In the final group are a really detailed Groot; a character with elaborate purple hair I don’t recognize; Serenity; two people dressed together as the Batman Slap meme; a White Walker; and someone in a high-necked, old-fashioned dress, with a covered wagon over her head, and carrying a sign that says I HAVE DYSENTERY à la this old-school computer game called Oregon Trail. The last rightfully ends up taking the grand prize, and the entire room breaks out into loud applause as the girl picks up her $200 gift card for Forbidden Planet.
“Come on,” Roxana says to me, and before I know it, she has slipped her hand into mine and locked arms with Felicia on her other side and is expertly guiding us back to the front of the room.
“Where are we going?” I ask, but I don’t get a response until we stop.
“Excuse me, Mr. Shah,” she politely says to the balding head in front of us that is still facing the stage. The writer turns around. “Sorry to bother you. We’re just huge fans. My friend Graham especially. He’s a brilliant writer too.”
She indicates me, and I blush furiously as Emmett puts out his hand to shake mine.
“An aspiring writer.” I correct Roxy’s assessment of me as I let go of her hand to pump his.
Emmett grins. “Do you write a lot?” he asks.
I nod. “Try to. We have sessions at least once a week.” I turn to gesture to Roxana, who I notice is slipping away.
“Well, then. There’s no aspiring about it. If you write, you’re a writer. Maybe getting paid for it is a different can of worms, but being a writer itself? Don’t doubt that’s what you are.”
A slow smile spreads across my face. “Thank you, sir. That means a lot coming from you. I’ve read your work since I was little. All of it.”
“Well, then, thank you. Graham, right?”
I nod.
“Good luck, Graham. And great costume.” He gives me one last smile before taking a worn baseball cap from his back pocket, jamming it onto his head, and moving along toward the exit.
The smile on my face stays there as I watch him pick his way through the crowd. Wow. I just had a conversation with Emmett Shah and he made me feel like a real writer. I feel a little bit like I could fly.
I look for Roxy to thank her for making that happen. But when I finally find her, my mood instantly plummets.
She and Felicia are against the wall, talking again to Devin, who actually smiles when he sees me. “Hey, man! Did you have a good time?” he asks.
“Sure,” I say. Christ. Does the stud crumpet have to be devastatingly handsome, British, and nice?
“So Devin just had a great idea,” Roxana says. Oh, right. Let’s not forget brilliant, too. Why not? “Devin?”
“Well, it’s almost four p.m. and that Robert Zinc panel should be letting out. I thought maybe we could go stand near that hallway. Just in case he leaves that way? You guys wouldn’t mind catching a glimpse of him, right?” He bestows a grin on all of us and I grouchily wonder what happened to the cliché that all Brits have terrible teeth.
Yeah, fine. It is a great idea.
Score a million points for you, Stud Crumpet, I think as I follow the three of them toward Stage 1-E, the scene of my most recent utter failure.
Chapter 11
Confessions
of a
Secondary
Character
THE STAFFERS FROM EARLIER WERE right—we’re no longer allowed to get anywhere near Stage 1-E. Ropes are set up right by the entrance to its hallway, guarded by staffers with scan guns. Right now, they mainly seem to be scanning green wristbands. I eye the reptilian silhouette on one of them and assume it’s for the Godzilla: Unleashed screening.
I’ve texted Casey to let him know where we are, and he’s approaching us now, holding something white and in a clear plastic casing above his head. “Got it,” he says as he nears, flipping over his acquisition so that we can see it. “Peter Mayhew.”
“Oh. Right.” I look at the scrawled signature on my dad’s picture and feel a little guilty for totally forgetting about that. But at least one Posner geek will be happy today.
“Did you try to get him to spill secrets about the upcoming films?” Devin asks.
I think he’s joking, but Casey merely nods. “Yes, and I think I chose my question wisely.”
“What was it?” I ask.
Casey looks me square in the eye and says, “ ‘Mr. Mayhew, could you tell me what title you invoiced for?’ ”
We all give him a blank stare.
“What does that mean?” Roxana finally pronounces our collective confusion.
Casey blinks. “I thought he’d tell us the title of the new movie. You know, the one that his agent had to use for invoicing. Or at least the red herring title. I could have used that to try and scour some stuff out.”
“Oh . . . ,” Roxy says, valiantly keeping a straight face.
“I figured if I asked him out of the blue, he wouldn’t have time to come up with a lie and he might answer. Like a reflex.”
“And did he?” I ask.
Casey shakes his head. “He didn’t seem to understand the question.”
“Weird,” Felicia says, not as successful at hiding her grin.
“Oh, Graham! Look!” Roxana taps my arm and points down the hallway.
I see them, coming toward me like a group of Inferi. Except, instead of ravenous and scary, they look dazed but elated. Their silver wristbands hang off their wrists, gleaming like unicorn blood. Their eyes have a radiant, glassy sheen, like they have just beheld a dazzling god.
As they get closer to us, I hear a soft buzz. Some of them are chattering.
“Wasn’t he just . . . brilliant?”
“Oh my God. What he said about Noth’s anger. And his loss.”
But most of them are quietly reverent. Shoulders back and heads held high, like they’re coming from a medieval royal court. A few look over at my costume and Roxana’s and smile beatifically at us. There’s even a guy who’s got on the same Mad Max iteration of Althena I’m wearing. He gives me an excited nod.
I can barely muster the energy to move my head in return. I mostly want to punch all these people in the face. Which is weird for me. I don’t usually have violent thoughts unless they’re about fictional characters.
“Shall we ask them how it was?” Devin asks in a shockingly cheerful voice.
“No,” I spit out bitterly and automatically. For once, I don’t want to know the details of something I missed out on. I don’t want to pore over fansites and message boards and get the scoop. I can’t abide the secondhand reports this time, not when I was so close to seeing the real thing for myself.
And maybe that way, I can pretend it never happened.
Roxana looks over at me and I can see that she understands, that she feels it too. “Maybe it’s better if we imagine what it was like instead,” she says to Devin. “Hey.” She turns to me again. “Maybe we can make an issue out of it? Like the Grand Mage is doing a tour and MH 237 gets chosen to host . . . but somehow the Misfits miss it.” She smiles at me.
I try to smile back, but even for Roxana, I can barely muster it. “Maybe,” I say.
“The Misfits?” Devin asks. “Like the band?”
“No, the Misfits of Mage High. It’s the series Graham and I work on together,” Roxana explains.
“It’s really good,” Felicia chimes in.
Roxana beams at her. “Thanks, Felicia.”
Felicia shrugs. “Just telling the truth.”
“Well, go on, then. Don’t leave a bloke hanging. What’s it about?” Devin asks.
“Well, as you might have guessed, a high school. Of mages.”
“I had somehow deduced that much, yes.”
“And then there are . . .”
“Let me guess. These misfits?”
“Correct. Wow, nothing gets by you,” Roxana says.
Devin grins at her. “And wherefore are they misfits?”
“Well, most everyone at the school has a
basic level of magical abilities. And they are able to control their powers well. But the Misfits have a concentrated amount of certain abilities. So they are superpowerful in some ways but weak in others. Eventually, they decide to band together. Try their hand at being superheroes instead of awkward, outcast teenagers.”
“As you do.” Devin is nodding. “I like it. I’d love to read some, if you wouldn’t mind sharing.”
Roxana grins shyly. “Sure, as long as it’s okay with Graham.” She glances over at me and I shrug helplessly. What can I possibly say that would make me come out looking like the good guy here? Certainly not No you can’t see our precious work and use it to woo the girl of my dreams so fuck off.
Roxy turns back to Devin. “What about you? What sort of things do you draw?”
“Oh, I’m sort of working on a graphic novel. It’s loosely based on my travels. You know, A Limey’s Guide to Yanks sort of thing.” Wonderful. So he writes and draws. “But as for drawing, I feel my influences lie in the Sergio Aragonés, Roz Chast realm . . . maybe a little Chris Ware thrown in.”
“Wow. Sounds awesome.” Roxy’s eyes are shining. I can practically see balloon hearts in their reflections.
Suddenly, I realize how dismal things are looking. Today was supposed to be the most amazing day of my life. The day that I seized the bull by the horns and found the courage to do something spectacular. Maybe the day that I finally emerged with a girlfriend. Now here I am, watching a romantic comedy play out in front of me. And I’m the supporting character; the comic-relief best friend; the male Judy Greer.
There’s a reason you don’t ever see a movie from the point of view of that character. It would be abject misery.
“Oh, hi! Graham, right?”
I’m brought out of my dark thoughts by someone standing in front of me, smiling. It’s Amelia, the Z-men girl from the speed dating thing. She’s grinning from ear to ear.
“Listen, I’m running late for a panel, but I have something for you.” She touches me lightly on the arm. “I’ll send it through the message boards. So keep an eye out for it, okay?”
“Okay,” I respond in a daze.
She grins at me mischievously before being swept away by the tide of people heading in her direction.
“Who was that?” Felicia asks.
“Oh. Someone I met at the thing.”
“The thing?”
“You know. The speed dating thing.”
She breaks out into a giant grin. “See! I told you it was a great idea.”
I don’t say anything, but I do suddenly think to look over at Roxana. I have this fleeting thought that maybe, just maybe, she will have seen that exchange—and she’ll be jealous.
But she’s not looking at me all. She’s still caught up in conversation with double-oh-seven.
So, no, Felicia. It was a fucking terrible idea.
To add insult to injury, the last people trickle out of the Zinc panel and, of course, Robert Zinc—or what I imagine the twenty-years-aged version of him based on his last known photograph to be—is not one of them.
Our one chance to see him is gone for good.
Chapter 12
My Best
Friend’s Best
Friend
IN OUR LAST HOUR AT Comic Con, Casey disappears to tend to his schedule again while Roxana picks up her sketchbook from Lacey Grotowski. We all ooh and aah at the playful rendering of Althena Lacey created.
Then we spend some time browsing an actual comics booth. I’m flipping through a box when I hear Devin’s accent cut through with, “Oh, check this out, Roxana. This is one of my favorite covers of all time.”
I look up to see him reach for an old Flash comic that’s hanging in plastic from a clothesline set up in front of the booth.
“May I help you?” A cold voice rings out. The guy manning the booth has shot his arm out with such force, to stop Devin from touching his comic, that it has sent the entire line swinging. The plastic-covered books crackle like a flock of disturbed crows.
“Oh, sorry.” Devin grins. “I just wanted to show my friend that cover. . . .”
“And is she unable to see it from where she stands? Did she forget her glasses?”
“Uh . . .”
I’m not ashamed to admit that it does feel a little bit delightful to see Devin rendered speechless.
“Normally,” the guy continues, dull gray eyes boring down at Devin, “one does not just reach out and touch a piece of merchandise that clearly has a six-hundred-dollar price tag on it.” He’s standing in front of the clothesline in a wide stance, with his hands on his hips; I’m sure he has no idea he is mimicking the very cover whose honor he seems so keen to defend.
“Right. Very sorry,” Devin says, looking sheepish and backing away from the stand with his arms up.
I probably shouldn’t be enjoying how much of a dick that guy is being, but . . .
“Geez. What a douche nozzle,” Roxana says as she follows Devin out of the booth. “He just totally Gollumed you. ‘My precioussssss.’ ” She hunches over and speaks in a spot-on Andy Serkis imitation.
Devin laughs.
And . . . enjoyment over.
The two of them bond shamelessly over the encounter for a seemingly endless stretch of booths until Felicia pipes up with, “Ooh, guys. Let’s do this.”
This turns out to be a photo booth that Geico is sponsoring. She somehow gets all four of us to cram into it so that small parts of our chins, cheeks, and foreheads can be captured for posterity pressed up against a CGI lizard.
At the end, she hands me one of the photos as a keepsake. Devin’s chiseled features are front and center, right next to Roxy’s beaming face. All you see of me is my right eye shooting daggers in Devin’s direction. Wonderful.
I’ve now cycled through exactly three intense emotions. First, devastation at everything that has gone so spectacularly wrong. Then, anger at everything that has gone so spectacularly wrong, with an irrational level of venom directed toward Stud Crumpet. And finally, after an appropriate amount of stewing, that anger seems to have generated something a lot more useful: determination.
There are loads of things happening over the next couple of days at NYCC, including—as luck would have it—this amazing John Hughes panel that I’ve managed to keep a secret from Roxy, having begged her not to look at Saturday’s schedule so that I could make it a surprise. I know she’ll flip over it. Maybe today was a bust, but that doesn’t mean this whole weekend has to be. Maybe I can still find the perfect moment to tell her after all. I mean, it took even Althena a few tries to understand what exactly there was between Charlie and her—twenty-three issues, to be exact.
Before we leave Javits to take the 5:35 p.m. train home, Roxana makes plans to meet up with Devin tomorrow. I try to ignore that this is happening by texting with Casey. He’s staying until closing tonight, but we’re going in again together tomorrow morning.
The day has turned sunny and warm for mid-October, so none of us even put on our jackets as we walk toward Penn Station. Felicia’s phone buzzes and I catch her smiling as she looks at it.
“You guys, that was so much fun!” she says as she walks between Roxana and me, quickly texting something back. “I had no idea. Best people-watching I’ve had all year, and most everyone in there was, like, oozing so much energy. Now I can see why you look forward to it.”
I grin at her, but Roxana can’t help teasing her a little. “Don’t sound so shocked that we look forward to something actually fun.”
“That’s not what I meant! I just thought I’d feel left out with all the insider stuff. You know,” Felicia explains.
“Ah, but that’s the beauty of NYCC,” I butt in. “No one is left out. Everyone gets to be a freak in their own special way.”
But this sentiment starts to wear off as we get closer to Seventh Avenue and I notice we’re getting more strange stares. Felicia finally realizes that she forgot to take off her Wonder Woman costume and hastily puts on
her jacket over it.
I don’t like being stared at either, so I tell them I plan to change in the Penn Station bathroom, before we get on the train.
“Us too,” Roxana agrees.
But getting to the station and down the escalators is a crowded, jostled affair. And once we finally do get down to the LIRR level, we can see that the line for the only set of bathrooms is out the door and down a hallway. Oh, geez. Today is definitely a day of getting thwarted by lines.
Roxy looks at her watch. “We can’t miss this train. My parents . . .”
“We won’t,” I assure her. “We’ll just have to brave looking like this for now.”
We look up at the big board, find our platform for the 5:35 train to Huntington, and make our way down to it. The platform is packed with middle-aged office workers and the three of us stick out like sore thumbs, but there’s no help for it.
The stares make me uncomfortable, and I assume at least Roxy feels the same way. But when I look over at her, she’s staring into space. She’s taken her wig off and is rubbing the back of her short hair with her hand. I wonder what she’s thinking so hard about, and my stomach plummets when I realize I probably already know the answer: Devin.
The train comes and we get pushed and bumped into as we follow the herd. Somehow, Roxana ends up a few people behind Felicia and me. I see two seats together and rush to claim them with Felicia on my heels, but I keep standing until Roxana gets on too. I motion for her to come take the seat next to Felicia.
But she shakes her head and points to a lone seat on the other end of the car. I watch her as she settles down in it. She smiles and waves at me and then takes out her sketchbook and pencil.
I slowly sink into my seat. “Sorry,” I say to Felicia. “I tried to get her to come over here. . . .”
Felicia smiles at me. “No worries, Graham. Will it be so bad to sit next to me for an hour?”
“Oh, no. Of course not. That—that’s not what I meant,” I stammer. “I just thought you’d prefer to sit next to her. . . .” I trail off.
She raises her eyebrows at me but doesn’t say anything else. Her phone buzzes again and she fiddles with it for a few minutes. By the time the train has started to move, she’s turned it to silent and put it away. She clears her throat.
The Geek's Guide to Unrequited Love Page 7