by Jen Wilde
Charlie: B there asap.
Just then, Tay replies in the group chat.
Taylor: Hey! We’re at the diner across the street. Come hang out with us! :D
Classic Tay. Pretending she’s chilled even when she’s melting down on the inside.
Jamie sends me another private message: She’s back now. I think she’s okay. I tried to ask if she’s okay but she waved it off. Said she’s fine. I dunno.
Charlie: Don’t bring it up unless she does. Try making her laugh.
Jamie: Already on it. She seems okay now.
A message pops up in the group conversation.
Tay: I know you guys are texting about me. I’m fine. Promise. Let’s get back to having fun. WE’RE AT SUPACON!
Charlie: Sorry, Tay. Love you.
Tay: Love you back.
I open Twitter to catch up on the day’s tweets. I raise an eyebrow when I see a familiar name popping up in my feed: Alyssa Huntington.
A blogger I follow shares a photo of Alyssa standing on a stage and waving. The caption reads: Alyssa Huntington surprises fans at SupaCon!
I smile like an idiot at the memory of our brief conversation.
I’m so engrossed by the tweets and photos of Alyssa that I don’t watch where I’m going and slam right into someone when I turn a corner.
My phone drops to the floor, and I crouch down to pick it up, apologizing profusely.
“It’s fine,” the woman says, her hand reaching my phone first and handing it to me. But when I try to take it, she doesn’t let go. “Oh,” she says.
I look up to see Alyssa standing in front of me again.
She’s staring straight at my phone.
The phone with pictures of her on the screen.
“Is that me?”
I play it cool even though I’m dying of embarrassment. “Oh, yeah. You’re all over my corner of Twitter. A lot of bloggers and fans I follow were in the audience.”
I take my phone and lock the screen faster than I ever have before.
Alyssa raises her eyebrows. “Oh, cool! I’ve never seen a crowd like that before. It was incredible. Us YouTubers have the best fans, don’t you think?”
I laugh awkwardly. “Absolutely.”
I’m barely even sure what she asked me. I’m too busy thinking, Be cool. Be cool. BE COOL! I mentally slap myself out of my starstruck stupor and speak. “Is this your first time at a con?”
“As a guest, yeah. But I’ve been coming to cons as a fan for years.” She looks at me with unwavering focus as she talks, and it makes me feel secure and vulnerable at the same time. “What about you?”
“This is my first, as a fan and a guest. But I haven’t had a chance to get on the floor yet.”
She reaches out and touches my arm. “You have to. It’s like another world out there. There’s so much to see and do and buy.”
The cast of The Vampire Diaries walk down the hall with a crew of staff, and we step aside as they stroll by. I grin at Alyssa and laugh. “This is so weird. How have I gone from shooting videos in my bedroom in Melbourne to talking to Alyssa Huntington while Stefan and Damon walk by?”
She laughs. “I’m with you. I can’t believe this is real. I saw Felicia Day coming out of the bathroom earlier, and I nearly passed out.”
I gasp. “No fucking way!”
Alyssa smiles a crooked smile and shoves her hands into her jeans pockets. She’s watching me, looking deep in thought, like she’s trying to read my mind.
“Hey,” she says, motioning to the nearby venue door with her thumb. “I heard the food here sucks, so I was heading out to one of the local places. You wanna grab some lunch?”
Be cool, I tell myself again. I shrug and nod once, trying desperately to act casual. “Yeah, sure.”
Our eyes lock, and Alyssa’s lips part into a cheerful grin. “Cool.”
We start walking toward the nearest backstreet exit, and I quickly type a message to Tay and Jamie.
Charlie: Alyssa freaking Huntington just asked me to lunch! Rain check on burgers?
Taylor shoots back a reply straightaway: WTF! That’s awesome! Yes! GO! We’ll see you later:D:D:D
Five minutes later, I’m sitting across from my personal hero, watching her order a cheeseburger and curly fries. Her new supershort hairstyle brings more attention to her deep brown eyes, peering out from black lashes and winged eyeliner. Her umber skin is adorned with black ink tattoos of birds in flight and flowers in bloom, with portraits, words, and symbols dotted down her arms and on the inside of her wrists. I know from her vlogs that she’s smart, compassionate, outspoken, and everything I want to be. I can’t believe I’m sitting at her table.
“So,” Alyssa says after the waitress has taken our order and walked away. “I love your YouTube channel.” She smiles.
I have to do a double take. “Wait, what?” I’m sure I misheard her. “My channel? You’ve watched my videos?”
She seems amused by my surprise. She laughs and leans forward, resting her arms on the table. “Yeah. I’ve seen all of them.”
If a plane fell from the sky and landed on the diner right now, I would be less shocked.
She laughs again, the corners of her mouth reaching toward her smiling eyes. “Don’t look so surprised!”
I realize my mouth is hanging open and snap it shut. I think back over the hundreds of videos I’ve made and hope I didn’t post anything too embarrassing. “I don’t know what to say. I guess I thought you were too big a star to even know I existed.”
“Are you kidding? I’ve watched you from the beginning. Your reviews have introduced me to some of my favorite video games and comics.” She lowers an eyebrow. “I’m a huge nerd, so your channel rocks my world.”
I smile like a dork. “I’m a huge nerd, too!”
* * *
The waitress comes over with our drinks—two Cokes with ice—and proceeds to stare at Alyssa. “Um, hi. I love your videos so much! Do you mind if…” she says as she pulls a phone out of her pocket. “Can I take a selfie with you?”
Alyssa sits up straight and nods. “Sure!”
The waitress leans over the table awkwardly, holding her phone out as she tries to get both herself and Alyssa in the picture.
“Oh,” I say, giggling. “Do you want me to take it?”
The waitress’s eyes light up, and she hands me the phone. “Thank you!”
I hold the phone up and wait for both of them to smile before snapping a few pictures. “There you go,” I say as I pass the phone back to the ecstatic fan.
“Thank you so much!” She runs back behind the counter and proceeds to go through the photos excitedly.
“Sorry,” Alyssa says, her smile uneven and slightly embarrassed.
I wave it off. “Oh, please, it’s cool!”
“I guess you’re used to stuff like that by now, with all your vlogging fangirls.”
I let out a laugh. “No way! That sort of thing never happens to me. Unless I’m somewhere like here, at SupaCon, of course. I’m not nearly as popular as you.”
Alyssa’s lips turn up into a half smile, and she looks out the window. “You will be. The Rising will make sure of that.”
I’m sure she’s flirting with me. At least, I hope she is. It excites and terrifies me all at the same time. I love everything about crushes. The butterflies, the possibilities, the giddy wonder of it all. But this is the first time I’ve liked a girl who might actually like me back.
The moment I first realized I’m into more than one gender was a quiet one. It was sudden and almost anticlimactic, so it’s not a particularly exciting story. I was fourteen, and by that time I’d had more than one crush on a girl, mostly movie stars. But I never interpreted my feelings as a crush; I just thought I admired them a whole lot. It didn’t occur to me that those feelings were similar to the way I felt about guys I liked.
I saw a post on Tumblr with the title “You Won’t Believe These Actresses Are Bisexual” or something stupid like that. I
didn’t really know what that meant at the time, so I googled it. It didn’t take long to recognize myself in many of the articles I found.
And that was it. But I’ve never actually been with a girl before. I’ve never even flirted with a girl before. This is all so new, and I’m not sure if I’m reading too much into this. Are we having lunch as friends, or could this be something more?
I’ve been crushing on her since I was fifteen. And I hope the sparkle in Alyssa’s eyes is a good sign.
“So,” she says again, breaking the short-lived but heavy silence between us. “Have you started filming the sequel to The Rising yet?”
I shake my head and take a sip of my Coke. “Not yet. Filming starts in a few months, in LA. There’s a bigger budget, bigger studio, and a lot more pressure this time. And it all means many more eyes on me and my life.” I feel the muscles in my shoulders tighten at the thought.
“Try not to let it get to you,” she says, leaning forward again. “If you buy into the hype and the drama and the pressure, you’ll break.”
I move forward in my seat. I want to tell her that I’ve already been broken. That the last year didn’t just break me; it crushed me. I want to tell her that I’m terrified of it happening again. But it still feels too raw, so I just ask, “How do you handle it all?”
She thinks for a moment. “I’m still learning. People keep telling me to ignore it, and I’m a pro at hitting the BLOCK button. But it’s hard when you get racist, sexist, and homophobic comments slung at you every day. You probably get the same thing.”
I nod, trying not to think of some of the terrible things people have said about me online. “It’s infuriating.”
She gives me a sympathetic frown and reaches out to take my hand. “Trust me, I get it. You’re not alone.”
I didn’t know how much I needed to hear those words. We hold hands and sit quietly for a minute or two. The silence between us is comfortable, relaxed. It feels good to talk to someone who’s in a position similar to mine, who’s finding herself more and more in the public eye, and who’s being herself in a world that tells her not to.
The buzz of her phone getting a text breaks our moment. She looks at the screen and gasps. “Crap! I’ve got a press thing in ten minutes.” She looks up apologetically at me. “I’m really sorry, I gotta go.”
I shrug it off and smile, even though I’m secretly disappointed to end our lunch. “It’s cool. I should get back, too. I’m sure my manager is freaking out that I’m not there.”
We slide out of the booth and walk to the counter, asking for our food to go and splitting the bill between us. While we wait for the waitress, Alyssa leans back against the counter to face me. She seems so laid-back and casual, not anything like how I’m feeling. She stares right at me, her lips curved up slightly, her eyes lingering on mine. I glance at the register, chickening out of the intense staring contest we are having.
“Thanks for the advice,” I say, dragging my eyes back to hers.
“Anytime,” Alyssa says as she takes her change and starts walking toward the door. “Us girls need to help each other out, you know?”
“I couldn’t agree more.”
We walk side by side down the street, heading back to the convention center.
Alyssa shoots me a sideways glance and clears her throat. “So, are you making any vlogs while you’re here?” She slides her hands into her pockets.
“Yeah!” I have an idea and turn to look at her. “Hey, would you want to, maybe, do a collab?”
Her face lights up. “I’d love to! What do you have in mind?”
I think for a moment. “We could do a challenge, or a Q and A. They’re always fun.”
“Sweet!” she says. “How about I give you my number? Text me when you’re free, and I’ll make some time to meet up with you.”
“Yeah, cool,” I say, pulling out my phone. I’m trying so hard not to freak out or let my elation show.
We swap phone numbers and keep walking, pausing once we reach the staff entry.
“Cool,” she says, her eyes lingering on mine again.
“Well, I guess I’ll see you later.”
I wonder if we should hug or if that would be too weird. My phone starts ringing, saving me from having to figure it out. It’s Mandy.
Alyssa starts to walk away, waving and smiling. “See you later!”
“Bye!” I wave and then answer my phone. “Hey.”
“Charlie, where are you? The cosplay contest and promo party start in five minutes.”
“Oh, crap! I’m on my way.”
CHAPTER 7
TAYLOR
QUEENOFFIRESTONE:
I just need to vent for a second. I think the craziness of coming to SupaCon just hit me. But I’m okay.
I must seem so weird to the people in my life sometimes.
But whatever they see on the outside is nothing compared to how I see things from in here.
Everything is just so fucking intense. All the time. It’s like the brightness and sound is turned all the way up on the TV, and you can’t ever turn it down. And the anxiety is a constant hum, a buzzing in your body and mind that never stops. Sometimes it feels like I’m allergic to the world, like I’m allergic to my own species. Being here, it’s an assault on my senses.
But I’m okay.
I’m okay.
I have to be okay.
Anyway. Thanks for listening. Or reading, whatever.
I’ll try to post SupaCon stuff later.
“Look at all this Firestone swag!” I skip toward the stall and stop at the first table. It’s covered in Queen Firestone T-shirts, action figures, mugs, books, and jewelry. “I’m in heaven.”
Jamie stands by my side and points to a nearby set of shelves. “There’s even more over there.”
He gives me a sideways glance, and I pretend not to notice it. I hate when he worries about me; it makes me feel like a child. But it’s understandable, after my almost-meltdown back in the diner. He’s seen me like that before, plenty of times, but it still makes him uneasy. He’ll be treating me like a ticking bomb for the rest of the day. Unless I speak up.
“I’m fine, Jamie,” I say with a sigh.
My eyes are glued to a T-shirt with the original Firestone One book cover art on it. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
He turns to face me as I pick up the shirt, rubbing my thumbs over the soft material.
“You sure?”
I press my lips together and nod. “Yeah. I think the jet lag caught up with me. But I’m good now.”
His shoulders relax. “Good.”
I spot another table of awesome shirts and run over to it, only to find they’re all in men’s sizes. “Seriously? Why do guys get all the best T-shirts?” I pick one up and stare at it hungrily. “Screw it, I’m buying this. It’s mine.” It wouldn’t be the first time; most of my wardrobe consists of T-shirts and flannels from the boys’ section—it’s just what I feel most comfortable in.
Someone taps me on the shoulder, and I turn around to see another Queen Firestone cosplayer.
“Hi!” she says, smiling from ear to ear. “We’re gathering up all the Queen Firestones just over there.” She points down the aisle. “You wanna come with?”
“Um.” I peer through the crowd. Over a dozen cosplayers are huddling together, some in the Queen Firestone trench coat like me, and others in her suit of armor.
My first instinct is to say no, but I know I’ll regret it if I do. At the very least, it would make a great photo to share with the fandom on Tumblr. “Sure.”
She grins and grabs my hand, pulling me through the crowd. “I found another one!” She giggles when we reach the others.
They pull me into the middle of the group, all complimenting me on my cosplay and asking me where I bought the trench coat.
“I made it,” I say, feeling slightly overwhelmed.
“Seriously?” a suit of armor queen asks, her eyebrows raised so high they almost blend into h
er hairline. “Are you, like, a pro cosplayer?”
I laugh out loud. “No way! This is my first time cosplaying. I stayed up late every night for over a month watching how-to videos on YouTube and teaching myself to sew.”
I thought about buying one, but the ones I found online were too small to fit me comfortably, and the crown on the back wasn’t right, so I decided to make my own. I became so engrossed in it that some nights I sewed until sunrise without realizing, even forgetting to eat. Luckily my mum and sister were there to pull me out of my trance or I would have starved.
“That’s so rad!” another trench coat queen squeals. “It looks just like the real thing! It has the sigil on the back and everything!”
I beam with pride. “Thanks!”
“Okay, queens!” a voice shouts over the chatter. “Smile!”
I look up and see dozens of cameras pointed at us. People passing by have stopped to snap photos on their phones, and a few others look pro, holding big Canons complete with flash extensions.
This is what it must be like for Charlie: cameras and eyes on her so much of the time.
“Whoa!” I say through a smile as the flashes go off. “This is awesome!”
“So is this your first SupaCon?” asks the girl who dragged me over here.
“It’s my first any con.”
“Oh, wow! Where are you from? England?”
“Australia.”
Just then, a TV crew runs up to us. The reporter says something to one of the girls up front, and she nods excitedly. She turns to us and waves her arms around to get everyone’s attention. “Entertainment Now wants to film us!”
A chorus of screams erupts, and I join in on the excitement.
The cameraman points his lens at the front and then pans around our group. When the red light flashes my way, I put on my best smile.
The reporter stands in front of us and starts asking questions, moving her microphone from girl to girl.
My smile vanishes, and my chest starts to tighten.
She’s getting closer.
Any second now I’m going to be on television.
I listen to the questions she’s asking the other girls, trying to prepare my arsenal of answers so I don’t freeze up.
