Zoe Rosenthal Is Not Lawful Good

by Nancy Werlin

  “But in the last couple of weeks, our situation has changed. We’re now on the map in terms of audience size and ad revenue. We’re not where we want to be, not yet, but we’re definitely on our way. SlamDunk is back on board. We think there are several reasons for the turnaround, including that entertaining Fangirl reggae video, along with the #bloodywomen campaign on Twitter and, of course, the wonderful podcast outreach that our actors have pursued so diligently.”

  She’d mentioned our video! I caught Todd’s incredulous eye. He started to leap to his feet, mouth opening to yell something, but Meldel hauled him back down.

  “Shh! Let AMT talk!”

  He subsided.

  AMT went on, “So the answer is YES! There is going to be a Season 3. We start production next month!”

  The crowd leapt to their feet again. The pandemonium lasted minutes. A shiver went through my body as I looked at the widened eyes and amazed faces of my friends. We stood together, me and Liv and Cam and Sebastian and Meldel and Todd and Josie and Naomi. And Maggie!

  We had made a difference.

  I felt my cheeks stretch into the biggest smile of my life. I saw it reflected back in the faces of my friends.

  AMT had to wave the crowd down so she could finish. She said, “I know I speak for the entire cast and crew of Bleeders when I say that without the passion and belief of our fans, we cannot make the show. We bring Bleeders to life together. You and us.”

  I tried to focus on the Bleeders panel discussion that followed—AMT and Jocelyn Upchurch and Hugh Nguyen chatted about the show and took questions from the audience—but I was hyperaware of Simon: watching, listening, thinking, judging. It’s hard to break a longtime habit. When the Season 3 budget came up—the tremendous cost of a show like Bleeders—I could almost hear his whisper: Explain to me, Zoe. Explain how you can value this over housing, food, medicine, education, childcare, and the environment?!

  Only now I was able to answer him—no, to answer myself. Art. Joy. Fellowship. Imagination. They too were of value and importance, and they were not secondary human needs. They were primary. And they were also, incidentally, a place where you could meet others who didn’t necessarily agree with you politically.

  And yet I knew: I could argue with Simon in my head all I wanted, but in real life, I had nothing left to say to him. Our paths had diverged months ago. We had both known it, and kept silent . . . and let it happen.

  What if one of us had spoken up? Maybe we could have kept on being friends as we grew and changed? Because there was so much to like in Simon. And—I had to believe—in me. But instead, we’d hidden ourselves from each other . . .

  I hoped to never make that mistake again.

  “Zoe?” said Maggie patiently. I came back to reality to realize that Maggie, Liv, and I were the only ones left in our row. The panel discussion had ended. The ballroom was emptying.

  “Oh,” I said. “Sorry. I was thinking.” Surreptitiously, I glanced over toward the ballroom entrance. Simon was still there, new girlfriend by his side, though they were not holding hands anymore. They also were not moving.

  Maggie nudged Liv. “Simon Murawski. The Simon. By the door. In the pin-striped button-down.”

  “Really? Fascinating.” Liv gave me some side-eye.

  “He brought Josie,” I said.

  “Interesting!”

  Josie reached Simon. She appeared to be introducing him and his girlfriend to Meldel and Todd and Cam and Sebastian and Naomi. They all stood in a cluster to the side, out of the way of the doors and the people who were exiting. There were nods and careful, superficial smiles—

  And then Sebastian held out a bloody hand to Simon.

  “Oh no,” I moaned.

  Simon shook his head, smiling. I saw his lips form the words “No, thanks.” But Sebastian kept his hand outstretched.

  I shouldn’t care anymore, but I did. My stomach roiled.

  I ran to get there, cutting in front of people. “Excuse me, sorry, excuse me—”

  I reached them just as Sebastian was saying, “Shake. I insist. Think of it as a bloody welcome for Josie’s brother!” Naomi backed him up with a merry “Don’t worry, the blood’s soluble in soap and water. At least, that was my intention.”

  Naomi would have no context for Simon. But the other Bloodygits did, and they were not intervening. Todd was grinning outright. Maybe he’d put Sebastian up to it?

  Only Josie was grinning too, and fiendishly.

  Simon, fastidious, carefully dressed Simon, literally had his back up against the wall. Sebastian’s hand came ever closer to Simon’s crisp shirt. His wet red fingers waggled in ludicrous invitation. “Come on!”

  I paused, mere feet away. I put my hands on my hips and waited until Simon looked at me, as somehow I’d known he would.

  “You don’t have to shake my friend’s hand,” I told him.

  “And my friend,” said Josie.

  There was a pause. I couldn’t read Simon’s expression. Then he said, with a professional smile, “Actually, I think I do.” He reached out, planning to deploy—I knew—the same firm-but-not-too-tight handshake that he’d developed when working on Senator Pratt’s campaign. Except his palm and Sebastian’s came together with an indescribable squelch. Simultaneously, a girl’s high voice exclaimed:

  “Simon and Shelley! Mom, it’s Simon and Shelley from your office!”

  A deeper, amused, feminine adult voice answered, “So it is. What a surprise. Hello, Shelley. Hello, Simon. I had no idea you two were Bleeders fans!”

  Simon’s gaze went behind me. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened.

  He said, “Senator? ”

  I turned. The Captain-mom and her two Captain-daughters were a few feet away. The Captain-mom pushed her battle gear mask up on her forehead.

  “Well met!” said Massachusetts State Senator Alisha Johnson Pratt. Her smile glanced off Simon’s bloody hand. “Look at you. In cosplay!”

  “Uh. You too, Senator.” Red seeped slowly up Simon’s face as he blushed. Chin. Cheeks. Nose. Forehead.

  “Oh, I’m all in,” said Senator Pratt easily. “It’s good for the soul. So, are you a Bleeders fan, Simon? Shelley?”

  “I just might get into it,” said Shelley, Simon’s new girlfriend.

  Simon looked appalled. “No. I’m not.”

  “Too bad,” said the senator. “It’s such a good show. I’d love to be able to gossip about it at the office.”

  “Uh.” Simon fixed his gaze desperately on the senator’s two daughters. “Hi, Serena. Hi, Gwen.”

  “You were infected, like, two seconds ago,” the little one informed Simon expertly. “In a few minutes, you’ll be gushing blood! Then you’ll be dead!”

  Simon looked blank. He started to wipe his hand on his pants but stopped just in time. His eyes met mine again.

  Need is different from want. I had wanted a boyfriend. But what I needed was my fandom and my friends, with all their chaos and enthusiasm and hope and confusion. I needed the self I had discovered and was still discovering when I was with them. I had wanted certainty about my future. But what I needed was possibility.

  “Listen, Simon,” I said. “How about if Maggie and I get Josie home later? So you two don’t have to hang around here waiting for her.” I nodded pleasantly at Shelley.

  He hesitated. “I thought I’d take her home right after the speech.”

  “Please, Simon,” said Josie. “I want to stay with my friends.”

  Another moment before Simon nodded. “Okay. Since it’s important to you, Josie. Thanks, Zoe. Maggie. If it’s not too much trouble to take her home.”

  “No trouble,” I said.

  “A pleasure,” said Maggie.

  Simon left with his new girlfriend, who may—or may not—have cast a curious glance backward.

  I turned to my friends, my Bloodygits, so that we could enjoy the rest of the con together.

  It was Labor Day weekend in Atlanta. It could not have been hotter. In a fe
w days, college would start for most of us, and Maggie would return to her apprenticeship. But today, we were in the Dragon Con parade staging area, in full cosplay. I linked arms with Cam and Liv and Josie and Meldel and Todd and Sebastian and Naomi and Maggie. We weren’t the only Bloodygits here today, however. We were part of a group that was fifty-something strong.

  Fifty!

  Later—I smiled evilly to myself—I had a tiny little surprise planned for Todd.

  But now, we hoisted our fabulous Bleeders banner.

  We marched.

  Writing about Zoe and the Bloodygits filled me with joy in a time that wasn’t always joyful. In no small part, my happiness in making this book was also because of the following people who supported me.

  Warm thanks to Daniel Berry, Julie Berry, Rob Costello, Erin Dionne, Deborah Kovacs, Ammi-Joan Paquette, Diana Peterfreund, and Kathleen Sweeney, my early readers and critiquers, for their thoughtful comments and for their laughter. Rob, your insights were especially important and I couldn’t be more grateful. My appreciation also to William Alexander, who listened to a (very) early description of what I wanted to write and asked, “Do you know about character alignment charts?” Love to Sarah Aronson, Toni Buzzeo, Jacqueline Davies, Jennifer Jacobson, Jane Kurtz, Jacqueline Briggs Martin, Dian Curtis Regan, Joanne Stanbridge, Nicole Valentine, Deborah Wiles, and Melissa Wyatt, for writerly emotional support.

  Hooray and gratitude to my insightful editor, Miriam Newman, at Candlewick Press. Miriam understood Zoe and the Bloodygits, was a pure delight to brainstorm with, and is—simply and in every sense of the word—just exactly right. She’s also a titling genius. Thanks also to Liz Bicknell at Candlewick, who knew instantly that Miriam was the right editor for Zoe and me. Appreciation and gratitude to crack Candlewick designers Matt Roeser for the super-cool cover and Lisa Rudden for the fun interior, and also to copyeditors Julia Gaviria and Jackie Houton and proofreaders Emily Stone and Emily Quill for making sure every detail was in order—just as Zoe would like it to be. I’d also like to thank super-publicist Jamie Tan, Lara Armstrong in foreign rights, Lydia Abel for her meticulous reading, and Amanda Bellamy for production coordination.

  Finally, and as ever, thank you to my love and husband, Jim McCoy.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or, if real, are used fictitiously.

  Copyright © 2021 by Nancy Werlin

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in an information retrieval system in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, taping, and recording, without prior written permission from the publisher.

  First electronic edition 2021

  Library of Congress Catalog Card Number pending

  Candlewick Press

  99 Dover Street

  Somerville, Massachusetts 02144

  www.candlewick.com