by Jen Wilde
“What’s this?” I ask.
She gives me a cheeky grin and winks. “Dinner.”
Someone calls out Alyssa’s name, and she tells me she’ll be right back. When she returns, she’s carrying two pizzas.
I dip my head back and laugh. “We’re having pizza?”
She laughs. “You seem surprised.”
“Not surprised. I just wasn’t expecting all this; an arcade all to ourselves,” I say.
She lowers an eyebrow. “But you like it, right?”
I nod enthusiastically. “Yes! Of course, yes. No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”
“I’ve never done anything like this for anyone before,” she says, seeming a little surprised herself.
We sit down on the blanket. Alyssa puts her hand out on the blanket, and I take it. She gives me an apprehensive smile, and I squeeze her hand. “This is the most awesome date in the history of the universe.”
“This looks so good,” Alyssa says as she flips open the pizza boxes. “I didn’t know what you liked, so I ordered one cheese and one pepperoni.”
“Yum! I love pepperoni.”
We dig in, and I watch her as I chew. I can’t believe I’m here, on this incredible date with her.
She notices me staring and wipes the corner of her mouth self-consciously. “Do I have sauce on me?”
I smile. “No. You’re fine.”
“What is it?”
I swallow and put the slice of pizza back on my plate. “I just can’t believe I’m here with you.”
“Why is it so hard to believe?”
I think for a beat. “You’re just so … cool.”
She laughs like I said something hilarious. “Trust me, I’m not. Maybe the characters I’ve played have been cool. But in real life, I’m a huge nerd.”
I lean in and whisper. “Haven’t you heard? Nerds are cool now.”
She chuckles. “I guess my high school didn’t get that memo. You should have seen me. I had no friends. I spent all my time in the library reading comic books, or in the science labs talking to the teachers. I was so shy I could hardly speak to other students. I’ve never once felt cool in my life. Except for maybe right now.”
“Hey,” I say. “I happen to think hanging out in libraries and science labs is very cool.”
I try to picture this fun, confident, secure woman as a shy, insecure teen, and I just can’t. “Were you really too shy to talk to people?”
She nods. “Painfully shy. I just didn’t think people would like me, so I hid away whenever I could.”
“How did you get here?” I gesture to where we are. “I mean, you don’t seem shy or insecure at all.”
She smiles, but her gaze falls to her lap. “I’m still shy. I just work harder to overcome it now.” She clears her throat and locks eyes with me. “I’ve learned that I’m worthy of holding my head high and feeling good about myself. And I don’t really care what other people think anymore.” Her lips press into a hard line, and suddenly she looks to be a million miles away.
“Can I tell you something?” she asks.
“Anything.”
“Remember that ex I was telling you about? The one from college?”
I nod.
“I don’t really tell anyone this because it always makes me emotional, but here goes. Me and her—her name was Julia—I didn’t expect it to be anything serious. We lived in the same dorm building and started fooling around. I’d been out for a while, but she was still sorting out some stuff so she wanted to keep our relationship secret. I loved her, so I went along with it. I just wanted her to be happy, and she always said she’d be ready to be more open soon. But after being together for a year and a half, she’d hardly even look at me in public, let alone hold my hand. It messed with my head, the weird back and forth we had. When we were alone, she adored me. But the moment we left my room, it was different.”
She puts her slice of pizza down, and sensing the story is about to take a turn, I do the same. “Then a casting director who’d seen my videos asked me to audition for a movie, and I got the role. But I had to go to LA to shoot it. I asked her to come with me; she said no. I asked if she would visit me; she said no. I asked if I could come back and visit her; she said no. She thought people would get suspicious. That’s when I realized that she was never going to be comfortable with me. In her mind, we were doing something wrong. She cared more about what others would think than she ever cared about me. So I left.”
Alyssa pulls her knees up to her chest and clears her throat. “About a year ago, a mutual friend of ours died in a car accident. I went to the funeral, and Julia was there. It’d been so long; I just wanted to talk to her, see how she was. But when I walked over to her and said hello, she pretended she didn’t even know me. That hurt. Then I met her girlfriend. She was so different from me. I sat there in the church, staring at the back of her head, trying to figure out what she had that I didn’t. Trying to make excuses for Julia, to understand why she would want to hide me for so long, but then be so open with her new girlfriend. I started to ask myself if maybe it was just … me. It hit me then that no one who knows and loves Julia will ever know that she once knew and loved me. I left before the service was over, got back in my car, and cried all the way home.”
Somehow, Alyssa says all that with only a few stray tears. I, on the other hand, am a blubbering mess.
She wipes her cheeks and gives me a sad smile. “That’s when I realized I don’t want to get to the end of my life and discover I spent all of it hiding who I really am. All that time I spent mentally bashing myself and hiding away, I could have used to do things that made me happy or to be with people who loved me and weren’t afraid of it. So now, I try to focus on the parts of me and the parts of my life that I love, and not take anything for granted. Life’s just too damn short, you know?”
I blink away the tears and nod.
She clears her throat again. “Still think I’m cool?”
I smirk. “The coolest.”
I take in the sights all around us. “Look at this. Right now, we’re eating pizza in an arcade at SupaCon. This isn’t just cool. This is legendary.” I pick up my slice of pizza and lift it to my mouth. “I never want this to end.”
When I glance up, mouth full of pizza, she’s looking at me with a half smile. “Neither do I.”
CHAPTER 23
TAYLOR
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Jamie says.
I’m resting my head on his chest, and he’s stroking my hair while we watch a rerun of Supernatural.
“Much better,” I say, stifling a yawn. “Now that the chaos has settled.”
“Chaos is what killed the dinosaurs, darling,” he says in his surprisingly good Christian Slater voice.
I sit up and lean against the headboard. “Heathers.”
I glance down at him, then back at the TV, and smile.
He sits up next to me. “What?”
“Nothing.” I smile again.
He raises an eyebrow. “Are you fantasizing about Destiel right now?”
“Hey, don’t knock Destiel.” I laugh. “Okay, I was just thinking. I’ve never been able to tell you this before, but seeing as things are … changing: you’re pretty cool.”
He narrows his eyes. “Are you mocking me?”
“No! I’m totally serious. I mean, you’ve read all the Firestone books almost as many times as I have. You have an epic collection of Star Wars T-shirts. You watch Supernatural. You’re an awesome photographer. Not to mention a pretty fucking stellar tomato-sauce hunter. And you just quoted Heathers.”
He lets out a throaty laugh. “Yeah. If you’re into the whole pop-culture-addicted-superdork thing”—he points to himself with his thumbs and gives me a cheesy smile—“I’m your guy.”
I elbow him in the ribs. “Shut up! I’m serious.”
He runs his fingers down my arm. “Well, thank you. I think you’re pretty cool, too. You’ve read the Firestone b
ooks even more times than I have. You kick ass at Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon. You watched all the Paranormal Activity movies with me even though they gave you nightmares. And when I try to flirt with you, it takes approximately 1.2 seconds for your cheeks to turn pink.”
I feel my cheeks heat up, and he laughs. “See? Just 1.2 seconds.”
Embarrassed, I change the subject. “Shh! I think Dean is about to do something awesome.”
“Dean is always about to do something awesome.”
“Exactly.”
A smile spreads across my face, and I lean back against him to watch the TV. He rests his chin on the top of my head, and I fall asleep in his arms, feeling safe with him, with us.
* * *
The next morning, I walk up the steps to the back of the stage, adjusting my trench coat self-consciously. I pause to tug my jeans up a little and make sure my cosplay is on point. As I do, I hear two voices from the other side of the stage, somewhere in the shadows behind the curtain.
“That girl who forgot to stand on the star is here,” one whispers. She must think I can’t hear her.
“Oh, yeah, I was so embarrassed for her,” a second voice replies.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and pretend I can’t hear them.
“She won’t win,” the first voice whispers. “She’s not good enough to be queen.”
“What do you mean? Her trench coat is, like, straight out of canon.”
“Yeah, but look at her. She’s not Queen Firestone. She’s Queen Fatstone.”
My heart stops. I stand as still as a statue.
The other girl gasps, unamused. “That’s mean. I can’t believe you said that.”
I hear footsteps and see the second girl walking away, out of the shadows. I really want to get closer and see the first girl’s face, tell her that she’s a cruel person who needs to wake up. But I don’t. I know I could never get the words out. I run back down the stairs and into the nearest bathroom. Locking myself in a cubicle, I pull out my phone again, open up the Tumblr app, and start typing.
QUEENOFFIRESTONE:
To the girl who just called me Queen Fatstone …
You said I won’t win this contest because I’m not good enough.
I know I wouldn’t be able to say any of this to your face. The words would get stuck. So I’m writing it here.
Maybe you or someone out there will see this and think twice before you make an offhand comment about a body that belongs to someone else.
Fat. Chubby. Curvy. Overweight. Plus-size. Whatever you want to call it.
Those words don’t have to be insults.
I’m not offended by the word “fat,” even though you said it like it was the worst thing ever.
I don’t care what some random person thinks about my body.
I like my body.
But it’s not the most interesting part of me.
If you judge me based on the way I’m shaped, then you miss out on how awesome I am.
And I am awesome.
I love wearing my Queen Firestone cosplay.
I feel strong in it.
I feel powerful.
I feel beautiful.
Your fleeting superficial judgment won’t change that.
My body is healthy.
My heart is beating.
My lungs are strong.
And right now my blood is boiling.
I guess it’s not so much what you said that makes me angry; it’s that you thought it was okay to make comments about my body at all.
It pisses me off that the world thinks my body is my most important quality.
And that everything else about me is somehow secondary, or measured against my appearance like some sort of gauge for worthiness.
Fuck that shit.
To the girl who hid in the shadows and tried to body-shame me, I’m sorry you thought that was a good use of your time and energy.
I hope you find happiness within yourself.
You deserve that.
We all do.
And if you do find that happiness, I hope no one ever tries to take it away from you.
No one deserves that.
I want to write more, but I hear someone walk into the bathroom. I sit quietly as she enters the stall next to me and promptly bursts into tears. I quickly hit POST and close the app before opening the door. The crying turns into shallow, choking breaths. She’s hyperventilating. She’s panicking. I hesitate, standing near her door and wondering if I should say something.
“Um,” I sputter. “Are … are you okay?”
“Taylor?” she whimpers.
“Brianna?”
I hear a click followed by a creak, and the door opens. Brianna is standing there in her Queen Firestone cosplay, her eyes red and cheeks wet from tears. She steps out with open arms and wraps them around me, resting her head on my shoulder and crying so hard her whole body shakes. At first I’m surprised that she feels comfortable enough to openly weep in my arms—we hardly know each other.
Then I put my arms around her and ask, “What happened?”
My first thought goes to the mean girl backstage, and I hope she didn’t say anything hurtful to Brianna.
“That’s the thing,” she says. “Nothing happened. I just started to feel … really … nervous. And then … I … couldn’t … breathe.”
I nod. “Have you ever had a panic attack before?”
“Never.”
“Okay. I think that might be what this is.”
She pulls her head and shoulders back, her eyes wide with surprise. “What? Really?”
“Maybe.”
Her expression changes from one of surprise to sheer horror, and she begins to wail. “Oh no!”
She rests her head on my shoulder again, and I rub her back like my mum always does when I’m panicking.
“It’s nothing to be ashamed of,” I say. “I’ve had plenty of panic attacks. I’ll help you through it.”
For some reason, I’m strangely calm. I reach an arm out and hold the cubicle door open. “Here, sit down.”
She sits down on the toilet seat, sucking in loud, halting breaths between the tears. I tear off a chunk of toilet paper and hand it to her. I wait, knowing that all I can do is just be here for her. After a few minutes, her breathing starts to slow down.
“I don’t think I can go out there,” she whispers. “I can’t do it. I’m going to drop out of the contest.”
I crouch down in front of her and look her in the eyes. “It’s totally up to you. But let’s not make any decisions yet. Right now, the contest doesn’t matter. It doesn’t even exist, okay?”
“Okay.”
I give her a slight smile. “When I start to panic, I do this counting thing that seems to help. You wanna try it?”
She nods, and her honey-blond fringe bobs up and down over her red, puffy eyes.
“Okay, we’re gonna focus on breathing. Try not to think, just concentrate on breathing. Take a deep breath in through your nose, and I’ll count.”
She lifts her chest, sucking in air through her nose, and I start. “One … two … three … four … five. And breathe out slowly through your mouth.”
She does, and I count to five again. We repeat this a few more times until her tears have stopped and her breathing has relaxed. Brianna like this, so vulnerable and fragile, seems so different from the girl I met the day before. Yesterday, Brianna had a few nerves, but overall she was confident, cheery, outgoing. Hell, she strutted along the stage, twirled, and took a bow. And now she’s sitting on a toilet, having a panic attack, and crying to a virtual stranger. I find it hard to reconcile these two different sides of the same girl, and I wonder if my idea of what it looks like to be confident has been wrong this whole time. Or maybe it’s not confidence that I need to rethink, but people.
Maybe it’s not just me.
Maybe everyone is just as on edge as I am.
Maybe they just know how to hide it better—not just from others, but from th
emselves.
“How do you feel?” I ask, placing a hand on her knee.
She nods. “Better. A bit tired, but better.”
“Do you need anything? Maybe some water?”
“No, I think I’m fine.” She takes in another deep breath. “I’m fine.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
She bites the nail of her index finger and nods uncertainly. “I just really want to win this, you know? Skyler is my life. But I’m really scared about answering those trivia questions … out there in front of all those people.” She shivers. “When I was a kid, I used to have a stutter. It was only small, but it was enough for the other kids to tease me about it.” Her eyes open wider, like she’s scared. “I thought I was over it. I thought it didn’t really have an effect on me.” Tears fill her eyes again. “But I guess it did.”
I rub her knee. I want to comfort her, to say something that will make all her pain go away, but I can’t think of the right words. I wonder if I should tell her about all the times I was bullied at school. Maybe it will help her feel less alone. Or maybe it will sound like I’m just trying to make this about me.
I decide to stay quiet.
“I’m so sorry for dumping this on you,” she says, sniffing.
I shake my head. “Dude, it’s fine. I know exactly how you’re feeling right now. I’m terrified of going out there, too. In fact, yesterday, when you first came up to me backstage, I was about to leave.”
She frowns. “You were?”
“Yep. But then you said you were nervous, too, and that we could be nervous together. That really helped me, Brianna. I would have left and never known if I could have made it through.”
She smiles. “Well, I’m glad you stayed.”
“Me too.”
She chews lightly on her bottom lip, contemplating something. “I think I’m ready to go back out there now,” she says with a nervous smile.
I stand up and hold out a hand for her. “You’ve got this, Brianna. Besides, we can be nervous wrecks together, right?”
She laughs. “You got it.” Her arms wrap around me again, and I squeeze her close. “Thanks, Taylor. You’re my hero.”
That feels nice to hear. I don’t think I’ve ever been someone’s hero before. When we go back out into the contest hall, the seats are filled, and the contestants are walking onto the stage. We run up the stairs, take our numbers, and join them just as the lights turn on.
