“Excuse me,” someone says, coming up the stairs behind me—one of Ms. Greenhill’s assistants, I think—and I tear my gaze away from the shipper’s paradise happening in the back of the bus.
“Sorry,” I mumble, and find an open seat across the aisle from Jamie. This travel day seems as good a time as any to begin work on my mission, and also to avoid thinking about Rico and Forest snuggled up to each other in the back of the bus and how terrifying it is that one of them might try to talk to me. But Jamie’s typing away on his laptop with headphones in. I don’t want to interrupt him, because what if it’s important? What if he’s working on Demon Heart? I push the button to lean my chair back in order to get a better view of his screen. He’s composing an email. But I see a messy array of documents cluttering his desktop. What if one of those is the script for the finale? Or a rough cut? My mind boggles at all the secrets that Jamie’s sitting on, but I hold it together. I need to be calm when I talk to him.
A few minutes later, the bus driver turns on the engine and closes the doors as Jamie takes off his headphones and closes his laptop. I seize the moment.
“Hey, Jamie.”
He looks a little startled to find me sitting across the aisle from him. “Hi,” he says curtly.
“Hey, this is so cool, the way you guys get to ride on a bus all together like this,” I say, looking for some kind of casual opening.
He squints at me. “Is it?”
“Yeah, I mean, I think so.” He kind of turns away from me and I sense that I’m about to lose him, so I just dive into what I want to say. “Hey, I was wondering what you guys had in store for the Portland panel.”
“In store?” He takes his glasses off and rubs at his eyes with his palms.
I press on. “Yeah, I just think, you know. You don’t want a repeat of what happened in Boise… with me.”
“Sure, sure, sure,” he says, putting his glasses back on and finally focusing on me.
“Especially since it seemed like, after we talked, you were maybe a little bit open to—”
“Totally.”
“—SmokeHeart being—”
“Claire, we’re keeping all our options open,” he says.
Why won’t he just let me speak? “Okay, so if someone else asks the question again…”
His phone buzzes. “I’m sorry, I gotta take this,” he says, picking up. “P-Dawg!”
I sigh. Did that go well? I can’t tell. I can feel the stress growing in my belly. I need a break from reality for a minute.
I know what I would normally do in this situation, but can I do it here? Surrounded by these people? I take a quick peek over my shoulder and see Forest and Rico are still deep in conversation. Everyone else is either working or sleeping because it’s still so early. I think it’s safe. I pull my laptop out, open a blank document, and start typing.
THE FIRST THING Smokey feels is pain, followed by relief. He’s alive. He tries to look around, but even moving his head releases stripes of searing agony down his side. He takes a beat to get his wits back and assess his situation. He can tell from the beeping machines over him that he’s in a hospital, but he has no memory of how he got here. The last thing he remembers is the Dreadful Gorgon bearing down on him, and his absolute certainty that he was about to die.
But he didn’t die.
Heart had been there, too, showing up in time to stop the demon portal from ushering in hell on earth, etc., etc. Heart had actually helped, but then he’d skedaddled as soon as the Dreadful Gorgon took flight, and Smokey didn’t blame him.
Smokey hears the door to his room open and a nurse appears over him. “How we feeling?” he asks, and Smokey fights through the cloud of painkillers in his brain to put together an answer that feels true.
“Shitty.”
The nurse smiles. “Yeah, I’d imagine. You were in pretty rough shape when they brought you in. Another few minutes and we might’ve lost you.”
“Did…” Smokey struggles to get the words out, and the nurse waits patiently for him to finish. “Did they find anyone else out there?” When the Dreadful Gorgon wakes from her slumber, she’s hungry and grumpy and willing to scorch the land in order to find some fresh meat. Also, she has thermal vision, so yeah, pretty hard to get away once you find yourself in her territory.
“Just you,” the nurse says gently.
Smokey thinks about Heart running away and wonders if he was able to escape. Maybe Smokey distracted the Gorgon long enough, maybe Heart found a hiding spot, but most likely…
Smokey closes his eyes against the thought. No. Heart can’t be dead.
“Well, you and the guy who brought you in.”
Smokey’s eyes snap open. The nurse nods his chin to the corner just behind him, out of his peripheral vision. Smokey turns his head, slowly, slowly, swallowing the pain, and hoping.
Curled into a chair next to his hospital bed, one arm in a sling, the other wrapped protectively around his stomach, looking at Smokey with a furrowed brow and two blackened eyes, is Heart.
He’s alive.
And he’s looking on with such tenderness, like Smokey is this wounded bird that he’s just willing to fly. Like he isn’t just as banged up as Smokey is.
“Hey,” Smokey says.
“I’ll be right outside if you need anything,” the nurse says, wisely making his exit.
Heart saved him. Heart saved him.
Heart saved him.
“I thought…” Heart’s voice catches. He’s crying, Smokey thinks wildly. Heart composes himself. “I thought you were a goner.”
“I’m here. I’m not going anywhere,” Smokey whispers.
“That’s for sure,” Heart says, and chokes out a laugh. Smokey’s in no shape to be moving for a while. But then Heart’s brow knits, and he gets serious again. “I’m not going anywhere either,” he says.
And even though it hurts, even though his whole body hollers at him not to move, Smokey lifts his arm and reaches his hand out. Heart spills over then, two tears running down his cheek as he uncurls his body and leans forward, gently taking Smokey’s hand in his good one and—
“WHATCHA WRITING?” FOREST plops down onto the seat next to me.
Why is he talking to me?
“A story.” I minimize the document so he can’t read it. But my desktop wallpaper is fanart of Smokey and Heart in each other’s arms, so I slam my laptop closed. When I finally get the courage to look up at him, Forest’s eyes are dancing. Ugh, did he see that? Is he going to make fun of me again?
“A story, huh? Anything I’d like?” He looks down at me with his bright blue eyes through long lashes. I blink hard to shake Smokey out of my mind. Ten seconds ago I was imagining him hurt in a hospital bed, leaning forward, about to kiss the love of his life, and now here he is, sitting next to me, his knee touching mine, warm and solid and real. But he’s not Smokey, he’s Forest. This is reality. He’s not wearing a leather jacket and carrying a battle-ax. Instead, he’s got on a weathered college sweatshirt from the University of Oklahoma that looks about forty years old, and he smells musty and sweet, and a little like coffee.
“I doubt it’s your style,” I say.
“Mind if I sit with you awhile?” he asks casually, like we’re old friends or something. “Rico keeps trying to make me watch YouTube compilations of returning soldiers surprising their dogs, and it’s driving me bonkers.”
“Oh, um. I guess?” I’m not sure what he wants from me, but maybe he’s going to apologize. I look past him and see Ms. Greenhill making her way to the front of the bus from the back. She gives me a warm smile as she passes, but now I’m suspicious. Did she tell Forest to come talk to me? I can’t be sure what’s real and what’s not with her.
“So, where you from?” Forest asks, and I wonder if there’s a chance he’s just being friendly.
“Pine Bluff, Idaho?” I doubt he’s heard of it. “It’s small.”
“Oh sure, I know all about small towns. I grew up in my share of tiny Co
ast Guard towns,” he says.
“I thought you were from Oklahoma,” I say. Then, realizing that sounds stalker-y, I add, “Sorry if that’s weird that I know that.” Even though that’s only the tip of the iceberg of things I know about Forest Reed. I don’t mention that I also know his birthday (May 7), his favorite food (bibimbap), his childhood dog’s name (Lady Bark Johnson), his first car (1995 silver Ford F-150), and a lot of other things. Forest hasn’t done a ton of interviews, but I’ve read everything I could find.
“My dad was in the Coast Guard, and we moved around a lot,” he says. “But when he retired when I was a teenager, he said he wanted to move as far away from the coast as possible. Thus, Broken Arrow, Oklahoma.” He flourishes Broken Arrow like it’s a fabulous getaway destination. I haven’t been there, but I’m guessing it’s not that fabulous. It’s weird that I didn’t know this, too. He must be private about it because he’s never mentioned it in an interview.
“But enough about my old man. Tell me about Pine Bluff. How small is small?”
“Minuscule.”
“How many Dairy Queens y’all got?”
“None.”
“None?! Claire, that is unacceptable. Good god, you gotta get out of Pine Bluff immediately.” He turns to the rest of the bus, and hollers, “Can someone get this girl a Peanut Buster Parfait stat?” A few people turn around and look, but most ignore him. It makes me laugh, in spite of myself.
He turns back to me and whispers, like it’s our secret, “I cannot live without DQ. It’s my one weakness.”
“Pretty tame, as far as weaknesses go,” I say.
“Yeah, maybe so.”
He smirks in such a way that he looks just like Smokey, and for a second, that’s all I see, like I’ve been transported right into the show.
There’s a click, and I look up to see Caty has just taken a photo of us. I look back at Forest, and he arches his eyebrow in a way Smokey never would, and suddenly he’s the actor again and this is the real world. I blink hard and look back at Caty.
“For social,” she says. “You guys should do a selfie, too.” I stare at her. I had almost forgotten that this is all just for show. “Only if you want to, though. It’s not in your contract or anything.” She shrugs and goes back to her seat.
Forest seems unfazed. Of course he is; he knows all of this is an act. Something that looks good on camera, online, but isn’t actually real.
“So what’s old Pine Bluff have to offer, anyway? You got a boyfriend back home?” Forest nudges me playfully.
I am not going to tell Forest about Kyle Cunningham, but I still have to hold back a shudder as an image of Kyle comes unbidden to mind. He and I were never officially dating, but we did, well, some of the things people who are dating do. It makes me question myself every time I think about it. If I couldn’t see how gross and dumb Kyle Cunningham was then, how can I trust my own instincts about anyone ever again?
For instance, I used to think Forest Reed was sensitive, intelligent, and handsome. Now I wonder if he’s a Kyle Cunningham in celebrity’s clothing.
“No boyfriend,” I say.
“Cool, cool. This trip’ll be more fun that way anyway. Maybe we’ll find you someone in Portland, huh?”
Oh, so now we’re going to just hang out in Portland like old buddies as he plays wingman to help me pick up boys. What makes him think I even want that? There he goes again, just assuming people are straight, just like he assumes Smokey is straight. Am I straight? I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, but I sure as hell am not going to say that to Forest Reed, who thinks being gay is something to laugh at, or be embarrassed of.
I watch the highway and trees whipping past out the window.
He leans over to try to catch my eye. “Hey, what’s up, what’s wrong?”
I look at him squarely. “You’re being nice to me now, but it doesn’t really change anything, does it? You think I’m crazy.” He starts to protest. “You said so, Forest. And now you have to be friendly to me because some PR lady is telling you to, but you’re still exactly the same. You think I’m watching your show for the wrong reasons.”
Forest stares for a moment. “I’m sorry if I made you feel bad.”
“That’s not really an apology.”
“Well, I can’t change everything I know about a character just because you want me to.”
I pull away from him, pressing my shoulder up against the cool condensation of the window. “So it would change everything?”
Forest sighs. “I’m not sure what you want from me.”
He doesn’t get it. He’s never going to get it. He’s just a pretty-boy actor who wants to find the path of least resistance so that everyone loves him.
“Here’s a start. The next time someone asks you about SmokeHeart, you can try not being a condescending dick. You can try to understand where they’re coming from.”
He shakes his head. “So I guess this means you don’t want a selfie?” he asks drily, then stands up and finds another seat.
“GUESS WHAT PORTLAND Comic-Con has?” Rico turns to me excitedly as soon as we pull into the Portland Convention Center VIP parking area. “Gina’s Poster Emporium.”
Far ahead of us, at the front of the bus, Claire is the first to hop off, grabbing her backpack and heading out without looking at me, her weird mom right on her heels, asking her what’s wrong. It’s fine with me if she doesn’t want to talk to me, I didn’t have anything more to say to her anyway.
“Sounds amazing,” I say to Rico in a flat tone, but if he senses my sarcasm, he doesn’t react.
“There is literally no reason someone who has the greatest selection of rare and vintage Japanese movie posters in the world should also be just so darn nice. But that’s Gina for you!” He grabs his messenger bag from the rack and slaps me on the shoulder. “She’s also a looker. C’mon, I’ll introduce you.”
I had been planning to spend the rest of today working out and then playing Red Zone 3 in my room, but I know that hanging out with Rico will probably make me feel better than solitude, so I shake my head in defeat. “Okay, okay, let’s go see Gina.”
“Great! I’ve been looking for an original Japanese edition of Alien and she promised to hold on to one if she finds it.”
“I love Alien, it’s my favorite movie!”
“Right? Perfect film,” he agrees. “Perfect.”
As we deboard the bus, Paula is waiting for me, with Caty standing right behind her. “Forest, you’re free for the day, but we need you back by five.”
“Why?”
“We’re livestreaming interviews from the Demon Heart booth,” Paula says. “You and Claire.”
“Oh, come on. Can’t Rico do it?”
“No. Did you patch things up?”
Last night, Paula sat me, Jamie, and Rico down to tell us that there’s a strategy shift in how we’re approaching these conventions. Claire, in Paula’s opinion, is a silver bullet. A digital influencer, Paula had called her, because apparently she has a lot of followers online. So now I have to be nice to her and do everything it takes to make her like me again. Like it’s so easy to get on the good side of a moody teenager who’s already made up her mind about you.
“She hates me,” I tell Paula. “No amount of small talk is going to change that.”
“Forest, figure it out. You’re charming, you’re gorgeous, and you’re her number one favorite actor in the world.”
“Yeah, I’m pretty sure I’ve fallen in that ranking.”
“Then claw your way back up,” she says fiercely.
“Seriously, Paula, I’m not trying to be difficult here, but I think it would be better for everyone if Rico did the media stuff with her; she and I are like oil and water.”
“Caty?” Paula steps aside and looks pointedly at the social media maven.
“The buzz online is about you, Forest,” Caty says, brandishing her ridiculous pink phone. “People want to see you and Claire come together after the Boise snaf
u.”
“Snafu?” I know it wasn’t great, but I think that’s putting it a little strongly.
“The point is,” Caty says, “you have ground to make up. We think if we can show the two of you as friends, it will go a long way toward repairing what was broken in Boise.”
“Or what?” I say.
“Excuse me?” Paula draws herself up. In her heels, she’s exactly the same height as me, and she makes sure I know it.
“I said, or what? I don’t think what you’re asking me to do is reasonable, or possible. So what are you going to do if I say no?”
“Forest,” Rico says, low.
“No, Rico, it’s okay,” Paula says. “This is important.” Her voice is hard when she speaks again. “Forest, you may be under the same illusion a lot of young actors are under: that their job ends when the cameras stop rolling. But that’s not true. Your show only matters if people watch it. Publicity is just as important to the process as production, or writing, or editing, okay? So let’s dispense with this belief that the work I do is somehow frivolous or unnecessary.”
“I just—” I start to say, but she cuts me off.
“And if you can’t be motivated by wanting to help the show that you’re one of the stars of succeed, then I am happy to motivate you another way.” She narrows her eyes, and I can’t not feel intimidated anymore. I don’t know what this woman is capable of, but at the moment her powers feel limitless. “Caty tells me you’re looking to cozy up to Jon Reynolds and the Red Zone folks.” I pale, realizing where this is headed. “Do I need to remind you what studio has Red Zone? That’s right, the same one that has Demon Heart, the same one that pays me. I can pick up the phone right now and call the president of the studio and tell her that you’re too difficult to work with, and how do you think that will play once casting gets under way for your little video-game movie?”
My hands feel clammy. She can’t do that, can she? But she’s solid and unmoving, and I don’t doubt that she could do anything she wanted to. Rico gives me a little shrug, like Just do what she asks. And I know it’s over.
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