Zoe Rosenthal Is Not Lawful Good

by Nancy Werlin

  TODD: Thank you for flinging me a bone.

  LIV: We have to work with the rules of capitalism. Let’s go full court press, now that college applications are out of the way.

  SEBASTIAN: Let’s talk about next month. Where we’re going to meet and what we’re going to do.

  LIV: Any ideas? Anyone?

  ME: Actually, yes. Bloodygits, do you know anything about Lilithcon? I’ve been doing research on it.

  We hung up an hour later, with plans starting to form for January.

  Josie said, “Should I text my mom to come get me?”

  The pleasure of my having talked everybody into Lilithcon faded. All my real-life problems slammed back down on me.

  “I’ll drive you. Uh. Do you know if Simon is home now?”

  Josie shrugged.

  I texted Simon. Luckily, he answered right away: he was at work, as usual nowadays. I decided this was a sign that I should indeed do what I wanted to do, which was not to tell him what was going on with my parents. Yet, anyway.

  “Are you ready?” I said to Josie.

  “Yeah.”

  “Josie? Listen, next month will have to be the very last con for me. It’s like you said. The lying has to stop. For both of us. No matter what happens with Bleeders.”

  Josie looked stricken.

  “I’m really sorry I got you into this,” I said.

  “No!” said Josie. “No! You’ll figure it out for us! I know you will, Zoe! We have to go on! You said before that maybe it would all come right on its own. Maybe it will! Can’t we wait? Until after you get into college and everything. Like you said.”

  I stared into her pleading eyes.

  Maybe, I thought. Maybe I could find the perfect, balanced way out, the one where we could have everything. And no lies. Maybe it would really all come right once I knew about college. Many things resolve themselves given a little time . . .

  Or maybe I just needed a better to-do list.

  The Bloodygits stood in the muggy, chlorinated air of the Lilithcon hotel lobby, which was also, incidentally, an indoor waterpark. I swiveled out of the way just in time to avoid a soaking wet little girl in an Octonauts swimsuit, who had almost run into my knees.

  Cam said accusingly, “Zoe?”

  I pretended not to hear him, which was not hard because of all the screeching little kids.

  In hindsight, there had been a clue: the con’s low, low price. I had counted that in its favor, like its being in the Chicago suburb of Evanston—site of Northwestern University. Northwestern was no longer highly ranked on our list now that we were targeting Boston. Still, it had made my trip marginally plausible to Simon and also meant my travel costs were underwritten by my parents. (I still had to pay Josie’s costs, however.)

  Maybe I should put Aragorn up for sale on eBay? If Aragorn were gone, I could fearlessly invite Simon over again. Luckily, he’d been too busy to notice I’d stopped. My father might thank me, too, since my mother had taken to wandering into the family room simply to gaze at Aragorn. She had bought my father a black cape—but I did not want to think about private parental cosplay.

  “Zoe?” Cam insisted. Meldel had her hands on her hips, Sebastian had cocked a questioning brow, and the others—except Josie, who was looking at her phone—were giving me the hairy eyeball.

  I gave it right back to them. “Don’t prejudge. This con is going to rock!”

  I had our panel presentation fully organized, including getting everyone to sign the mandatory release for recording, making an awesome PowerPoint with a ( Todd-prepared) soundtrack, and basically planning every second. Meldel and Josie and Cam had fanfic to hand out, and we’d all be in our cosplay. We’d start by explaining a bit about the show and introducing the characters, and then I’d planned a discussion about women in science fiction and fantasy and science and medicine, and we would encourage audience participation. Also, I had spotted a Target across the parking lot. We’d serve Twizzlers! That would bring in the hordes! Also—for me privately—it would be an easy app ride from here to Northwestern. I would tour, even though I already knew, from the snowstorm brewing at this very moment, that Chicago winters were not for me. However, they probably explained this hotel.

  The Bloodygits must never know that I had thought the hotel looked fun.

  “No offense,” Cam told me. “But I’m thinking we fire you from responsibility for picking our next con.”

  “All in favor?” said Liv instantly, and I wondered if having their college plans settled had given Liv a bit too much extra confidence. Meldel and Todd and Sebastian and Josie (traitor!) shot their hands up in the air.

  “Although, then again,” said Todd, eyeing the Roaming River a few yards away, where a woman in a full wetsuit was handing kids colorful inner tubes before they launched into the water. “Maybe if you had a nice cold brew while you floated in your inner tube?”

  Todd was not exactly the ally I would have picked.

  “Lilithcon is homegrown,” I explained with restraint. “Didn’t you read my notes? There’s no rich sponsor trying to make a big profit here. It’s just the fans putting together programming of interest to other fans who are feminists and who happen to love fantasy and science fiction. The only celebrities coming are, like, YA writers who’d never even dream of charging you to take a photo with them! The Lilithcon audience is simply a better fit for Bleeders than any big corporate con.”

  “You might even call Lilithcon an artisanal con,” Liv murmured blandly.

  “We’re going direct to the people here,” I persisted. “We bypass the corporate overlords and their rules and regulations and money-grubbing. It’s those overlords that threaten our show.”

  “You sound like Simon,” Josie remarked. “If he were a fan.”

  “Well,” I said. “Maybe Simon would like this particular con.”

  “No.” Josie looked down at her sneakers. She sighed. “He wouldn’t.”

  She had seemed tense all morning while we traveled from Boston. Of course, we were still sneaking around on her family. At least my parents now knew the full story.

  I pushed down the guilty knowledge that my parents’ approval hinged on their thinking my love for Bleeders meant I was losing interest in Simon. Which I wasn’t. Oh, and their not knowing I had brought Josie. I planned to enjoy myself this weekend. Time was running out for my fandom freedom. In just a few weeks, we’d get college acceptances (please, God). After that, I’d be so, so good. The goodest. Lawful good. I’d tell Simon everything, once it was safely in the past. He would take my confession well. It wasn’t like this was important. Our future was important, not the past.

  Last Sunday, Simon and I had watched a documentary about Ruth Bader Ginsburg, the Supreme Court justice. I could easily imagine Simon working for the good of the people until four in the morning every night, like she did.

  I wondered what I’d be secretly binge-watching when he was working his twenty-hour days. No, I’d be working just as hard, by his side. Or I’d be doing something to earn money for us while he performed important public service. RBG’s husband had been a tax attorney. I’d probably love that because, most likely, spreadsheets would be involved. At that time, I would watch only educational documentaries. I would never read romances or fantasy or science fiction or celebrity biographies or murder mysteries. I would certainly not make cat videos; that was not an acceptable profession.

  “Come on, Bloodygits,” I said. “Let’s give this con a chance! They’re giving us a chance! We proposed our panel late and it was still accepted. These are our people!”

  “Our people?” Cam gestured to two mothers and a dad trudging by, wet, exhausted, with their toddlers.

  “Our people will be here shortly.” I had to raise my voice as the Roaming River swirled a screaming clot of older kids around behind the hotel registration desk. “I have had many reassuring communications with the conference organizers. Also, our hotel room only costs eighty-nine dollars a day. Plus tax. Divide by seven,
Bloodygits, divide by seven.”

  “At that price, we could have gotten two rooms,” said Meldel thoughtfully.

  “No,” I said, alarmed. “We’ll enjoy being together. We’ll take turns sleeping. If anybody does. Who needs sleep?”

  “Airfare wasn’t bad, either,” Sebastian offered.

  I was happy for this support but nonetheless winced. I was recovering from earlier anxiety about whether Winter Storm Natasha would cancel flights altogether. We’d all gotten in by the skin of our teeth. Natasha was just getting going now—the weather-folk said it would be totally crazy tonight.

  Suddenly there came an explosion from Splish-Splash Mountain.

  “Anybody bring a swimsuit?” Liv asked. “In case the con isn’t here after all and we all just end up hanging out poolside?”

  Cam said, “Liv. Pee.”

  “No! Nobody would pee in the water!” Sebastian pointed. “Look. There’s a sign.”

  We all read the sign.

  “I used to pee in pools all the time when I was a kid,” said Todd nostalgically. “What a feeling.”

  Liv took a step away from him. I decided not to mention that I had brought my bathing suit. The din of splashing and shouting rose and fell, rose and fell.

  “I’ll go check us in,” Meldel said.

  Since you had to figure that a hotel—even a “hotel”—wouldn’t be happy about seven people (especially teenagers) checking into one room, we’d determined on a methodology involving Meldel and her credit card. While we waited, Todd entertained us with a dramatic reading from the hotel brochure. “The Family-Friendly Slide Will Make You Smile from Ear to Ear! Relax on the Pink Sands of the Beach by the Wave Pool! Or Brave the Twists and Turns of the Tornado Tower! Relax in Your Inner Tube on the Roaming River!”

  Meldel returned. “Room 406. It turns out that the convention center area is on the other side of the hotel. There’s a totally different entrance. Our people will be over there.”

  I exhaled in relief.

  Meldel said, “We follow the Roaming River, turn left at the Tadpole Pond—”

  “—and straight on till morning?” suggested Liv.

  “Left at Lily Pad Crossing.” Meldel waved a map. “And we’re supposed to go up in an elevator at some point. They told me at the desk that this used to be a multibuilding motel, but they built new ceilings and covered walkways to bring all the buildings together.”

  We dragged our suitcases after Meldel, avoiding puddles. Sebastian fell into step beside me at the back of the group. “Zoe,” he whispered. “Top secret! I have a new bleeding apparatus!”

  This was the first time I’d focused fully on Sebastian since we all met up at the airport, and he was looking good. His winter jacket seemed new, and it was a great color and style for him. He had gotten a haircut and cleaned his glasses. Even his posture was better. In some mysterious way, had disappointment in love been good for him?

  “I thought you were giving up on the bleeding?”

  “I thought so, too, after last time, but I changed my mind.” He leaned in. “I was talking with my friend—this other friend, I mean, not one of us—who had a new idea for how to make it work. So, I experimented and I’ve got it, I think!” He lowered his voice even more. “I’ll need help to set myself up. But only you, Zoe. I want it to be a surprise at our panel for the others.”

  Sebastian’s eyes were eager, trusting. But I thought of the blood-spattered Aragorn in our family room and hardened my heart. “Sebastian, I don’t know—”

  “Zoe, I want Bloodygits to be proud of me. To see that I’m not a loser and that I can do this bleeding right.”

  “We don’t think you’re a loser! What happened at Weird World was an accident. Nobody blamed you.”

  He shook his head. “You pitied me. I know you did.”

  I was silent.

  Sebastian said, “The thing is? This friend of mine? She wasn’t sure, but she might actually be coming to this con. Like, in time for our panel tomorrow!”

  I stopped walking and so did Sebastian.

  “She? ” I said.

  Sebastian’s voice was barely audible, but his eyes were wide with joy. “Remember Squirrel Girl? From Weird World? She found me! Online in the Bleeders forum! Can you believe it?”

  My jaw nearly unhinged. “Squirrel Girl?”

  “Yes! She’s so smart! She helped me! She had this great idea for the bleeding.”

  “And did you also say that she’s coming here? To Lilithcon?”

  “Maybe? Her flight was canceled because of the storm, but she got rescheduled for tomorrow, and I’m hoping. She really cares about her design. Anyway, you’ll help me, right? Just you, Zoe. I really don’t want the others to know . . . and especially I don’t want them to know about her. In case . . . well, you know. In case.”

  Sebastian was very obviously insane. Love will do that.

  “Yes,” I said. Because what else could I say? “Of course I’ll help.”

  The convention center part of the hotel was shabby and dated, and there weren’t many people in actual cosplay. (In fairness, we weren’t either. Yet.)

  But.

  The place was crammed with real fans, ordinary fans, fabulous fans, in their fannish T-shirts and hats and pins, fans of all ages, fans of all genders—though the majority were female or gender nonconforming. This was a feminist con, after all. There was a palpable buzz of interest and happiness in the air, which went a long way toward neutralizing the persistent whiff of chlorine. I noticed with enormous interest that absolutely everyone was wearing little ribbons that specified their pronouns.

  And my Bloodygits were finally smiling. Cam nudged me and indicated a coat closet with a hand-printed sign that said TO NARNIA. “I take it back, Zoe. You can organize the next con.”

  I felt warm and fuzzy as I looked around with renewed satisfaction.

  Because this was such a small con, you didn’t have to run from one hotel to another. Everything would happen in this one centralized space of meeting rooms and ballrooms. (I resisted putting mental quotes around the word ballroom.) Also, I had been reliably informed that there would be no lines, that you could show up for a panel right before it started and still get in.

  The Bloodygits huddled together to consult the printed program, which, let me just say, they had had plenty of opportunity to look at online before we got there because I had sent them the link. I had also sent personalized schedule suggestions, on which I had expended a certain amount of unappreciated effort. But at least now they were understanding that here, despite the smaller size of this con—or because of it—there were multiple interesting things to do at any one time.

  For the first time in our connish lives together, we actually ought to split up to pursue diverse interests. I felt wistful about it, which I hadn’t realized I would. But it was only for a short time.

  “We’ll all meet back here at six?” Sebastian said, a little anxiously.

  “Yes. I made a dinner reservation for us in the Con Suite,” I said.

  “I wish I could be in two places at once!” Meldel said. “But the writers’ workshop, well, I can’t miss that. Ramona Freeman and Sandra Wu will be there!”

  The fantasy writers’ workshop was first choice for Meldel, Josie, and Cam. Todd was going to “Sentient Beasts in Science Fiction,” and Liv wanted to roam the ballroom, where there were booths with tarot reading, hair braiding, button making, and a clothing swap.

  Sebastian went with me (to my surprise, because I’d thought he’d go to a cosplay creation workshop) to a panel called “Redemption and Revenge: Antiheroines and Villainesses Taking Control.” It was about retelling fairy tales to center the experience of the women involved. The major point was that women in positions of power were often unthinkingly coded as evil, and why was that?

  As part of the discussion, someone brought up Ruth Bader Ginsburg and also Hillary Clinton, saying that Hillary had been coded like an evil witch, and somehow Ruth Bader Ginsburg hadn’t be
en. And why was that? And how did tropes in fiction influence thinking in real life?

  I sat on the edge of my chair and half wished Simon could hear all this. But he would never believe that the kind of thinking that went into fiction (especially the kind of fiction talked about at a con) and fictional analysis intersected with real life. If he were here, he’d be sitting with his arms crossed and a skeptical look on his face. Very likely he’d raise his hand during the discussion and say something devastating yet true and smart that would topple the central thesis, ending the discussion altogether.

  It was better to be with Sebastian, who even took notes, which surprised me. He wrote down the names of every book and movie that was mentioned, even nudging me at one point to correct his spelling of Maleficent.

  Then one of the panelists mentioned Bleeders. She talked about how maybe Monica was shaping up as a classic female villain. I was so excited, and she saw it.

  “Hey, are you a Bloodygit?” she called out to me. (There were only about twenty people in the room.)

  “Yes!” I exclaimed. I pointed my chin at Sebastian. “He is, too.”

  Sebastian waved his pen.

  Afterward, the panelist came over to say hello. Her name was Sheilah.

  I said, “But listen, from the beginning, all the hints of potential villainy have been about Lorelei, not Monica.”

  “Misdirection?” Sheilah raised her eyebrows.

  “But it’s Lorelei who just killed Celie.”

  “I’m not so sure that means what we think it means.”

  “And some aren’t sure Celie is dead,” said Sebastian. “And it might not matter, because aren’t you worried Bleeders is going to be canceled? We are.”

  “Actually.” Sheilah leaned in close to Sebastian and me. “I just heard that there’s going to be an announcement about the future of Bleeders—from AMT herself, in person, at Bean Con in Boston. That’s in April.” She sighed. “Two whole months away.”

  I froze.

  “Boston?” I repeated.