“What?”
“What are you using the rhinestones for? I’m looking for this color, too.”
“I’m not making anything,” he says quickly. “I’m picking them up for someone else.”
I’m a little let down. I liked the idea of Luca bedazzling something, like…a shin guard. I grin at this idea as I scoop up a bag for myself and then a bag for him.
“You can buy a smaller package, but in my experience, they don’t go far. You’re better off having a little extra than not enough. Otherwise you’ll have to come back here all over again.”
“I like it here,” Luca says. “It’s…fun. What about you? What are you making?”
I am not about to tell this boy that I’m working on a lifelike version of a zombified mermaid who haunts a nuclear submarine. Instead I say, “Just a small project.”
“For school?”
“No, for something else.”
“What kind of else?”
“A super geeky else.”
“What sort of super geeky else?”
“A video-game-related else.”
“What game?”
I sigh. “It’s called Wake. You’ve probably never heard of it. It’s not, like, Call of Duty or something.”
“Maybe I have heard of it,” he says. “Maybe I’ve even played it.”
“Have you played the secret bosses on Death Mode? ’Cause if not, you’re not gonna know what I’m talking about.”
His eyes narrow. He smiles smugly, like he’s got me right where he wants me.
“Plasma Siren.”
I give him the gratification of my shock. I haven’t even made it that far in Death Mode. I’ve just watched other people do the boss battle on Ion. Who is this person?
“Wait, you’ve played against her?” I ask.
“Nah, I’m just familiar.”
He’s smiling like he’s got a joke I’m not in on. I find myself adjusting my basket, heavier every second, like I’m about to make a break for it.
“I’m gonna go explore a little bit. Want to come?” Luca asks me.
“No,” I say right away. “I mean, no thanks. I’ve got to go.”
“Oh, that’s okay. See you tomorrow?”
“What?”
“At school. Remember?”
“Right.” I return his fist bump. It is the most bizarre thing I have ever done with my hand, which, for a seventeen-year-old overly into arts and crafts, is truly saying something.
As I pay, I keep my face down. I do this because I don’t want to be recognized again. I also do this because I cannot seem to stop smiling. I’m Elizabeth Worthy’s face on those labels, my cheeks drawn back into an eternal, glowing grin. Then, right before I rush out of the store, I turn. The doors sweep open, the warm air breathing into the cooled store, bringing with it the smells of dust and grass and water evaporating off pavement. I look back at the milling shoppers and the bright pink clubbers, realizing too late that I’m looking for one last glimpse of Luca. As soon as I understand this, I stop. I turn. I leave.
“Hey.”
I’m an inch from the door, and he’s there again.
“Striker,” he says. “It’s my position in soccer.”
He grins again, taking in my shock with satisfaction. Striker9 was the name of the person who bought me those stones.
“You think you’re gonna need more of these?” he asks, holding up his bag. “Or are you good?”
“I think I’m good,” I manage.
“Cool,” he says. He smiles. I smile. The door tries to close, impatient, and then jolts open again.
“I’m going,” I say.
“So go,” he says.
And, still smiling, I do.
Five
Now
Con food can be rough. Usually at Controverse, May and I leave the con grounds to hit up a pizza place in Southie, a few blocks down from the convention center, and take photos in our cosplays as Southie residents look on in horror and text their group chats. But this year we’re competitors, and they tell us everyone’s got to stay put in the back hall, so we don’t even get bad con food. People protest, but clubbers ignore questions as they separate us into smaller groups and take turns leading us out a back door, away from the main con floor.
Luca and Inaya are in the first group. May and I are in the second group. The third group is kept in the prejudging room.
We’re told to wait in a darker hallway and not talk as clubbers trade notes with the film crews. Whatever the other group is doing, it takes about an hour. May is allowed to remove her helmet, and people sit down. Then the clubbers are back, getting us up and walking us through the dark; the only light is the bloody glow of the exit signs. We pass by the first group of cosplayers going the other way, and all of a sudden, Luca jumps out at me. He whispers, “Be ready, Raffy.”
Then Inaya drags him back and he’s gone, and my head is spinning with more shadows than the ones in the hall around us.
Finally, we reach a door that says QUIET, SHOW IN PROGRESS on a whiteboard, and we go silent.
“You two—you’re first,” whispers a clubber, pulling May and me forward through the door.
May and I exchange a concerned look as we’re ushered into a dark passage beyond.
We are about to be murdered, aren’t we? I ask her with my eyebrows and a downturned smirk.
If so, let death take me swiftly—it has been a good life, she responds with a shrug and a dignified nod of her head. She puts on her mask.
“Now,” the clubber whispers, pushing May and me through a curtain. “Good luck!”
Then, like cannonballs hitting placid water, spotlights crash over us. We are on a stage in front of a crowd that responds to our baffled expressions with ecstatic cheering.
“Can we do that once more, but this time, can we get the monster to enter second?”
The voice is huge, blasted at us from speakers above the stage. The crowd murmurs, agitated. How many people are here? It must be more than a hundred, bigger than any Quals audience I’ve ever seen. Then, when nothing happens, I realize they’re talking to us. To May, the monster.
A hand pulls us back behind the curtain. Someone counts down.
“Three…two…”