by Nancy Werlin
“Wait. You write fanfiction?” Sebastian said incredulously to Meldel.
Meldel shrugged. “Mostly Harry Potter. I specialize in Draco/Luna. But I could change to Bleeders. I should, actually. Stretch my skills.”
Cam cackled.
“What?” demanded Meldel. “Why not fanfic? We need Bleeders fandom visibility. This is something I can do. I happen to be good at writing!”
“No, no, I don’t mean—” said Cam.
“Cam writes Harry Potter, too,” Liv cut in. “Neville Longbottom stories.”
Cam said apologetically, “They’re not very popular. I don’t put any sex in them. I’m more into humor. Meldel, I was laughing because I read Draco/Luna. It’s my favorite. What’s your pen name?”
“Melisande Du Lac.”
I was shocked to see Cam go starry-eyed. “What? Really? That long one last year, where Luna was in blood debt to the Malfoys? Fantastic! I checked for updates like every night. I always thought Luna didn’t get enough screen time in canon, and you just totally exploded that. I love you! You should be, like, published for real.”
Meldel looked shy. “Thanks. So, uh, who are you?”
“Orphan Shortbottom. I don’t have many readers, like I said. I’m not in your league,” he added humbly.
“I’ll look up your work right away. So, we should write Bleeders fic! Collaborate?”
“Do you mean it?”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re—you’re Melisande Du Lac! You haven’t even read my stuff yet. Really, I’m, like, not worthy.”
“I’ll read your stuff today,” promised Meldel. “Mine could do with some humor. We’ll want a totally different tone for Bleeders anyway. We’ll invent a style. And with two of us, we can have twice the output. Good for visibility.”
Sebastian was looking stunned. He demanded, “Did anyone in high school know you wrote fanfiction?”
“Of course not,” said Meldel. “Why? Do you write also?”
“No. I’m not really into Harry Potter.”
“I mean, do you write anything? It doesn’t have to be Harry Potter.”
“No. No writing. I’m not creative that way.” Sebastian blinked at Meldel. “I actually don’t read fanfiction. It’s just—I’m surprised you write it.”
“I don’t read, either,” Todd put in. “Not anything. I prefer watching shows. With emotionally manipulative music so I can see how it’s done! Not that I’m thinking about my future career or anything.” He guffawed. “Who has time to read?” There were some glances exchanged among the rest of us, but this was left tactfully alone.
I thought about Josie, because Simon had confided in me that he suspected his sister of secretly writing Bleeders fanfic. He was worried about it. My other thought was that Josie would have been at the premiere if she could have been, filling another seat. Showing SlamDunk there were more fans.
“The fanfic is a good start,” Liv was saying. “What else can we do?”
I opened my mouth to say that I was getting pretty good at marketing videos, especially with cats, and maybe I could put Ellen From Finance in Captain cosplay. But no, no, I wasn’t going to have time, between school and Simon and college applications and kitty soap, not to mention my secret plan to unseat Wentworth and give Ellen From Finance the legitimate, paid spokescat job she deserved.
I said instead, “Let’s not panic. There are probably lots of other Bleeders fans, but they just couldn’t show up for Dragon Con.”
Liv shook their head. “That’s kind of beside the point. We need to get the attention of the kind of people who do show up for Dragon Con. We need the big fans, the loud fans, the committed fans. Those people aren’t watching. And what that means is . . .” Liv reached for the stethoscope-garrote I was wearing. I handed it over. Liv did a fake-strangle thing with it. “They could cancel the show.”
“No.” Sebastian shook his head. “Bleeders will catch on. It’s only Season 2. What happens is, people binge-watch the previous season and there’s word of mouth and it all just takes time. It will build. Zoe’s right.”
Liv shrugged. “Maybe. But think about Firefly. It got canceled because the fandom formed too slowly.”
“Wait, what?” I said. “Firefly has lines around the block! They have legions of fans.”
“But their big fandom happened in kind of an underground way,” Sebastian said. “Liv’s right. Firefly only got one season. Then TV execs pulled it because they didn’t think there was a big enough fan base. Which was wrong, but the fans weren’t noisy enough, the build was too slow, and the TV execs didn’t give it time.” He paused. “Of course, that was the olden days. Before you could stream an entire season.”
“So that won’t happen to Bleeders,” I said.
“It still could.” Liv leaned forward. “It could already be happening. The people in power at SlamDunk know now that Bleeders fans didn’t exactly swarm the season premiere. And remember what you said before, Zoe? About maybe the show not getting support behind the scenes because AMT is a woman? That could be true. I bet the clock is ticking, and if Bleeders doesn’t build a big, vocal, visible audience, and soon, there won’t be a Season 3.”
Silence.
“I’ll write a new fic every week,” Meldel vowed. “I mean, Cam and I will.”
Cam looked alarmed. “I have to apply to college this year.”
“You’ll fit it into your schedule,” said Meldel firmly.
“Just do what she says,” advised Todd. “It saves time.”
“We all will fit in what we can,” said Liv. “I repeat: What else can we do? We need something big.”
“We are humble folk, Liv,” said Cam. “We are ordinary fans. We are powerless.”
Liv raised their fist. “No! Fans matter! And anyway, if you think you’re powerless and therefore you don’t do something, then nothing changes. It’s a self-perpetuating prophecy. In life, you have to stand up to be counted.”
This was what Simon always said, too. Only he’d never say it about wanting a TV show renewed. Are you kidding me? You’re wasting your time on this frivolous, inconsequential thing when there are real-world problems demanding our attention?
“I have an idea,” said Sebastian. “I’m not sure, I mean . . .” He went pink in the face. “What if we all went to New York Comic Con next month? In the best Bleeders cosplay ever? And, like, we photobomb everything we can? As a group?”
We stared at him.
“I know I can make a costume that actually bleeds,” he said. “That would be very high visibility. There’s no parade, but if we go around as a group, everyone would want to take our picture. And we could have a Bleeders banner, like Cam said before.”
“Huh,” said Liv.
“Can I be Celie?” asked Todd. “She’s the cutest one, like me.”
Liv said, “Sebastian, that is not entirely crazy. Cam and I wanted to look at New York colleges anyway. Let me just look up the con dates . . .”
“First weekend in October,” said Cam, who was already on his phone. “That could work.”
Sebastian’s face was alight. “You can all stay with me at NYU!” He waved both arms expansively. “Cheap! And we’ll just take the subway to the con! In full cosplay! Visibility!”
NYU was on my list with Simon.
“I’m always up for New York City,” said Meldel eagerly.
“Excuse me? Have you ever even been there before?” asked Sebastian. It sounded like he hadn’t entirely forgiven her, not yet anyway.
She raised her chin. “Not yet, no, but one day, I will be published by a big New York publisher.”
“We’ll go to New York Comic Con,” said Todd grandly to Meldel. “I’ll take you. What else is my mom’s credit card for?” Meldel smiled at him.
“Excellent,” said Sebastian, looking a little abashed. “Stay with me. Everybody’s welcome.”
The Bloodygits exploded into animated talk and planning. But not me.
Of course I cou
ldn’t go. It wasn’t realistic. Boston to New York isn’t far, and yes, we were applying to NYU, but it wasn’t all that high on our list, and I had other priorities, like preparing applications and keeping up my grades, and Mrs. Albee counted on me, and my money from Aunt Kath was mostly spent, and Simon would want me volunteering with him at Alisha Johnson Pratt’s state senate campaign as much as possible until the November election. Also, lying and sneaking around behind Simon’s back was exhausting. This had been a one-time thing, and I’d gotten away with it (so far), and it had been wonderful.
But.
I was going back to watching Bleeders on my laptop, in my bed, late at night with my headphones on. Alone. I would not discuss it with anyone. That was just how it had to be.
It was pure delusion anyway, to think we six could affect whether Bleeders got a third season. I wasn’t going to sneak off to another con next month in order to cram into Sebastian’s dorm with my new friends and dress up like—like—well, Lorelei.
Lorelei. Because Lorelei was obviously who I would be. Captain and Torrance and Tennah/Bellah were taken, and Sebastian was going to be a bleeder, and Todd wanted Celie. That left Lorelei and Monica. Lorelei with the crystal arm. Lorelei who had apparently made some deal with the devil. For what? I guess we’d find out soon.
If I were going to New York Comic Con, I would go as Lorelei. Only I wasn’t going. Definitely not.
My suitcase got loaded into the belly of the Megabus.
“Don’t be nervous about traveling by yourself,” said my mom. “You can handle it, and it’s excellent experience.” She began running through her solo New York City travel advice again.
I wasn’t nervous. I wasn’t going to be alone. Looking at my earnest mother, though, I reviewed my decision not to tell my parents my complete weekend plans. But I came to the same conclusion. I couldn’t ask them not to mention the con part in front of Simon. Impossible!
Secret of effective lying: keep the lie simple and close to the truth. Only I wasn’t really lying. I was omitting. And Maggie knew everything.
Maggie thought it was hilarious.
“You can call or text us anytime,” my mom said anxiously. “And of course the program for visiting prospects at NYU will take good care of you.”
“Sure,” I said.
Not a lie there, either. The program consisted of our leader, Sebastian Sweet, and visiting prospects Liv, Cam, and me.
“I mean, I didn’t have parents schlepping me to schools when I was your age. My best friend and I flew to California together to see Berkeley and UCLA. And you’re so responsible and trustworthy!” My mom’s voice was happier on this last sentence. Luckily I had pulled out my bullet journal to check my list and had an excuse to hide my guilty face.
Boarding was called. We had already hugged goodbye when my mom took a deep breath and blurted, “Zoe? I’m glad you’re going without Simon. You need to put your own needs first.”
I froze. “What exactly does that mean?”
“Just . . . oh, honeybee, just that your father and I think it’s good to see you striking out on your own with this trip.”
“You’re trying to say something, Mom. What is it?”
“We’ll talk later. You’d better board now.”
There was no time to probe further. And she’d known there wouldn’t be! Now my mom shouted reminders to text and that my dad would pick me up when I got back on Sunday night. Fuming, I got on the bus.
I’d had a strange feeling lately when I talked to my parents about my college plans with Simon. And now this! Had my mom just been insinuating that something was wrong with Simon? With me? With us?
I found a window seat and pretended not to see my mom waving goodbye. I stewed until my phone beeped, just after the bus got on the highway. It was the Bloodygit group text.
TODD: Mel and I just landed at the airport. Sweet, what’s your address?
SEBASTIAN: I told you yesterday. Scroll up.
MELDEL: Got it. See you soon.
Everybody else was already in New York—Liv and Cam had arrived a few days ago to visit Sarah Lawrence and Columbia first.
My bus couldn’t get there fast enough. I wanted to be in my other life, my fandom life, my escape life.
For the last month we’d texted constantly, planning our PR assault on the world of fandom. I wasn’t even sure when or how my certainty that I couldn’t-shouldn’t-wouldn’t go morphed into longing, then into decision. But after careful work on a to-do list, I figured out exactly how to manage.
It was easy.
Simon was grateful to me for checking out NYU for us in person. He even apologized that he couldn’t come too. He was busier than ever, not only with school and college applications but—and this was his amazing news!—also with his duties in his paid position at Alisha Johnson Pratt’s campaign!
He’d temporarily given up the day-care job and was earning eighteen dollars an hour at the campaign, the same amount that I earned with Mrs. Albee. I was so proud of him. His job would end after the election next month, unless Alisha actually won, because she’d told Simon there might be a permanent job for him then.
The polls said it was possible.
Simon had told me it was his dream. “In that case, I’d definitely want to stay in Boston for college,” he had said. “And keep the job. It would be an irreplaceable opportunity for me.”
“Of course we’d stay here!” I’d answered.
As my bus turned off the Massachusetts Turnpike, I saw the first New York City sign. My heart leapt. I turned to keep the sign in view for a couple of seconds longer. Then I thought of my mom implying that I shouldn’t go to college with Simon, and scowled. Defiantly, I texted him.
ME: ♥
A second later, my phone beeped, but it wasn’t Simon. It was the Bloodygits again.
SEBASTIAN: Guess what, Zoe? Cam and I just tested part of my costume.
SEBASTIAN: All systems go! I’m feeling almost cured of my fear of blood.
CAM: Fingers crossed.
SEBASTIAN: No worries bro. I’m going to bleed slow and gruesome.
MELDEL: Can’t wait to see everyone!
TODD: We’re in the Lyft now!
LIV: Zoe, we’re on track to meet you. Look for us when you get off the bus.
LIV: Then we can go straight to the Javits Center and get our badges and stuff.
ME: Sebastian, did you get my cosplay?
SEBASTIAN: Yesterday.
ME: Thanks again for letting me send it to you. It needed to be secret.
SEBASTIAN: Because of that Simon?
ME: Yes.
SEBASTIAN: Dump him.
LIV: She’s not dumping Simon.
ME: What Liv said.
SEBASTIAN: Then you have to convert him.
ME: Again. He’s never going to be interested in Bleeders.
SEBASTIAN: Then it’s never going to work.
ME: Oh, Sebastian, Sebastian.
I wasn’t offended, even though I had been offended by my mom. Sebastian had confirmed to us that he was indeed on the autism spectrum, and also that he tended to over-perseverate (his term). He was always texting us. He truly seemed to think nothing was important besides Bleeders. I hoped he was keeping up with his college courses. He never mentioned studying. But I had seen him reading that book on coding at Dragon Con. He was wicked smart, too.
I would focus on studying more myself after the con. My bullet journal for next week’s overdue tasks extended onto a second page. I was just a tiny bit behind because of texting the Bloodygits and figuring out my cosplay and doing my part for our online PR campaign, which included being a beta reader for the fic that Cam and Meldel (a.k.a. Orphan Shortbottom and Melisande Du Lac) were writing as fast as they could.
I’d recommended Simon’s sister, Josie, as a beta reader, too. She was thrilled.
That impulsive kindness had nearly gone off the rails, though. Josie believed that Melisande Du Lac and Orphan Shortbottom had found her on their own
in the Bleeders online forum, and she was so excited, and of course she told her mother and brother. I hadn’t realized in advance that would happen. Predictably, Simon tried to stop it, and Josie fought back, and ultimately their mother decided it was okay for Josie to be a beta reader if she showed her mom what she was doing. Which left Simon absolutely steaming and hating Bleeders even more than before. He paced back and forth waving his arms about how trash TV infected the mind, and people were watching Hulu and Netflix and so on instead of paying attention to the world, and then he used air quotes to say that TV was the “opiate of the masses.”
In short, involving Josie had been a mistake, even though my part was never even close to being revealed.
I made sympathetic (okay, hypocritical) noises at Simon. I didn’t correct him about the Karl Marx quote that he got wrong in let-me-count-the-ways. I understood Simon’s attitude. He was overworked, and the upcoming election was important, and he considers himself responsible for helping his mom with Josie’s upbringing. And I really can’t imagine what that feels like, in my privileged situation with married, working parents and no siblings who also must be educated.
My bus was passing New Haven, Connecticut, when Simon finally texted me back.
SIMON: The polls now say Alisha has pulled within the margin of error!
SIMON: We are going to win this thing!
ME: Yay! But don’t stay at headquarters all weekend. Get some sleep.
SIMON: I can sleep when I’m dead.
SIMON: Guess what? Alisha stopped by my desk and thanked me! She knows my name! She says I’m valuable to the campaign.
ME: That’s so great! Of course you are!
I thought of what my mom had said. She just didn’t get it about Simon and me. I was better when I was with Simon. He always got me believing and hoping good things about the world. I wanted to feel like Simon did—hopeful, active, optimistic, full of fire about making a better future. Saving the environment, decimating racism and poverty and sexism and hunger. He was just so good. He was good for me.
