Zoe Rosenthal Is Not Lawful Good

by Nancy Werlin

  “She thinks she’ll be just in time! You’ll love her, Zoe!”

  “Sure,” I said.

  “Are you putting the glue on delicately? And thinly? Squirrel Girl says—”

  “Yes. I have a totally delicate touch. And thin.”

  “Let me see.”

  “I’m doing it fine!”

  He came in close, jostling me, which made me elbow over the Very Special Glue. I don’t actually remember leaping up and racing for the bathroom sink to wash my gluey hands. I was just there, running the water as hot as possible—because, after a certain Squirrel Girl–ordained amount of time, the glue was scheduled to eat the bubble wrap.

  I repeat: Eat.

  “My cosplay!” Sebastian wailed after me.

  Oh, for the olden, golden days when, as I understood it, one’s friends made glue to sniff and get high. Maybe they still did. I wouldn’t know. I had friends like Sebastian, who had friends like Squirrel Girl, who made glue as a weapon of mass destruction.

  I had been scrubbing my hands for a full minute when Sebastian called, “The armpiece will be fine, so don’t worry, Zoe. You didn’t splash it after all.”

  I was still running the water hot enough to boil my contaminated flesh. I managed to say, between my teeth, “I’m not worried about your cosplay.”

  Sebastian finally appeared in the bathroom doorway. “Good. It’s just that I understand how neurotic you can be. I figure it’s probably heightened now that you’ve been dumped. Just remember, I’m here for you.”

  I reviewed my understanding of the numbers from one to ten.

  “Explain to me why we weren’t using gloves?” I said finally.

  “Naomi didn’t say we needed to. Hers is an organic compound.”

  I felt my lips compress. “I see. Tell me, was Luke Skywalker’s prosthetic hand the left or the right?”

  “Right. Why?”

  “It just totally randomly occurred to me to start thinking about prosthetic hands.”

  “You’re truly so odd. Are you finished washing? We’re on a schedule here, and now we have to mix more glue since you ruined my first batch.”

  I looked at him.

  “Or, if you prefer, you can keep on washing your hands. Until, you know, you feel done.” Sebastian attempted to pat my back. I snarled. He retreated.

  An organic compound! All that means is that a thing has carbon! Grimly, I continued to wash, wishing I’d brought some of Mrs. Albee’s Persian Longhair soap, the formula of which included hydrogen peroxide, and wondering what everybody at home was saying about Simon’s new Instagram picture. Not to mention mine. Wentworth’s sudden appearance on my profile would seriously take Maggie aback, if nobody else. But without a phone to check on any of this, all hell could be breaking loose at home for all I knew. Or maybe everybody in my world was totally indifferent to my plight. Or happy!

  My poor phone! Cam had somehow managed to find it in the River of Doom. It was now (theoretically) recovering from water damage in a bag of rice that Meldel bought at Target.

  Who needed a phone? I was managing without so far. I had told my parents to get in touch with me via Josie. It was a relief to be out of touch. Really.

  Maggie had probably left me ten thousand texts.

  I turned off the tap and examined my wet, reddened, wrinkled, clean hands. Clean except for a little lying, a little kidnapping.

  Maybe, just maybe, Simon had texted me? Relenting? Understanding?

  I wrung my hands.

  I longed for more coddling from my friends! More more more! Widened, sympathetic eyes. Patting and there, theres. Focus on me and my heartbreak! But the other Bloodygits had gone off. Liv had not even thought to loan me a scarf. Meldel wanted her picture taken with some idiot YA writer who wasn’t even charging for it. And now Sebastian was doing better than me in the romance department.

  Of course I wanted to support Sebastian’s doomed romance.

  I marched out into the room and demonstrated my selflessness by mixing the new batch of glue.

  Sebastian hovered. “Are you sure you’re getting the proportions right?”

  “I’m taking AP Chemistry,” I snapped. “I can do it. Step away!”

  Sebastian stepped away.

  When the glue was ready, we switched jobs. I injected blood; he painted the glue (delicately! thinly!) on the pockets. He also restarted his compulsive Squirrel Girl podcast. I listened in silence. #GoodFriend!

  Until:

  “Naomi has an idea for a two-person cosplay involving robot parts for the Bleeders Sanitation Force. She said we could do it this fall at Dragon Con. She’s thinking ahead to September! Isn’t that great?”

  “But what about our group being at Dragon Con again, just us? We were going to march in the parade together.”

  “Naomi would be part of our group. Isn’t that okay?”

  “Of course,” I said, after a moment.

  It didn’t feel okay. It felt like yet another thing in my life starting to fall apart. I reminded myself that I had had no sleep. That I was being irrational. That I would probably like Naomi. It still took everything I had to add, brightly, “Naomi’s welcome!”

  Luckily we were nearly done. Sebastian ducked down so I could put the torso piece over his head. I fastened the sides together with duct tape and then I taped him into the sleeves and the legs. Finally, a white long-sleeved T-shirt and yoga pants went over his bubble wrap. ( What was this, his fourth set? It must have cost him a fortune.) They were tight enough to maintain contact with the bubble wrap but loose enough to permit Sebastian movement.

  Sebastian bent his knees and arms and walked a few steps.

  “Looking good,” I said.

  “Do you really think it’s going to work this time?”

  “I thought you trusted Squirrel Girl.” I managed to keep the snark out of my voice.

  “Of course I do! It’s me that I—I mean, Zoe? What if I faint? Or mess up in some other way?”

  Despite my mood, my heart squeezed. “You conquered the fainting. It’s fake corn syrup blood. You were totally fine with it all this time while you were handling it.”

  “I know, only . . . only sometimes bad things happen. To me.”

  I knew how he felt.

  “Okay, let’s go,” he said, only he didn’t move until I took his hand and led him gently from the hotel room.

  Liv came running up in Torrance cosplay, eyes alight, waving the frying pan for emphasis. “Bloodygits, we’re mobbed! They’ve moved our panel to the main ballroom. This is big! There’s two camera guys, even.” Belatedly, Liv took in Sebastian’s puffy white head-to-toe outfit. “Whoa.”

  Sebastian bowed stiffly. His gaze skimmed ahead, searching.

  “Squirrel Girl said she’d get here only just in time,” I reminded him quietly. He swallowed nervously.

  If she didn’t show up for him today after all, or if her bleeding apparatus didn’t work and he felt humiliated, I would get her. I’d teach her not to play with Sebastian’s vulnerable heart. I’d choke her with Lorelei’s stethoscope-garrote. I’d conk her on the head with Torrance’s frying pan. I—I—

  I was holding on by a thread. Lack of sleep. Suppressed fury. I hadn’t even eaten, I realized—not since Simon called me last night. Low blood sugar? Maybe I should have someone else run the panel instead of me. Was it too late? Meldel?

  No! Meldel would overdo it. And I was prepared.

  “I’ll wait for my cue here,” said Sebastian.

  “Good luck!” I said.

  He managed to nod.

  Liv and I wove through the crowd and into the ballroom. Sound thrummed from the hordes of prospective Bleeders fans. Holy cow! We were standing room only.

  But . . . they would all be looking at me. Me, in my sweaty Lorelei cosplay, with red corn syrup stains down the front of my lab coat.

  That was fine! That was blood! Anyway, for the next hour, I wasn’t me. I was Lorelei. Lorelei, the most precise surgeon on the Mae Jemison, the matu
re woman who can meditate for hours, the one who speaks crisply and always to the point. Who is deadly in battle. Lorelei the loner, the enigma, the strong. Lorelei who is wrestling with the devil and maybe winning. Lorelei, not Zoe Rosenthal, would lead the panel.

  Lorelei would be terrific.

  At the front of the room was our table, with seven seats, three microphones, and our names printed on table tents. Our regular and our cosplay names were included: Lorelei (me), Torrance (Liv), Monica (Josie), Captain Paloma (Meldel), Tennah/Bellah (Cam), and Celie (Todd). And an unlabeled chair for Sebastian.

  Meldel handed me my phone. “I got it to power on once! There’s hope!”

  “Really?” I tried. Nothing.

  “We can put it back into the rice,” said Meldel.

  I nodded. I tucked it into my lab coat pocket.

  Then I saw Squirrel Girl, already here, seated in the second row. She wasn’t in full cosplay, but she’d worn her Squirrel headgear. She caught my eye and waved shyly, with a question on her face. I made a “back of the room” gesture and she nodded, turning, craning her neck.

  I watched as she and Sebastian made eye contact.

  I watched them smile shyly at each other.

  I exhaled.

  I was glad for Sebastian. I was.

  It was time. Our presentation was cued up on the projection system. I stood before the table and took up a mic. “Hello,” I said. “HELLO, BLOODYGITS!”

  The room went still.

  Suddenly, I felt good! Powerful. We were here in representation of Bleeders. It was bigger than me and my problems—and I was not going to let Bleeders down.

  “WELCOME!” I shouted enthusiastically. “Welcome to the best science fiction show you’re not watching! Welcome on board the Mae Jemison. Meet the crew. They’re all doctors. They’re dedicated to treating and finding a cure for the Bleeder virus, which . . .”

  At a wave from me, one of the tech guys dimmed the lights. The video clip began, from mid–Season 1:

  Two children, a boy and a girl, run through the dust of a spaceport. They wear bright tunics and dodge around grounded ships of various shapes and sizes. “Mom!” the boy calls . . .

  The audience drew in their collective breath when the mother’s skin thins and her blood starts to seep out. Her arms. Her face. Her bare toes. The red stain soaks through her clothes. She stares down at herself, aghast, as every pore of skin liquifies. She tries to run from the children—her children. But her son runs, too. He throws himself on the puddle of bones and blood that her body has so swiftly become. He, too, is infected. He, too, bleeds out.

  His sister, small Celie, remains. She morphs slowly into adult Celie, tossing in nightmare on her bed, on the Mae Jemison.

  The lights came back up.

  Todd stood. He should have looked ridiculous, in his dress and his hair and his fake breasts. He’s way too large to play Celie. But somehow he held all eyes. Somehow he held the room riveted.

  I’d been right. These were our people, here at Lilithcon.

  “The Bleeder virus,” Todd intoned, and the mic carried his voice to every corner of the room. “Spreading through the universe. One touch, and any humanoid is infected. How has the virus come to be? We don’t know. How can the virus be cured? We don’t know. Could there be a vaccine? We hope so. And what is the history of the virus? Was it actually human-engineered—and deliberately spread?”

  I went on. “The renegade doctors of the Mae Jemison suspect that this is the case. We’ll stop it if we can. But that’s not all that’s happening. Possibly some humanoids,”—I leaned forward and touched my own chest delicately—“such as Lorelei, might be wondering, secretly, if the death of most of humanity just might be a good idea.”

  Some people were actually on the edge of their seats.

  Meldel stood. “There are six of us. We are all women, except . . .” She gestured at Torrance as Todd, working the PowerPoint, put up a still photo of the real Torrance on the projection system as Liv stood and waved their frying pan. “Torrance, ship’s cook and psychiatrist. If you need to play a mind game on your enemy, he’s your man. But he’s no damn good in a fight.”

  “By choice,” said Torrance/Liv, with dignity. “I do no physical harm. I took an oath.”

  Josie stood up when I pointed at her. Todd clicked to the Monica photo. “To hell with your oath!” Monica/Josie roared at Torrance/Liv. “You think the rest of us didn’t take one, too? These are desperate times!”

  “Meet Monica,” I said. “Navigator. Anesthesiologist. Monica is bipolar, and right now, she’s tweaking her medication to stay in the manic state so that she can work harder, longer. Also, Monica is secretly in love with . . .”

  Monica/Josie swiveled to stare longingly at Captain/Meldel.

  “Captain. Internal medicine. Pediatrician. Trusted leader. And, as it happens, a gifted killer. We still don’t know why she’s wearing those gloves or why she never takes them off. Also, Captain is a mother whose children have been stolen from her. A wife whose husband has cruelly betrayed her.”

  “I don’t know why,” said Captain/Meldel calmly. “But when I find him—and believe me, I will—I will discover the truth. In the meantime, I am desperate to know if my children are safe.” She raised her chin. “But I allow myself to think of them only when I am alone. When there is nothing else to do.” Her face hardened. “I’ll be honest. That doesn’t happen often. I don’t permit it to happen often.”

  Oh, Meldel, I thought. You are a star after all.

  “Captain doesn’t know I have a heart,” said Monica/Josie into the silence, as Todd showed a corroborating slide of the two of them. “I am a piece of machinery to her.” She paused before adding sadly, “Maybe that’s all I can ask. Maybe it’s all I deserve. But I wish . . . before we all die . . . I wish for that one moment with her.”

  I was hardly breathing. I hadn’t scripted all of this! My Bloodygits were improvising now and they were doing it brilliantly, and the room was in the palm of my—our—hands. This matters! I thought crazily. Fandom matters. Loving Bleeders matters. Never mind what Simon thinks. He’s wrong! He’s wrong somehow!

  “Celie,” I said, and Celie/Todd waved, leaned into the microphone, and said conversationally, “I’m not really a doctor yet. I’m a med tech, I’m only twenty-one, and Captain and the others are sort of homeschooling me. And yes, that was me you just saw. The little girl on the screen. That was my introduction to the Bleeder virus.” Todd smiled sweetly and flipped his hair. “I’m young. And believe me, you have no idea what I’m going to become.” He paused. “Unless I’m already dead.”

  Torrance/Liv said, “As a psychiatrist, I can tell you that Celie compensates for what happened to her in childhood with an unrelenting cheerfulness. It’s annoying, especially since she’s reprogrammed our ship’s computer . . .”

  Another clip from Bleeders: a compilation of scenes where the computer interrupts the crew’s conversation to contribute positive, perky, and inspiring clichés. As it played, I looked at the back of the room, where Sebastian was ready for his cue to run down, to bleed. He was there, but he was frowning, patting his white arm, twisting uncomfortably—

  Squirrel Girl was looking back at him, too.

  “Don’t forget us!” Tennah/Bellah/Cam said, with a sidelong look at me and then a longer one at Sebastian. “I take offense at Lorelei saying that there are six of us on board. There are seven, because I’m two people—I shape-shift—”

  From the back of the room, Sebastian yelled, despairingly, “I’M SORRY! I’M SO SORRY, BLOODYGITS! NAOMI, IT’S NOT GOING TO WORK!”

  The whole room turned to look.

  Squirrel Girl sidled out of her row, calling back to Sebastian. “What’s going on?”

  Sebastian, his expression crazed, yelled back, “Nothing, that’s what!” Then he looked at me and shouted, “You messed up Squirrel Girl’s glue recipe!” He appealed to the roughly two hundred onlookers. “Zoe told me she was taking AP Chem! I shouldn�
�t have trusted her!”

  Stung, I protested. “I am taking AP Chem!”

  Squirrel Girl reached Sebastian at the back of the hall. She put one hand on his arm, pressed gently against the bubble wrap. Then she frowned toward me. “Did you tweak my formula?”

  “No!” I said. “I didn’t! I did it right!”

  Sebastian hustled down the aisle to confront me. “You weren’t careful enough!” He was visibly vibrating and emoting, ensuring that nobody in the ballroom would miss a word of our little drama. As if this wasn’t enough, he added obsequiously, “Zoe’s not as smart as you, Naomi.” Because, of course, Squirrel Girl had followed him.

  “I—I—I—” It wasn’t just my mouth stuttering. My brain was doing it too.

  Squirrel Girl wasn’t interested in me, though. She moved to Sebastian again, and now put a hand on his chest. Again she pushed lightly. Then she withdrew her hand and looked at it before holding her hand aloft. Her smile cast beams of sunshine everywhere.

  “No worries, people!” Her palm was wet and red. “It seems we just had a little issue with timing. In a moment, Sebastian is going to positively gush blood—”

  Sebastian looked at her hand. He blinked. His mouth opened and closed. He tottered.

  And then he fainted, hitting his head on a chair on his way to the floor as the fake blood seeped out from every inch of his costume.

  There was shouting. Meldel raced to Sebastian, with Todd and Cam and Josie on her heels. Squirrel Girl yelled something about calling 911. Several people were immediately on their phones.