“You look great,” he says. His eyes shine like onyx beads against the soft white makeup masking his brows and head.
“Fuck you.”
Shock curdles Luca’s posture, and a few photographers lower their cameras. I’m just as surprised as they are. The sound drains from our small pocket of Controverse, and I race to pour something into the emptiness I’ve created. In my rush, I pour in a lot of nastiness. It’s what I have ready.
“You could have called,” I say. “Or texted. Or even paid me back for any of what we made. But you just went dark, and then you show up here with Inaya, and you’re dressed as my concept? Does she even know that? Or did you tell her it was your idea?”
Instead of backing up, Luca steps forward. He’s bigger than me, but he can’t intimidate me. Not when I’m dressed like this.
“Abandoning me for Inaya wasn’t enough? You had to give her my idea, too? And after everything, you think the best way you can re-enter my life is with a compliment? I don’t want a compliment, Luca. I want an explanation.”
I meant to say exactly none of this. I meant to say, “Hey.”
But I mean every word.
Luca gets real close. The next words he says are only for me to hear.
“Don’t do this here. Don’t ruin this for both of us.”
“Ruin?”
I stare back at him. Then there’s a flash, and, surprisingly, it’s not the anger punching through my brain. It’s a camera, then another camera. People are mistaking us for a pair, seeing his fawn costume paired with my floral robe.
In my mind, I page through the visions of me and Luca from the future, a destiny we will never inhabit. I had so many plans for us. So many ideas to create. And here, in the midst of our fight, the vision of being photographed together in cosplay is happening. But this isn’t right; none of this feels good.
Luca and I still pose, masking our fight. And other cosplayers join in. Suddenly our argument is taking place through the other people modeling with us.
“I told Inaya it was your idea,” Luca whispers to me. “She told me she checked with you. I would have checked myself, but you have me blocked on everything. Still.”
“We go to the same school.”
“You know I can’t say shit in person. You know that.”
I’m tapping my foot. “Inaya didn’t check.”
“Well, that’s not my fault.”
“It’s not that simple,” I snap back. The other cosplayers between us shift away, hearing the edge in my tone. They give us a confused look before the next people take their place.
“It is that simple,” Luca spits back. “Sometimes, shit is simple, Raffy. Not everyone is one of your complicated little projects.”
I don’t get a chance to respond before Inaya, in all her zombie-deer glory, lithely slips through the crowd to join us. People see the two deer costumes side by side and start to cheer and laugh, finally getting it, and I am suddenly on the outside again.
“Raffy, you look amazing,” Inaya says, air-kissing me. I don’t move a muscle. She says, “Wasn’t that wild? I can’t believe Craft Club sprang for that stage! And all those lights! I’ve never been in a competition like that before. How’d you do?”
I turn to go. Luca is one thing, but Inaya wants to pretend like we’re friends now, too? I know myself, and I know my anger. I better go before I say something I can’t take back.
“Raff, wait!”
A hand digs into the flowers on my shoulder, crushing a few blossoms. The grip is firm. Desperate.
“Please,” Luca pleads.
“You stole my idea.” I say this right to Inaya’s face.
Inaya laughs. “Are you really trying to take credit for this? You don’t even touch gore makeup. You were never gonna pull this off.” She smiles. “Not like this.”
“Inaya, come on,” Luca cuts in.
I really, really want to be anywhere else right now.
“No, you come on,” she snaps back. “If Raffy wants to talk about it, we can talk about it. You don’t have to protect him.”
“No, Inaya, look.” Luca pulls her around, and I turn, too. We’re facing into the bright lights of two cameras balanced on the shoulders of two people wearing clubber outfits. A third person has a mic and is talking to the cameras excitedly, our little fight the backdrop for whatever they’re recording. And then they turn to Luca.
“And here we have three of the youngest competitors. Luca, tell us about how you pulled off this amazing look,” the interviewer says.
“He didn’t,” I cut in. The interviewer turns toward me, eyes shimmering.
“These two aren’t much for complicated projects, or complications in general,” I say to her in a bright tone. I try to slam on the brakes, but my mouth keeps working. “It’s why Inaya chose him over me, because he’s a lot hotter, right? And Luca lets people use him for his looks as long as they make him look good.”
The interviewer is confused. Luca is confused.
“It’s an inside joke,” Inaya says. “We go way back.”
“So you know each other from outside the competition? Drama! What can you tell us about being friends with your competitors?”
None of us says a thing. It’s super awkward. All I want to do is run, but Luca’s got his hand on my shoulder still.
“Raffy,” he whispers. “Please.”
“What is the deal with you three, anyway?” the interviewer asks, nervous now.
How can we answer this without admitting what we used to be to one another? I look right at Luca, who isn’t out yet. After everything that’s happened between us, there is still a trust that I would never break. Bruise, maybe, but never break. I would never out him like this. I would never out him at all. But as noble as I think I am, Luca’s face is full of fear that I know I’ve put there. It makes me hate myself even more, knowing that when he sees me, he sees me with my dagger raised and ready. He fears my temper. I fear my tongue. It’s why I keep him blocked. Luca ruined us once, but I’ve been so busy being hurt that I knew if we talked before I was ready, I’d ruin us forever.
I need to go. I shrug out of my robe easily, the heavy garment pooling at Luca’s feet as I snatch up May’s dumb bag of popcorn. I lurch away, but my foot catches in the cloth, and suddenly I hit the floor. Luca reaches for me at the same time and we knock heads. Then we’re both on the ground, clumsily tangled in a storm of fabric and flowers. And popcorn. Oh, there is popcorn everywhere.