around, and my eyes dart back to the laptop screen. When I glance up at her again, her smile widens, and my heart skips a beat. She picks up
the phone and orders lunch while flicking through channels on the TV absentmindedly, stopping on an old episode of The Simpsons.
“Okay,” she says after hanging up. “Lunch is on its way. How’s the video coming along?”
“Almost done editing. It always takes forever to upload, so I’ll just ask my manager to upload it for me later.”
I keep my eyes on the screen as Alyssa walks over and sits next to me, putting her feet up on the coffee table. She seems so relaxed, and I feel so on edge. No one has ever made me so nervous before. I look at her from the corner of my eye; she’s watching the TV. Bart says something funny, and she throws her head back in laughter. Her smile goes all the way up to her eyes and makes me smile, too.
“Who was it?” I ask, without fully intending to. My question surprises both of us.
Alyssa leans back. “Who was what?”
My mouth suddenly feels dry, and I clear my throat. “The person you were in love with.” The invasiveness of my question makes me backtrack. “Sorry, you don’t have to answer that. It’s none of my business.”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s okay. She was a girl I met in college. We were together for two years. But when I started getting more involved in YouTube and acting, I moved to LA, so we broke up.” I get the feeling there’s much more to that story, but I don’t want to pry any further.
“What about you?” she asks. “Was it Reese?”
I purse my lips and nod. “Yep. Unfortunately.”
She offers a sympathetic smile. “That didn’t end well, did it?”
I let out a laugh. “That’s an understatement.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but then closes it again. I tilt my head to the side. “What is it?”
She hesitates again, but obliges me anyway. “I’m just gonna be blunt. What did you see in him? In the few times I’ve met him, he’s just been so egotistical. And you’re so … not.”
I cringe. “I guess I didn’t see it.” It comes out more like a question. “Or he didn’t show me that side until I was already in too deep. We met on set, playing a couple, so I think it was a mix of falling in love with the character he played and being swept up in the idea of being with the Reese Ryan. Being wanted by a guy that everyone else wanted to be with. Ugh, that sounds pathetic, doesn’t it?”
She frowns. “No. It’s not pathetic. I can relate. My ex-girlfriend wasn’t a movie star, but to me she was … everything. Everyone wanted to be with her, too. But she chose me. I didn’t like myself much back then, and having her look at me the way she did made me feel like I was worth something.”
“And when you broke up?”
She sucks in a deep breath. “I didn’t see how much of my self-worth had been tied into that relationship until it was over. The hardest part wasn’t leaving her behind; it was feeling like I’d left pieces of myself behind. The only pieces I liked.”
I take her hand in mine and shuffle closer. “How did you get through it?”
“I threw myself into work. Getting to LA was a new chance for me. I made a promise to myself to not get involved with anyone for a while, until I felt like I could give myself to a relationship without losing myself to a relationship.”
I clutch a hand to my heart. “That’s what happened to me. I lost myself in Reese. My whole world became about how he was feeling, what he was doing, what he was thinking. All I cared about for almost a year was doing whatever I could to be what he wanted. Why did I do that to myself?”
It is a rhetorical question, but she answers it anyway. “Love is intense. You break down all your walls to let someone in. But if they’re not good for you, they can tear you up from the inside. And you think what you have together is love, so you let them.”
Our gazes linger on each other, and I feel lucky to be allowed to look at her like this. To take in every shade of brown in her eyes and discover the tiniest of smile lines around her mouth. My eyes wander over her shoulders and onto the tattoos covering her arms. I absentmindedly trace my index finger over a particularly eye-catching artwork of a woman with strong eyebrows and three huge flowers in her hair. Alyssa swallows hard at my touch.
“Who’s this?” I ask, looking at the tattoo.
“Frida Kahlo. My favorite artist. She was amazing.”
I slowly move my finger up to another portrait inked onto her soft skin. It’s of a black woman wearing a NASA astronaut suit. “And who’s this?”
“That is Dr. Mae Jemison, the first black woman in space. She’s also a dancer and a professor, has nine doctorates, speaks multiple languages, and guest starred on Star Trek. I could literally talk about her and Frida for hours.”
“Go on, then.”
She tilts her head, and her eyebrows pinch together suspiciously. “You want to hear me ramble on about art and science?”
I lean my elbow on the back of the couch and get comfortable next to her. “Yes.”
There’s a powerful dreaminess in her eyes as she talks. Her passion is crystal clear and so beautiful to witness that I don’t dare interrupt. She tells me about the nights she spent as a child reading books about the stars and the planets. About how her dad would buy her a new kid-friendly science experiment kit every year for her birthday and then spend all day doing them with her. About the time a boy in her science club told her girls couldn’t be astronauts. She went home and told her mother, a graphic designer, who made her a T-shirt with GIRLS CAN DO ANYTHING! printed on it. She wore it proudly to school the next day. She told me about the time her parents drove hours across the country to introduce her to someone they wanted her to know.
“When we walked into the lab,” she says with a smile, “there was a black woman standing there in a lab coat and gloves, working. I’d never met a black female scientist before. I was so excited. She took us out to lunch and answered all my questions. When we were saying good-bye, she gave me my own lab coat. I still have it.”
“Why did you leave college before finishing your degree?” I ask. “You seem so passionate about it.”
She looks at me with determination in her eyes. “I’m going back. I needed to get away from there, from that relationship I was in. Then my acting career started taking off, so that’s kept me busy. But I’m getting that degree. I’ve actually been thinking about taking a break and going back to finish. Acting and vlogging is fun, but it’s not my dream.”
She starts telling me about her college days, and I sit and watch and listen to her. And then suddenly, she’s kissing me again. It’s different from before. The hesitancy and first-kiss nerves are gone, and now she’s not holding anything back. Neither am I. She tangles her hands in my hair, and I slide an arm around her waist, ushering her closer. Her lips are so soft; I could kiss them for hours and still want more.
There’s another knock on the door, and she groans. “Sorry. Be right back.” I pull her back and wipe my lipstick off her mouth, then she smiles and runs to the door. I try to compose myself, flattening my hair with my hands. Alyssa opens the door and a hotel staff member walks in, pushing a cart.
“Oh,” she says, remembering. “Nachos!”
He places the plates on the coffee table, then he and Alyssa walk back to the door.
“How do they look?” she asks after she’s closed the door.
I lift the lids and practically drool at the sight. “Um, only amazing.”
She sits down on the rug next to the coffee table, and we start eating.
“So.” She pulls a nacho from the cheesy pile. “What are you doing tonight?”
I take a bite, the chip crunching in my mouth, and wipe at a drop of salsa that fell onto my chin. “Dunno. What about you?”
She scratches her arm nervously. “Do you, maybe, want to have dinner with me?”
Surprised, I choke a little on the nachos and cover my mouth so I can cough.
She sits up straight. “Oh my God, are you okay?”
I cough again and nod, giving her a thumbs-up.
“Fine,” I cro
ak. I clear my throat and try again. “I’m fine.”
“You sure? You want some water?”
I shake my head. “No, thanks. I was just surprised.”
She cocks her head. “Surprised?”
“That you asked me out. I wasn’t expecting it.”
“Oh,” she says, somewhat confused.
I feel like she’s misunderstood me. “I mean, I was hoping you would ask me out,” I say, and her shoulders relax. “I just wasn’t expecting it right then, when I had a mouthful of guacamole.”
She lets out a breathy laugh. “Oh, okay. I’m with you.”
We sit quietly for a few beats, then she lifts a shoulder to her ear and raises an eyebrow. “So … do you want to have dinner with me tonight?”
I slap a hand over my eyes in embarrassment. “Oh God. Yes. Sorry. Yes, I do. I really do.” I peek out from behind my fingers to see her giggling at me. “Ugh. Can you tell I’m nervous?”
She shrugs nonchalantly. “A little. But it’s cute.”
I roll my eyes at myself. My stomach does a flip at the thought of going on a date with Alyssa Huntington—and then it hits me.
A date.
With one of the most famous YouTubers in the world. An up-and-coming movie star with a fan base quadruple the size of mine. She can’t even go on the con floor without being swarmed by fans. There are fan blogs dedicated to her love life, shipping her with any girl she’s seen in public with.
I’m not ready for that kind of attention again. Not after Chase. The risk of getting my heart broken and splattered on screens all over the world is too high. I can’t go through that again.
I swallow nervously. “Um … can I make a request?”
“Sure.”
“Can we, maybe, not go anywhere too public?”
Hurt flashes in her eyes. “Why? Because we’re two women?”
I wave my hands in front of myself, shaking my head. “No! Not at all. I’m very out and very proud. I just…” I sigh. “My relationship with Reese was incredibly public, right from the start. Nothing was private. It was hard. And then it all ended up blowing up in my face. I couldn’t escape it. I really like whatever is happening between you and me, and right now I’d really like to just keep it ours, away from everything else. Does that make sense?”