"Good point," I told her. I glanced at the dash clock as Kevin started the car with a french fry scented cough. "The con starts soon. Think we should go straight there?"
"Uh, negative," Sam said hotly. "I can't go looking like this."
I took in her jeans and lavender T-shirt. "You look fine to me."
She shook her head. "Fine for school. Way sub-par for the con. No, I've got a whole costume picked out at home."
I looked at the clock again. "I told Chase we'd meet him as soon as the con opened."
"I'll be quick, I promise," she said, nodding for Kevin to make a right out of the garage—toward the Kramers' house and not downtown.
I sighed, leaning back against the cracked vinyl seats. "Fine," I relented.
"Trust me, it will be worth it," Sam assured me with a grin.
* * *
Twenty minutes later we pulled up to the Kramers' house. Though instead of parking, Kevin idled at the curb, clouds of stale taco-scented exhaust forming around us. His eyes were on the cheery front door adorned with a flowery wreath.
"You coming inside?" Sam asked as she stepped out of the car.
Kevin looked wary. "That depends. You think they're done butchering Broadway?"
I swallowed a grin. "Well that depends—you actually contemplating moving to Santana Row?"
Kevin shot me a look. "Dude. I can't afford that."
I wasn't surprised. Kevin couldn't afford a pack of gum.
However he did surprise me by shooting back, "But I might see if any of my buddies have a room for rent."
Sam and I shared a look. What do you know—maybe Mrs. Kramer was on to something.
"In fact, maybe I'll go visit one of them right now," Kevin decided, eyes still on the closed front door as if it might spring to life and start singing about The Room Where It Happens.
"Good luck," Sam said, giving him a wave as he made a hasty escape down the street.
I followed her inside—where thankfully the Kramers were giving their vocals a rest—and up to her room, where she immediately began pulling items out of her closet.
I sat on the edge of her bed as she got dressed, typing up some notes on my phone from our interview with Sophia. By the time I was done, she was just putting the finishing touches on her outfit.
"Ta-da!" she said, striking a pose in front of me.
She had on a white sleeveless top with a giant red bow pinned to her chest, accented by a red choker at her throat. Her legs were encased in a pair of red knee-high socks that looked as if she had sewn white bands along the top of them and added a little gold detail, below a blue pleated miniskirt. A pair of long white gloves covered her arms, and her hair was pulled up in two gravity-defying pigtails.
"Wow, you look great," I said, meaning it. I wasn't totally sure who she was, but she looked like she'd fit right in at the con.
"Thanks," she said. "Kyle helped me put it together the other night. It's kinda old-school, but I remember watching her on the Cartoon Network." She looked at me sheepishly. "So, can you tell who I am?"
I bit my lip. "You know I'm not great with these characters."
She frowned. "Shoot. I didn't do the face right, did I? I mean, I was going to put paler makeup on and do some really rosy cheeks, but we're short on time."
I shook my head. "No, I'm sure it's perfect." I paused. "I just don't know who it is."
"Sailor Moon! You know, from the anime series?"
"Of course." I was still drawing a blank, but I played along for Sam's sake.
"So, I was thinking," Sam said, turning to her closet. She pulled out a backpack full of black plastic guns with orange tips in various shapes and sizes. "I found some of Kevin's old toy guns."
"What are they for?" I asked.
"Your costume."
"My costume?" I shook my head.
"Come on. You're going to stick out like a sore thumb," she said, her pigtails hitting her ceiling fan as she stepped over her bed to the dresser.
"I'm going to look normal."
"Not at Gamer Con." She put her hands on her hips. "I look normal."
She had a point. "Fine, but hurry. Chase is going to be waiting."
She clapped her hands together with obvious glee.
My trepidation kicked up a notch.
Sam rummaged in her dresser then turned around and shoved a handful of clothing at me—a long-sleeved navy shirt and a short-sleeved red T. "Put these on. Your jeans work fine."
"For what?" I asked, complying as I stripped off the pink T-shirt I'd thrown on that morning in lieu of Sam's offering.
"This backpack, a gun, a ponytail, and some survivor-type makeup by moi, and you'll be set," she said, clearly in her zone.
"As who?" I pressed.
She rolled her eyes. "Ellie from The Last of Us. You really need to keep up."
While she was brushing my hair away from my face, I googled Ellie and discovered she was the second lead character in a post-apocalyptic game where she was immune to a widespread infection. Cool. I could do that. Especially if I could wear my jeans and Converse.
"She's a good character, and she curses a lot," Sam said while tugging on my hair, making sure it wasn't too sleek looking. "Unfortunately, your hair is the wrong color. Ellie's is more reddish brown." She frowned at my ponytail. "I guess we could dye it."
"I think I'm good," I said, ducking out of her clutches.
She shrugged. "Close enough." Then she started in on my makeup to make me look less California middle class and more surviving in the dystopian streets.
When she was done, I admired her work and had to admit, the effect was kinda cool. I could get into this girl warrior thing.
"Ready?" she asked, her eyes shining.
Maybe it was the Nerf guns, but I felt ready for anything. "Ready."
* * *
As soon as we arrived at the con, Sam got a text from Kyle, who planned to meet up with us later after rugby practice. Sam pulled me in close for a selfie with her in front of the huge Gamer Con sign as we waited in line just inside the main entrance to the convention center to have our passes scanned.
News of Connor's death hadn't seemed to affect the turnout that day at all. If anything, the place looked even more crowded than it had on the first day. While there was a smattering of people dressed in street clothes, most had gone all out in cosplay outfits, and I spotted several groups that looked like they'd coordinated to match. Some zombies converged near the entrance, and I could see a whole gaggle of scantily clad Mortal Combat ninja-ettes freezing in the ticket line to our left.
I felt my phone vibrate at my hip and looked down to find a text from Chase.
Where r u?
I glanced around for a landmark. Near the giant monkey guy.
monkey guy?
donkey kong?
That earned me a laughing emoji, and a couple of minutes later I spotted Chase's form walking toward us.
Predictably, he'd arrived again in street clothes—a pair of black jeans, a black T-shirt with a picture of a severed horse head on the front, and black combat boots. His hair was done in messy spikes in a way that looked nonchalant and trendy all at the same time, and he nodded as he approached us.