I put on a smile. “Right. You said you’d tell me everything.” I say it mildly, but an accusation hangs in the air nonetheless: You said you’d tell me . . .
I think of what I imagined, us sitting in her backyard just like on the countless days we’ve done that before, and I realize that just like every other perfect scene I’ve fantasized about, it’s gone. It’s never going to happen; it never was. “Tell us everything,” I amend, trying to put a bandage on it.
Roxy looks at me, and for a moment, I think she sees it too—the image of the two of us in her backyard, vanishing in a puff of smoke.
But she does start to talk. “Well, the rock star thing actually worked for Malcolm as Noth,” she says, referencing the musician’s acting debut. “Just because Noth is supposed to be so mysterious and aloof. And after a couple of minutes, I stopped flinching every time he opened his mouth to say a line. He’s actually totally believable. And the costumes and sets were really great. Almost exactly how I pictured them.”
“How was the Solomon Pierce-Johnson Q&A?” Amelia asks. “He helped inspire confidence in the movie, right?”
Roxana seems to study Amelia before answering. “Yes, actually. That’s a good way of putting it,” she agrees slowly. “He is definitely an Althena fanboy, and he knows his stuff, so it felt like the thing is in good hands. Oh! They did change around some timeline stuff. That scene with Althena and the ice cream cone comes within the first ten minutes.” She looks at me expectantly.
I think about it. “Hmmm. That’s kinda hard to process when you know the story so well, but . . . I can kinda see how that might work? To establish the Ezula mode of communication earlier?”
“Yeah, exactly,” Roxana agrees. “It was kind of jarring, but when I thought about it after, I could see why they would do it that way. Anyway, I wish I could see the rest of the movie right now. I’m much more excited for it now than I was before.”
“That is definitely promising, coming from you,” Amelia says.
“Definitely,” I agree, and though a part of me listens to the rest of the conversation about the movie, a part is also highly aware of the very strange situation I’m currently in: here is the girl whom I professed my unrequited love to yesterday, and here is another girl who just professed her crush on me. It’s definitely enough to make a geek’s mind explode.
Chapter 26
Real
Life:
The
Final
Frontier
“I HATE TO SAY THIS, but I have to go,” Amelia announces after we’ve raptly listened to Roxana detail the entire screening from beginning to end. “Joanna’s not the only one who needs to cram for that precalc test. Math used to be one of my strong suits, but something about this year is already kicking my ass.”
“Right? They really weren’t kidding about junior year,” I say.
“No, sir, they were not.”
“Good luck,” Roxana tells Amelia.
“Thanks,” Amelia says brightly, and turns to me. But before I let her open her mouth and be the brave one again, I smile at her.
“I’ll talk to you later,” I say.
Her smile grows wider. “Okay. See you guys!” She gives Roxana and Devin a jaunty wave and touches me quickly on the shoulder, where I can feel that small jolt again even through my T-shirt. I watch as she joins the stream of people heading toward the exit.
“Where are Samira and the rest?” Roxana asks.
“They went to a screening of a new TV show,” I say. “I think it lets out at five. So in about forty-five minutes,” I conclude after glancing at my watch.
“Got it. So . . . what should we do?” Roxana asks.
Devin whips out his phone, brings up the NYCC app, and starts skimming through the schedule. “There’s something called How to Survive a Zombie Apocalypse. Or Harry Potter Wand Duels.”
“Oooh. Let me see that.” Roxana stands at Devin’s elbow, her face practically in the crook of his arm, as they read his small screen together.
I’m the third wheel. The thought comes unbidden. And as much as I’ve been fighting it this weekend, it’s the truth and I have to accept it. Devin hasn’t been tagging along, unwelcome, this whole time; Roxana has clearly wanted him around, has been returning all his attentions. I don’t want to think about Roxana and Devin alone together at Comic Con, finding shared interests, falling in love, or—God forbid—kissing. But I also can’t prevent it by being that awkward other presence. That’s the first step, right? The admission? So I admit it, Devin. I can’t win.
“Hey, guys. I think I’ll just meet you in front of the Mr. Advantageous screening room at five. I actually want to get some work done,” I say.
“Work?” Roxana asks, looking confused.
“Yeah, I just got an idea for an issue and I really have to write it down before I lose it. You know how I am.” And that part is totally true. She does know that when an idea comes to me, I have to find a pen, or an iPad, or anything just to jot down at least a few words, or else I’ll never see the thought again. How many times has Roxy seen me bend over in class, suddenly much more into my notebook than chemistry would ever inspire? Or stop midsentence during a conversation to open up the Notes app on my phone? In a way, this is one of those times. I realized it as I said it to her. I do need to write, not an issue necessarily, but . . . something.
“I think that room we were in with the raffle is empty now,” I continue, “so I can duck in there to concentrate.”
“Do you want me to come with you?” Roxana asks. “So we can talk it out?” She sounds weirdly eager, as if she really does want to come with me, as opposed to finally getting more alone time with Devin.
I shake my head. “Nah. I’m in that initial headspace thing. I’ll discuss it with you later, though.”
She stares at me, looking bizarrely shaken. “Of course you will.” Her words almost sound menacing. Or is it threatened? I can’t tell.
“Of course,” I agree. “See you soon.”
I turn and walk down the hallway, finally alone with my thoughts and ready to face them too. I’m right about the raffle room. It’s not being used for anything official, but other people had the same idea I did. There are a few groups taking a break from the grind of the con, sitting on the floor and chatting. Other people are quietly typing or swiping on their laptops and phones. There are three outlets around the room, and those seem to have the most people congregated around them, charging up their various essential devices.
I find myself a nice bit of unoccupied carpet near a quiet section of wall, and I sit down. I take a few deep breaths, and then I open up my backpack and take out my worn stenographer’s notebook and a pen. I flip through the filled pages—some packed with wisps of ideas that never turned into anything and some crammed with full outlines of Mage High issues—until I find the first empty page. I poise my pen at the top of it and I let my mind formulate the first thought: “It’s where I keep my selfness,” Althena explained to Charlie in the very first issue.
Then I press the pen down, letting the words come out as they may.
“I’ve been thinking about Althena’s green ear,” I write. “How there are things that even a shape-shifting alien can’t change about herself. There are things I can’t change about myself, either. I’m always going to have fallen madly in love, for the very first time, at sixteen. And I know, even now, that will be a part of my selfness for always.”
I write out my jumble of conflicting emotions. Every feeling I can think of that has come to pass this weekend: from jealousy to determination to crushing disappointment to unexpected elation. I write about dashed hopes and the element of surprise, how life makes you certain that you’re headed down one path, only to push you through a secret door just as you think you can glimpse your oasis. How things hinge on an instantaneous decision, shifting your future like that topsy-turvy room in Inception.
And then, before I know it, I’m starting a character sketch. A new character for
Mage High. A character who comes in brokenhearted, a transfer to the school who has lost his first love because of his (yet-to-be-determined) powers. He feels guilty and distraught. To the outside world, this makes him seem brooding and mysterious. Which, as any comics fan will tell you, is the perfect formula for an irresistible new superhero.
I make him an orphan because, well, I can’t make him be exactly like me without it getting too weird. He won’t have red hair, either, or be a total geek. But I also know he’ll probably be a more complex character because of some of the things I’ve just gone through. Isn’t that what writers are supposed to do? Gather life experience so that they can channel them and create great art? Isn’t that what Zinc did when his writing career was going nowhere?
I’m just trying to brainstorm what my new character’s fortified magical power could be when a shadow falls across the white spaces of my notebook. It’s a familiar shadow. Even before I look up, I know it’s Roxana. And she’s alone.
“How’s it going?” she asks as she looks down at me.
I glance at my notebook page. It’s almost full. Then I flip back and realize I’ve filled over three pages with quick, excited handwriting. “Good,” I tell her. “It’s kinda flowing.”
“It looks like it.”
I move to stand up and realize my legs have fallen asleep from being stretched out in front of me, inert, for I don’t even know how long. When I finally get up, I stamp my feet a little to get the blood flowing.
“Graham, why did you do it?” Roxana asks me quietly.
I look down at her. “Do what?” But then suddenly I know. She wants to know why I told her what I did last night. I sigh. It’s not like I haven’t spent the past day asking myself the same question. This conversation was always going to happen.
But then she surprises me. “Why did you let me have the ticket to the Zinc screening?”
I’m taken aback. This conversation I was not expecting, because the answer seems so obvious. “It would’ve felt wrong to be there without you, so I’d just rather you had it,” I say. “Does that really surprise you?”
She’s slow to answer. “That’s the thing,” she finally says. “It doesn’t surprise me at all. But I’m in the screening, watching Althena and Noth meet. And their story is beginning, just like we both know it does, and it struck me—I swear right as her spaceship struck Earth—why doesn’t it surprise me? Why do I always expect you to be so kind, to put me first, to be the greatest friend? It’s like I take you for granted.” She’s staring straight into my eyes, like she’s really searching for her answer there.
“I don’t think you do,” I say truthfully. “You’re a great friend too, you know. My best friend.”
But she shakes her head. “I asked myself if the roles were reversed, if I would have given up my ticket for you. And . . . I don’t know. I honestly couldn’t say I would.” She finally looks down at her feet. “That’s so selfish,” she admits.
“Can you honestly say you wouldn’t?”
She thinks about it. “I guess not,” she finally mutters.
I smile down at her. “So there you are. Maybe you’re not selfish. Maybe you’d be just as magnanimous as me,” I tease, and manage to coax a small smile out of her. “For the record, I think you would have.”
Her smile gets bigger. “Maybe you think I’m a better person than I really am. But either way, what you said was exactly right. It felt so wrong to be there without you.”
“Let’s make a pact.” I stick my hand out. “Next time there’s a Robert Zinc screening, we both win the raffle.”
“Deal,” she says, and shakes my hand. She squeezes it when we’re done, taking a moment before she lets it go, like she’s privately saying good-bye to something. Probably the same thing I’m going to be struggling to let go of for the next little while.
“So is it time to go meet everyone? I kinda lost track,” I say as I glance at my watch. It’s 4:45.
“Soon, but before we go, I want to talk about our bet.”
“What bet?”
“The copper670 bet. Not Robert Zinc. Ergo, I win.”
“Oh, right,” I say, remembering. “So killing Slammerghini is out. Damn it.”
“Looks like you’ll be figuring out more creative ways for jail cells to come into play.”
“’Tis my fate.” I brace myself, suddenly suspicious. “Okay, so what is it we said you’d get? We’re not killing off Spearfingers, are we?”
“I don’t remember what I said then.” She’s staring up into my eyes again, and something in hers looks different. She looks intense, but other than that, I can’t read her expression at all. It’s like there’s suddenly a facet of Roxy I don’t know. “But what I really want is for you to forgive me. I want to say I’m so sorry for how I acted last night. And this morning.”
I’m so taken aback again that I can’t help but give a little laugh, probably out of sheer tension. “Oh, come on. That’s a stupid thing to waste your bet on.” I try to say it lightly.
She shakes her head. “It’s not. It’s the most vital thing there is. I can’t stand to have you upset with me. I can’t stand that I hurt you. . . .” Her voice breaks and, speaking of things that can’t be stood, I’m worried that she’s going to start to cry.
“Roxy,” I begin gently. “There’s nothing to forgive. I’m not upset. Well, I am, but I’m not mad at you. It’s, you know . . . complicated.”
“Yes,” she says. “But I reacted badly. I was just so . . .”
“Shocked?” I help her out.
She nods. “Yes. Though maybe I shouldn’t have been. But the thought of losing our friendship is beyond terrifying. Because it’s the most important thing to me. Because you are the most important thing.” She gently takes my hand. “I love you, you know.”
I smile weakly down at her. “I know. Just not in that way.”
She looks down at our hands and shakes her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know in what way I love you. It’s just . . . the Graham way.” She looks back up at me. “Thirty years from now, I want you to be in my life. I don’t know if Devin will be there. Or any other guy. But you . . . I can’t imagine you not being there.”
I take a deep breath as I gaze at her, and though the breath catches in my throat, it eventually releases, and a part of me is released with it. I bring her hand to my lips, and I kiss it gently. And then I let it go.
“I will be, Roxana,” I promise. “We will be okay.” I realize it’s what everyone from Felicia to Samira has told me—in one way, shape, or form—this weekend, and I also realize that it’s true. Broken hearts mend—if my dad isn’t living proof of that, I don’t know what is. And I’m lucky, in a way, because I still get to have Roxana in my life every day and, hopefully, for a long time.
I feel there’s only one thing left to say. “Writing session on Tuesday?”
Roxy nods, her eyes unmistakably filled with tears this time. “Yes. Please,” she croaks out.
“I think I may have figured out a new character,” I say as I make a show of gathering my stuff, letting Roxy wipe her eyes in some semblance of privacy.
“Really? Is that what you were doing here?” she says after a moment, gesturing to the notebook I’m putting away in my backpack.
I nod. “Still wrapping my head around some of the details. But Tuesday. We’ll definitely talk.”
“Tuesday,” she repeats, with a small, relieved laugh, and she rubs at her face some more and takes a deep breath before speaking again. “And actually, there’s something very important that I need to show you. I assume you haven’t been on Twitter?” She takes out her phone and starts scrolling.
“Not lately,” I reply, puzzled.
“Presented without commentary,” she says as she holds her phone out to me.
It’s open to a profile page: @robert_zinc. It has a little blue check mark next to it that means it’s been verified. It already has 83,458 followers. And there’s just one tweet there and it’s from a coup
le of hours ago.
“I like this kid’s style . . . ,” it says, followed by a retweet of a video tagged with #InigoMontoyaSmackdown.
“Oh . . . my . . . God . . . Is this . . . this can’t be . . .” I cannot formulate sentences. I can just stare down at the glowing screen in my hand like I’m a time traveler who has never seen a smartphone before.
The grin on Roxana’s face could not get any bigger. “Oh, yes. That is really Robert Zinc. Tweeting. And his first missive to the masses is about you.”
I look up at her. “A hoax?” I croak out.
She shakes her head triumphantly. “Nope, I don’t think so.” She watches me silently freak out for another second before she says, “You do realize what this means, right? That in some small way . . . Robert Zinc knows who you are.”
Dear Internet. I love you. Hard.
It’s the only thought I can formulate.
Roxana gives me another couple of minutes alone with the screen before she touches my hand with a laugh. “All right, Internet sensation Graham Posner. Shall we go find the others?”
I look up at her and slowly nod, finally handing her phone back, my hands still a little shaky.
“Anything in particular you want to check out now?” she asks. “I think there are some post-NYCC events happening in the neighborhood.”
I shake my head, dazed and also realizing that I still honestly don’t have much of an idea of today’s schedule. I clear my throat and test out regular speech again. “Let’s meet up with the group,” I manage to say. “And then we’ll take a consensus.”
“So . . . whatever Casey has in his spreadsheet?” Roxy teases.
“Pretty much. Speaking of which,” I say as I shoulder my backpack, realizing I have something to tell her, too. “What would you think if I put the names Casey Zucker and Felicia Obayashi in a sentence together?”
“Um . . . smartest kids in our class?” Roxana responds with a perplexed shrug.
“Mmm-hmm,” I say, and then I waggle my eyebrows.
The Geek's Guide to Unrequited Love Page 18