“I’m not avoiding her, really. It’s … complicated.” Vanessa sighed. “Okay, so here’s the thing. She’s not just my roommate. She’s kind of … she’s my girlfriend. Except we only met in real life for the first time yesterday. And things have been so crazy since we got here that we haven’t really gotten to hang out at all, just the two of us. So we were going to go to the pool tonight and start planning our project for the end of the con and, you know, have some alone time. But then these random people started fangirling all over her, and they invited us to dinner, and she went, and I … didn’t.”
I blinked at her. “You’re dating, but you only met each other for the first time yesterday? Is that even a thing?”
A defensive look came over her face. “Of course it’s a thing. We’ve been together for four months.”
“And you’ve seriously never seen her in person before?”
“She lives in New York. I live here. We have school, and plane tickets are expensive. It’s not like we can just take off and visit each other all the time.” She looked down at her shoes again. “Plus, it’s romantic.”
“Okay, but … your girlfriend, who met you for the first time yesterday and only has a few days to spend with you, ditched you to hang out with total strangers?”
Vanessa squirmed. “No, it’s not like that. She didn’t ditch me; she wanted me to come, too. I just didn’t feel like it. So technically, I guess it was me who ditched her? But the point is, those other girls were gonna buy her dinner and spend all night flailing about her writing, and how can you turn that down?”
“No offense, but I’d be pissed if someone did that to me. If you didn’t want to go, she should’ve stayed with you.”
“I don’t really blame her,” Vanessa said, like she was trying to convince herself. “She’s just not used to everyone paying this much attention to her in real life. So she’s basking in it because it’s new and exciting, you know? I’d probably do the same thing if people started treating me like I was J. K. Rowling.”
“No,” I said. “I’ve known you, like, five minutes, and I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t.”
“I dunno. Maybe not.” She toyed with her rubber Hufflepuff bracelet, printed with two badgers and the words JUST AND LOYAL.
We were both quiet for a minute, and then I said, “Okay, I know it’s not really my business, but … you’re sure you guys are actually dating, right? Not just internet-dating?”
Vanessa looked up at me again. “It’s the same thing. Dating is dating.”
“Well, it’s not really the same. And leaving you alone in a hotel doesn’t really sound like something a girlfriend would do. Has she acted more normal the rest of the time you’ve been here? Like, holding your hand and kissing you and introducing you to people as her girlfriend?”
“Not yet,” Vanessa said. “But like I said, we’ve been in crowds basically every second since we got here. And she’s pretty private about her relationship stuff. She’s not going to start making out with me in front of a million people, you know? Hence the need for alone time.”
“Doesn’t sharing a hotel room count?” I asked. “Or are you sharing with other people, too?”
“No, it’s just us,” Vanessa said, going a little pink. “But I think she hasn’t been in the mood to start anything yet.”
“So why don’t you start something? What do you have to lose?”
Vanessa shook her head. “No. No way. That’s not … I’m not … I don’t do that. It’d be too—I dunno. But if either of us is gonna do anything, it’ll be Soleil.”
This was getting weirder by the second. “Her name is Soleil?”
“Yeah.”
“Like Cirque du Soleil?”
“No, it’s French for ‘sun.’ It’s pretty.” Vanessa cleared her throat and straightened up. “Hey, I told you why my day sucks. How about it’s your turn now?”
“We need more chips if I’m going to think about that,” I said. I dug around in the bottom of my purse until I found a few loose coins and got up to put them in the machine.
“I’m really going to owe you,” Vanessa said as I sat back down and pulled the bag open.
“Who says I’m sharing this time?” She reached over and took a chip without asking, then smiled at me with bright orange teeth. I smiled back. “Sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to pry into your business or anything.”
“It’s okay. But seriously, what happened to you? I mean, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to, obviously. But if you do, I can listen.”
As if on cue, my phone buzzed with another text from my dad. Where are you???
I thunked my head against the vending machine, and it made such a satisfying sound that I did it again. “My dad is being a total dictator, and when I asked for help from this guy Jeremy, who’s literally my only friend here, he totally blew me off.”
Vanessa took another chip. “That sucks. What’s he being a dictator about?”
“Long story short, I offered to help Jeremy with something really quick when I was supposed to be doing something else for my dad, so he got mad and yelled at me right in front of Jeremy and all these random strangers, which was awesome for my self-esteem, let me tell you. And then instead of just sucking it up, I asked Jeremy to talk to my dad for me because he never listens to anything I say. And Jeremy was basically like, ‘No, dude, I’m not getting involved in your family crap, deal with it yourself. Oh, look at the time, gotta go hang out with some dead ducks, see you never.’”
“Oof,” Vanessa said. “I’m sorry.”
“Thanks.” I scrubbed at my eyes with the heels of my hands. “Ugh, my dad’s still waiting for me downstairs at the trade show, and I just cannot with him right now. I’m sick of getting snapped at when I didn’t even do anything wrong. I wish I could just go home. Or hide out at your con. The hosts of A Thousand Words are doing this live show tomorrow morning, and it’s my favorite podcast of all time, but I’m going to be stuck in a seminar about stuffing weasels instead of learning about the thing I actually want to do with my life.”
“You want to make podcasts?” Vanessa asked. “That’s so cool.”
“Something in radio, yeah. I know it’s dorky.”
“It’s not dorky. I love podcasts. Night Vale and Thrilling Adventure Hour and The Heart, especially. What’s A Thousand Words? I’ve never heard of that one.”
“It’s basically a storytelling podcast. There are these two hosts, Anica and Rafael, and every week they pick a question—something really vague, like, ‘What are you worried about right now?’ or ‘What’s the last thing that made you laugh?’—and then they go around and collect stories from strangers. And when they chop them up and edit them together, they end up making a totally different story, and it’s just … really cool.”
“Nice. I’ll check it out.” Vanessa took the last chip and crunched it slowly. “What if you ditched your dad tomorrow and went to the podcast thing instead?”
“That would be awesome, but I really shouldn’t. He’s pissed enough at me already. And isn’t your con really strict about checking badges?”
“Yeah, but …” Vanessa reached up and pulled her badge over her head. The yellow lanyard got caught in her ponytail, and the buttons she’d pinned to it—We Need Diverse Books and Ovaries Before Brovaries and #yayhamlet—clanked together as she struggled to untangle herself. When she finally managed to pull it free, she held it out to me. “You can borrow this, if you want.”
I blinked at her. “Seriously?”
“Yeah. There’s some stuff I want to go to in the afternoon, but you can have it for the morning. I kind of want an excuse to lie low tomorrow anyway.”
The workshop was only an hour and a half. My dad would be in sessions all morning; it wasn’t like he’d need me for anything. I could just say I was going to a class in a different room, and as long as I met up with him afterward and spouted some taxidermy facts, he’d never know the difference. The family bonding I was hoping fo
r clearly wasn’t going to happen, and neither was the fun hangout time with Jeremy. Maybe I deserved to do this one thing for myself to make coming all the way to Orlando worth it.
“You would give me your badge?” I asked Vanessa. “Fifteen minutes ago, you didn’t even know me.”
She shrugged. “I know you now.”
And the thing was? I kind of felt like she did.
We didn’t even rank in the competition. There were a total of thirty-four schools, and they only announced the top ten percussion ensembles at the awards ceremony. By the time the announcer got to sixth place, everyone from Ridgewood knew we didn’t have a shot.
In a completely non-shocking turn of events, Bishop won.
Mr. Mackey got the full results after the ceremony. “Twelfth,” he told us, in what was probably supposed to be an encouraging tone. “Still in the top third. Not bad, all things considered.”
I flinched when he looked at me, even though I knew he meant it in a positive way. After all, if I hadn’t used the scalpels, the xylophone feature would’ve been missing entirely, and we would’ve ranked way lower than twelfth.
Still. Watching all the Bishop kids scream and hug when they won wasn’t exactly the best feeling.
I was trying to get myself into at least a semi-decent mood for that night. Devon had brought his Xbox, and Mr. Mackey had given us permission to order pizza and hang out in Devon and Nick’s room until the curfew at eleven. (And we all knew if we could convince Mackey to sit in on “one more game” when he came to break up the party, we could easily push curfew till at least midnight. The guy was a Halo fanatic.)
But when we walked out of the last clinic of the evening—a killer tabla session with this guy from Mumbai—the snare solo results had been posted.
We joined dozens of kids from other schools crowded around the list. A few seconds later, everyone was high-fiving Jorge and clapping him on the back. He’d won, of course. Scott had gotten fourth. Devon was sixth.
I was eighth.
Two rankings lower than last year. Only one above Nick, who was a freshman. And four below Scott.
I congratulated Jorge and hung back a little from the group. After a minute, Brian and Christina joined me.
“Still really good, out of twenty-one,” Brian said. I gave him a withering look, and he laughed a little. We both knew it was crap. Christina’s sympathetic smile vanished, and she glared at someone behind me.
I glanced over my shoulder as Scott walked up, and automatically shoved my hands in my pockets. “Nice job,” I told him.
“You too.”
I snorted. “Yeah, not really.”
He gave me a smile that was part teasing, part pity. “Hey, eighth’s pretty badass for someone with shredded hands.”
I tried to smile back, but I could do without the placating. In fact, I kind of wanted him to be an aardvark about it so my anger would still be justified.
Which was stupid. There wasn’t any point in being angry, really. Scott had been thoughtless, swiping the timpani mallets. But it wasn’t like he put the scalpels in my hands. I wasn’t sure what I was so pissed about anymore, to be honest. All I knew was I didn’t want to hang out with anyone right now.
“I’m gonna call my mom before the pizza gets here,” I told Brian. “Save me a few slices if I’m late, all right?”
“Yeah, all right.” Brian studied me. “You sure you’re okay?”
Scott rolled his eyes. “No, she’s devastated. You know what a crier Phoebe is.”
Brian and I laughed, while Christina shook her head. No one ever saw me cry. Not when I dislocated my kneecap during band camp freshman year, not when I tripped during a halftime show and my drum went rolling across the field in front of the whole stadium, not when my little brother Neil’s evil hamster bit a chunk out of my arm. I never cried in front of anyone. Especially not in front of the guys.
I pulled out my phone and waved as Brian-and-Christina headed over to the hotel, but Scott hung back.
“You’ll definitely come up later, right?” he asked, nudging my elbow.
“Yeah …?” I looked at him questioningly, because he had this weird little smile on his face. “What?”
“Nothing!” His mouth shifted back to its regular smirk. “Just want to make sure you aren’t using those cuts as an excuse to stop me kicking your butt at Halo.”
“You wish.” I faked a grin back at him before turning and heading to the exit, phone to my ear.
But I didn’t call my mom. I’d definitely have to sometime tonight; my parents would have lots of questions about how both competitions went. I just didn’t feel like pretending to be okay with it at the moment. Once I saw Scott step into the elevator, I did a 180, opened the recording app on my phone, and started wandering the conference center, getting audio of anything and everything.
No sexed-up toddlers in sight, to my relief. I found two girls sitting cross-legged outside of the closed IPAC exhibition hall and recorded one playing a cool little thumb piano called an mbira. I walked around C-wing and captured about a minute of a burly, leather-jacketed dude talking about how to remove the scent glands from a dead skunk. Then I decided to check out the fan con in A-wing.
I was looking down at my phone as I walked, labeling my audio clips, when someone up ahead yelled: “Todd, hurry up!”
A guy wearing a gaudy Christmas sweater and what was obviously a fake mustache burst out of one of the bigger ballrooms, some sort of trophy hanging at his side. I could hear the excited chatter of a huge crowd coming from inside. A second later, a tall, thin guy strutted out, looking quite pleased with himself. He seemed familiar, but it took me a few seconds to place him. His longish dark hair was gelled and curled, and he was wearing a suit. A very, very tight suit. I gawked shamelessly.
Undies-Snape cleaned up good.
Judging from the look on his face, the shorter guy with the trophy clearly agreed. I wondered if he was the cotton-ball-twinkly-lights person from last night. No tackling now, though—he took Todd’s hand, and they set off together down the hall, fingers interlaced. I watched them go, because … well, like I said. That suit was seriously tight.
The ballroom doors flew open again, and more costumed people poured out. I pressed myself against the wall, flipping my recorder app on. I already knew what I’d be labeling this audio clip. Awesome Geek Parade.
I recognized some of the costumes, like the woman in the flowery dress and sweater-vest pushing the food trolley from the Hogwarts Express, and the guy walking around with a giant Azkaban HAVE YOU SEEN THIS WIZARD? poster framing his face. But there were a bunch of costumes I didn’t get at all. Like the dozen or so girls all carrying flashing silver pen-thingies, but wearing different, distinct outfits: one had a long, rainbow-striped scarf, one had a trench coat, and one looked like a magician with a cape. Another had a bow tie, and she winked at me as she straightened it.
I got some pretty hilarious audio clips, too. “I got shafted!” ranted one guy, pushing off the hood of his black cape. “I’m a freaking Ringwraith, how could they not see it?” Then there was the bearded dude in battle armor, wielding both a sword and a trophy and arguing with his friend: “But I’m not Ned Stark, I’m Boromir!”
As the last of the crazy fan parade filed through the doors, my eyes fell on one costume in particular. Conservative green coat and skirt, fur stole, giant red purse. Oily black hair, stuffed bird perched on her hat.
“Boggart Snape!” I exclaimed. “Oh my god, best costume ever.”
Boggart Snape was deep in conversation with Professors Trelawney and McGonagall, but she glanced up at the sound of my voice. Then she smiled and waved.
“Hey, thanks!” she called.
McGonagall nudged her. “See? Told you! The judges are morons.”
“Eh, I guess,” Boggart Snape said with a shrug as they continued down the hall. “I still think it’s this dumb bluebird, you know?”
“Yeah, but where’re you gonna find an actual vulture?” I h
eard Trelawney say right before they rounded the corner.
Snickering, I trailed behind them all the way back to the elevators in the hotel lobby. Bluebird aside, that costume was seriously cool. I thought about taking a picture of her to show Christina but figured that’d be a pretty creepy thing to do. Although maybe if I asked her …
But just as I opened my mouth to call after them, the elevator doors slid open and Scott stepped out.
“Hey!” I said. “What are you doing down here?”
“Looking for you,” he said. “I’ve got something for your hands.”
“Ah.” Well, there went my alone time. “What about Halo?”
He shrugged, following me back onto the elevator. “No fun without you.”
My neck suddenly felt warm, which was annoying. Scott could get flirty every once in a while, but it didn’t mean anything. My brain knew that by now, but the rest of me sometimes responded to it against my will. “Is Mackey playing yet?”
“Not yet,” Scott said, punching the button for the sixth floor. “We’ll sucker him into it when he tries to pull curfew.”
I smiled. “Yeah.”
The elevator was empty, but our shoulders kept bumping together the whole way up. As soon as we stepped into the hall, I could hear the sounds of Halo 5 coming from Devon and Nick’s room. But Scott led me into the room next to it. I pointed questioningly at the Do Not Disturb sign, and he shrugged.
“Brian put it there this morning. He got all paranoid about that missing bag and spread the other mallets out to count them, and he didn’t want housekeeping moving anything.”
“Ah.” I closed the door behind me and wrinkled my nose. “Whoa. Smells like coffee. Coffee and … something else.” Something sickly sweet.
“Oh yeah, Jorge made some last night.” Scott pointed to the pot on the little shelf next to one of the beds, which was filled to the top with alarmingly black liquid. “He used the bag from Devon’s room, too, so it’d be extra-caffeinated. Oh, and Mountain Dew instead of water.”
“Why?”
“We were going to stay up all night, but we fell asleep before it finished brewing.”
The Pros of Cons Page 9
