“No, they kept it a secret. But Inaya posted right before they arrived. I wanted to tell you, but you were so focused.”
“Let’s just hang out here,” I say. “Then we can get to prejudging early.”
May nods. She knows I’m not okay, which is why she does me the courtesy of not asking.
Most cosplay shows have two parts. The actual show, and before that, prejudging. Prejudging is a chance for the judges to see the cosplays up close before you walk across the stage and get your actual score. The stage part is more for the audience—a performance—whereas prejudging is all about craft and deliberation. Usually the prejudges ask questions, flip seams, look at the undergarments. The goal is to see the work up close, like it deserves.
This year, they’ve asked every team to show up at once for prejudging. It’s taking place in a closed-off hall, and we need to show our official competitor badges to even get in. Cosplays from every universe mill through the room, friends catching up as they recognize each other beneath layers of plastic, makeup, feathers, and armor. I see none of it. I’m scanning for Luca, but he’s not here yet.
“Are they going to do prejudging in front of everyone?” May asks.
“Fucking better not,” I say. Usually it’s more private. Just you and the judges. But this is more like a mixer than a competition. Everyone knows Controverse likes to change it up, but are the twists already starting?
“Just relax, Raffy,” May is saying. “If you cry, you’re gonna lose your contact or something. And if you start sweating now, you’re gonna be totally ripe by the time the judges get up close and personal.”
“Gross, May,” I say, but she’s right. I do need to get it together. I’ve already wasted precious moments letting Luca distract me. I can’t give him another second of my time.
I used to tell myself that over and over: Don’t let him waste your time. But he did it so easily, and he did it so well. And for a time, I loved letting him.
I suck in a deep breath and hold it, something I’ve watched my mother do when she’s about to lose her cool. I don’t know what she imagines, but I imagine that the breath is cooling within me, condensing into a spinning fog, then a crystal of ice. I embed the crystal between my lungs, pushed against my spine, cooling me from the inside out. This isn’t a place for emotions. This is competitive arts and crafts. It’s serious.
“I’m cool,” I tell May.
“Good, because I think I just saw Irma.”
“Irma? As in Irma Worthy?”
“Yes. Irma as in Irma Worthy.”
Irma Worthy is the head of Worthy’s Craft Club. A crafting legend who took over the few Craft Clubs in Massachusetts and turned them into a national chain sprinkled from coast to coast, like sequins strewn across a map. She’s the mastermind behind Trip-C, using the competition as a vehicle to advertise for her stores, and she is my idol. My everything. The woman I am determined to grow up to become, then overthrow.
When Irma enters the room, half the people start to scream, and the other half go silent in reverence. She’s in her sixties, with a face that looks like it was made to break into laughter. Dormant wrinkles give soft outlines to big cheeks, a big chin, big eyes.
And her hair is humongous. It’s rumored to be a wig—a sort of meta-advertisement for the wigs sold at Craft Club—but no one has ever had the nerve to verify that. If it is a wig, it is masterfully styled and expertly imperfect, better than anything a casual cosplayer could manage. In a way, it affirms her authority. We cannot actually tell if she’s in cosplay, costume, drag, or just her Sunday best.
Like fish, we slide into a school that follows her down the length of the room until we’re gathered in a tight circle. Irma talks with a few of the con staff, then turns her starry eyes to the room full of cosplayers.
“Well, well, well, look at you. I do love getting everyone together.” She beams. “I figured I’d say good luck before everything got cutthroat, but looks like we’re already feeling a bit monstrous, am I right?” She claps for us, and the crowd cheers back.
Irma can barely get her next sentence out as the cheers threaten to overflow the room. She’s not shouting, but her voice carries with the clarity of a lady who knows how to put on a show.
“This year marks the sixth annual Controverse Cosplay Championships, or Trip-C, as you all call it. As it does every year, Controverse has chosen to partner with Craft Club to bring the competition to life, and we couldn’t be more excited about all of you, our fantastic cosplayers. We’ve also got an incredible panel of judges to reveal.”
Reveal? She carries on while we murmur.
“And, of course, we have our fabulous coordinating staff: clubbers from local Craft Clubs in the Greater Boston area. I’ll hand things off to the professionals in a bit,” she jokes, jerking her huge hair at the cluster of nervous-looking adults with tablets and earpieces, “but I just couldn’t help popping in to get a look at all your work. Now remember: measure twice, cut once, and give up never.”
Irma exits to riotous cheers, and I’m breathless. I’ve been coming to Controverse for years, and I’ve been sneaking into her store for many more years, but I’ve never seen her. I wasn’t even sure she was real. Seeing her in all her dolled-up, constructed glory actually makes her seem less real, yet so much more important.
The clubbers take over from there. A representative from Craft Club is always in charge. This year, it’s a tall brunette lady with a pixie cut and massive circular glasses. She peers down at us with bird-like apprehension.
“Hello, everyone. My name is Madeline, and I’m the head of marketing for the northeast division of Craft Club. I’ll be handling operations and logistics with the clubbers these next few days. You all should have received the official rules and guidelines upon acceptance of your applications,” she says, doing away with all of Irma’s warmth. “If you haven’t had a chance to read the rules, I encourage you to spend your waiting time making sure you have what you need for today and tomorrow. Anyone who isn’t ready to compete won’t compete.”
“Yikes,” says May as several competitors turn to their partners.
Madeline covers the ground rules with the efficiency of a NutriBullet. I zone out. I know these, anyway. Controverse is known for twists, but the basic structure of the competition is always the same. There are two days of competition—Friday and Saturday. On Friday, today, there’s the qualifying round. On Saturday, there’s the primary round for the finalists. Quals, then Primes. Simple. Each round involves private prejudging so the judges can see the details and then a stage show so the general con population can cheer for their favorites.
You get most of your points in prejudging, but the shows matter. Sometimes, a show can win you the title, if you do something awesome and the crowd loves you enough. That’s why people love Controverse and Trip-C—anything can happen, no matter who you are.