Until now. I’m still not sure whether it’s my shiny new subscriber count or Code himself that got me invited as a guest and panelist.
I pull out the VIP pass that hangs around my neck and read the fine print on the back. It doesn’t say what it gets me. I head back inside the building, where the line starts just outside the auditorium and winds up and down both sides of the long hallway before the outside portion even begins. There are LotSCON signs everywhere, and tables set up for tomorrow morning’s registration, and an enormous black shadowdragon that I somehow completely missed when I went to the washroom. Its black hide shimmers as it stretches over its fleshless skeleton, the white bones visible through a gaping hole in its chest.
Fighting the shadowdragon is my favorite part of playing Legends of the Stone, though he spawns so rarely. The bigger the rift, the harder it is to defeat, and the greater the chance that a shadowdragon will spawn in it. Some people who really love building or other nonfighting stuff in LotS use mods to keep the rifts small or entirely nonexistent. I, on the other hand, use mods to make them spawn plentifully, and in their biggest size, so my friends and I can search out the shadowdragon to kill.
I realize I’m staring, mouth open, at the extremely lifelike shadowdragon, so I snap my mouth closed and glance toward the guy with the LotSCON shirt who’s standing at the nearby auditorium entry doors. Surely there’s no harm in asking. Worst-case scenario, I have to walk back outside to find a place at the back of the line.
I square my shoulders and head toward him, holding my baby skunk tail tall, trying to look like I belong. It’d be pretty badass to get a seat in the very front row, with LumberLegs almost close enough to touch.
As I near the door guy, I pull out my pass and hold it out to him, and before I can even say anything, he opens the door he’s blocking, steps aside, and ushers me in. And just like that, I’m inside the auditorium. At LotSCON. Staring right at the stage where Legs is shortly going to be.
I turn back to say thank you, but he must think I’m going to ask something, because he says, “Panelist VIP room is over there, through the door to the right. Where Lorne is.” He waves at a guy on the other side of the auditorium, who waves back.
“Thanks!” I say. And then before anyone realizes I’m an impostor who most definitely shouldn’t have been given a VIP pass that apparently grants all sorts of magic powers, I stride across the hall, toss my coat on a chair in the front row, then march right up to Lorne. I flash him my VIP pass and he flashes me back a grin that shines through his goatee, then opens the door to the panelist VIP room.
Which, it turns out, is empty other than me and a shoulder-length-brown-haired girl with an athletic build who’s in the corner getting a coffee.
Oh, and just a few feet away, slouched in a chair, staring off into space: LumberLegs.
This is officially the coolest thing that has happened to me in my entire life. If this is what the Codemeister + ShadowWillow excitement gets me, I can’t let that momentum die, no matter what.
No matter what.
Four
Lainey
WHEN CODY TOLD ME MY ROOMMATE WOULD BE “JUST SOME GIRL I WAS partnered with for some competition a few months ago,” I thought it was weird. Why would he invite some girl he barely knows to stay with us?
But the minute I see her, I get it. All week, I’ve seen the types of girls Cody flirts with—the ones with perfected faces and hourglass figures—and this Willow girl fits that archetype perfectly. She’s gorgeous. (Or as Cody would probably say, Hott with a capital H and a double t. Ick.)
Standing in the VIP room entrance, she’s all pink-cheeked and fresh-faced, with hair dyed purple in the same way girls bleach their hair blond—she’s going for fantasy dream girl, not punk rebel. She’s the kind of girl who wears leggings as pants and doesn’t once wonder whether they make her butt look too big or too small. Even her slightly off-kilter way of standing only makes her stand out.
Cody is clearly trying to get in her pants. Or rather, her leggings.
Legs is talking to her already, having yanked himself out of his funk and plastered on a friendly face almost as soon as she wandered into the VIP room. I’d be jealous, except that his friendly face is like his gamer persona—not quite his real self. And besides, I could look just as pretty if I was willing to spend an hour or two in front of the mirror every morning, which I’m not. Who wants to spend a twelfth of their life just staring at their own face?
I stick a lid on my coffee cup and wander over. “Hi, I’m Lainey.”
“Marissa.” She smiles in a genuine way that makes it obnoxiously impossible to hate her. “You must be Code’s sister.”
I shrug. “That’s what our parents tell us.”
“That’s perfect! I’m staying with you.” She points to herself. “I’m ShadowWillow. Code told me to meet you after the panel.”
“Yeah, I heard you introduce yourself to Legs.”
“Right. Because I’m standing here talking to Legs. Legs! Like he’s a person.” She turns to him. “I mean, I know you’re a person. It’s the talking to you part that—I don’t know. Gah, sorry, I’m going full baby skunk. I’m just excited! Aren’t you excited?”
I’m saved from answering by the fact that the LotSCON volunteer with the goatee pops his head in and tells us that they’re about to open the doors to the auditorium.
“Oh!” Willow says. “I’m going to grab my seat before someone steals it. Are you heading out there? I’ve got a nice spot saved right in the front.”
I glance at Legs, who’s nodding along with everything but barely saying a word. “I’m going to hang back.”
“Sure. I’ll save you a seat then.”
“Oh, I—um, thanks.”
And with a swoosh of her purple hair, she’s gone back out of the room.
“I think you made her day just by standing there,” I say to Legs.
“I bet you say that to all the boys.”
“Only the sad ones.” The words slip out of my mouth before I have time to think about them, but it’s just as well. It’s about time he talked about why it’s like he’s been walking around with a backpack full of rocks.
Legs only slumps down into his chair. “Is it that obvious?”
I shrug. “None of the guys seem to have noticed.” Which isn’t saying much; they didn’t even think to come to their friend’s event tonight. Not that I’m complaining. When it’s just me and Legs and the idiots aren’t around, I actually almost enjoy myself.
“Well, that’s good,” Legs says, which is sad. What is it about guys not wanting to show each other weakness? “You did, though?” he adds.
I slip into the seat beside him. “Yeah.” For a moment, we both sit there in silence as the sound of bottled chatter grows and grows outside the door. I hand my coffee to Legs and he takes a sip, then hands it back, and as I take a sip, I try not to think about the fact that my lips are where his lips were.
As the coffee settles comfortably into my stomach, I wrap my fingers around the warm cup. “Want to talk about it?”
His jaw tightens, rounding out the corners of his square jaw. “It’s silly.”
“Whatever it is, it’s okay to be sad.”
He slumps farther into his seat, apparently taking me at my word. Which would be great, except I’ve just remembered that there’s a whole auditorium of people outside that door who are expecting Legs’s happy gamer persona.
“Though, uh, maybe shove the sadness aside for a bit,” I say. “Because I think that crowd’s expecting to laugh.” I gesture toward the door.
“Right.” Legs straightens in his seat and holds his hand out for my coffee, which I pass over.
I hate that I’ve had to push the topic away just when it seemed like he might finally talk about it. “Hey, you want to meet for breakfast tomorrow morning?” I suggest. “There’s a coffee shop near Meister Manor.”
“I’m not great with early,” Legs says.
“Oh, okay.” My
cheeks flush hot, which is stupid, because it’s not like I asked him on a date or something. It was just coffee, just a chance to talk. “Never mind, then.”
“No, I mean—” He breaks off awkwardly and rubs at the dark stubble on his jawline. I bet he could have grown a full beard at twelve. “I meant, could we make it more like brunch?”
“Oh, um, yeah, probably. Cody’s panel’s not until after lunch, so that should work.” Ugh, I hate that Cody’s impacting things even when he’s not here. Though I guess if it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here at all.
The realization that I really do want to be here makes my cheeks flush even hotter.
Legs and I agree to meet midmorning, and then I quickly change the topic before I say something stupid. “You going to manage okay out there?” I gesture toward the door.
“Once I get going, I’ll be fine. I’ve got my starting joke, I’ll get some laughs, and then I’ll be In. The. Zone!” He throws on his gamer voice for the last bit.
“Give me that.” I snatch my coffee back as I shake my head. “You’re not allowed any more juice if it’s going to make you all corny.”
“What?! I thought corny was a good thing.”
“Corny is definitely not a good thing.”
“There are five million people who disagree with you,” he says, referring to his ever-growing subscriber count.
“And there are close to seven million people who think my brother is God’s gift to the earth.”
“An excellent point. Maybe we’d both better just—” He stands, grabs my coffee, takes two steps, and drops it into the garbage with a thunk.
“Hey!” I say, but we’re both grinning.
The LotSCON bouncer guy sticks his head into the room. “We’re ready for you, LumberLegs, sir.”
Legs nods, and his face falls. Whatever sadness he’s feeling can’t be chased away by a few silly jokes. Legs pauses by the door, ready-but-not-ready to go out and face a crowd expecting forty-five minutes of laughter.
I point my hand into a gun at him. “Starting joke,” I say. “You’ve got this.”
“Starting joke,” he says, finger gunning back at me, then striding out the door.
As the crowd starts to roar with excitement, I hurry after him to the seat Willow saved for me, not at all worried. Legs is an entertainer, used to putting out regular videos no matter how he’s feeling, and he’s got this.
Except it turns out I should have been worried after all, because Legs says his joke, but the mic isn’t working. Willow beside me must have supersonic hearing, because she laughs, but the rest of us can’t make out the words.
As a LotSCON guy rushes forward, and they fiddle with the mic, I watch Legs’s face, which is red and crinkled with the concentration of trying to hold on to his gamer comedian persona. By the time they sort it out with a screech from the sound system, Legs has lost his grasp on the joke; he stammers out an introduction, and then there’s nothing. Silence.
And for a moment, LumberLegs is gone, and onstage is my good friend Caleb Hanna, who’s wearing his sadness like a big, fluffy beard that can’t be shaved.
But then some girl shouts Legs’s catchphrase, “To the rift!” and then the whole auditorium erupts with the cry, and LumberLegs is back with a quick shake of the head and a crooked grin, and I could kiss that girl who started the shout.
Everything else goes smoothly; Legs is charming, the crowd laughs, the applause is thunderous, and then it’s over and Legs is heading out to do autographs, and I’m left with Cody’s new fairy princess, who is beaming and still clapping, even though Legs has practically disappeared.
“How old are you?” I ask her once she finally stops clapping.
“Eighteen. Why?”
At least she’s legal. “Just wondering.”
“He was great, wasn’t he? It’s so cool being here. He’s got to be my favorite YouTuber of all time.” She bites her lip. “Well, one of my favorites, I mean. I have lots.”
“I almost had a heart attack near the beginning,” I say, not sure why I’m admitting that to her. “When he lost his . . .” I want to say persona, but that feels like divulging a secret, so instead I say simply, “words.”
“Nah! It just made him seem human,” Willow says as she fidgets with her purse strap. “Takes the pressure off, knowing that even Legs is human.”
At that moment, a couple of pimply guys tap her on the shoulder and ask if she’s Willow and if they can have her autograph, and she grins and pulls an at-the-ready Sharpie out of her purse. Which means apparently she’s big-name enough for face recognition. The way she’s been fawning over Legs and the convention, I’d have pegged her as having about a hundred subscribers.
Those couple of autographs lead to more autographs, but eventually she’s done and ready to head out. Since there’s no parking at the rental, she’ll have to leave her car here and walk back to the house with me.
On our way out to her car to grab her stuff, we swing by the autograph table, but the crowd is huge and the line is long, and I don’t want to interrupt, so we just head toward the door. Before I make it there, though, my phone pings, and when I check it, the message is from Legs.
Thanks for today. See you tomorrow.
I turn to look at him through the crowd, and he’s looking at me with his phone in one hand and his signing pen in another.
He waves and smiles, and I wave and smile, and yeah, I’ll admit it, my heart maybe kinda sorta flips over once or twice in my chest.
Then he goes back to signing and I go back to following Willow out to her car to grab her stuff.
Willow lugs a huge, bright-pink wheeled suitcase out of the trunk of her beat-up old car, then pulls out a bulging tote bag and starts to slip it over her shoulder.
“Here, I can—” I take the plain blue bag from her and sling it onto my own shoulder. As I do, I spot a bright-yellow novel with a white daisy on the cover. “You’re reading The Hundred Lies of Lizzie Lovett?”
She slams her trunk closed. “Yeah, I’m about halfway through.”
“What do you think?”
I brace myself for some kind of dismissive comment, because there’s no way she loves the same books as me. But instead, she says, “It’s brilliant. Chelsea Sedoti is a literary genius.”
I can’t help but grin. “Right?! She’s my favorite author.”
“Well, she’s fast becoming one of my favorites, too, so good choice,” she says, and I could say the same thing to her. Perhaps I judged her too quickly.
We talk books for a while, pulling her luggage down the dark Toronto streets. In another time or place, it might be creepy, but the sidewalks are busy with people, and a scraggly-looking guy asking for change is the only interruption of our discussion. When I give him a quarter I find buried in my pocket, he demands I give him more but then saunters off when I give him the finger.
Willow raises an eyebrow at me.
“A quarter’s all I’ve got,” I say.
“It wasn’t the quarter I was reacting to,” she says.
I laugh. “Look, at least I gave him something. Unlike you. Cheapskate.”
Her face falls. “Oh!” She glances over her shoulder. I grab her arm so she doesn’t go running after him, but all she does is say, “Well, apparently he wouldn’t have appreciated it anyway.”
“Truth,” I agree.
We’re silent for a bit after that. Then Willow says, “So, Code didn’t go to the Con this evening?”
Ick. I forgot she was here because of Cody. “Nah,” I say. “Cody’s not into watching people other than himself get attention.”
She laughs like I’m joking.
I wish I was joking. Maybe if Cody thought about someone—anyone—other than himself sometimes, he’d realize how broken the world is and how much power he has to help fix it. Millions of subscribers hanging on his every word, and all he does is joke about dumb blondes while he screams his way through video games. He could easily do more. Like Legs, who takes tim
e to answer viewers’ real-life questions, giving advice and encouragement to them in videos and livestreams.
A memory comes back to me then, of paddling down the Little Miami River with our church group, when we were maybe thirteen and nine. Cody and I were in a canoe together, me in the front, Cody in the back. There was no question in my mind that he’d steer us in the right direction as we sang dorky songs together and paddled in unison on the beat, totally in sync. He didn’t make a single crude joke, didn’t try to flirt with the girls in the other canoes, didn’t care that we looked ridiculous. We were in it together.
I miss that Cody. I trusted that Cody. I want that Cody back.
“Do you think people can change?” The question slips out of me. For the better, I mean, since the opposite has already happened.
“Of course,” she says immediately, which says a lot about her and nothing about Cody. “Why do you ask?”
I’m saved from having to answer by the arrival at our street. I guide her down it, glad I took the time to remember which townhouse we’ve rented so I don’t have to whip out my phone and use up any of the scant international data I purchased.
The front door of the townhouse has a white piece of paper taped to it with “BE QUIET STREAMING” scrawled on it in pen. We stop talking as we quietly maneuver Willow’s luggage through the front door, trying not to bang the door against the luggage or the luggage against the door or the door against the wall. Down the hall in the living room, the guys are all piled onto a couch, hands full of controllers, shouting and laughing. If it was just Cody, I wouldn’t bother being quiet, but I like Z and Wolf, and even Ben’s not so bad most of the time, even if he is a million years old.
“Upstairs,” I whisper at Willow, but I’m not sure if she catches it, because she’s staring at the guys.
Fan the Fame Page 4