by Danika Stone
“Well, your fandom is mostly online. It’s interaction-free. You don’t have to even know someone’s name.” He snorted. “I know my friends. In the physical world, I mean.”
“So you like to remind me.” Liv grumbled. She pulled the laptop toward her, but Xander grabbed hold of it before she could take it away, the two of them caught in an impromptu tug-of-war.
“Hey now!” Xander complained. “I’m not done with that!”
“Then be nice about my friends. I don’t troll your steampunk buddies.”
“True. You don’t. And I’ll play nice. Promise.”
Liv let go, and Xander slid the laptop to his side of the table. “It’s a very good manip, though. I look absolutely amazing!”
“And you’re oh so humble about it.” Liv laughed, her irritation fading.
“Thanks to you,” Xander said, nudging her with his elbow. “You were right about the captain’s jacket.”
“Told you so.”
For a few more seconds, Xander examined the screen. Liv expected this, like so many of their other projects, would be added to his acting portfolio. Suddenly he spun back toward Liv. He grabbed her arm.
“Why don’t you make yourself a costume? I’d help you!”
“A costume for what?”
“For whatever you want, Liv! There are cons all over the place.” Xander’s voice was breathy with excitement. “I’ll go with you!”
“I don’t know. I’m not one for dressing up.”
“But think how fun it would be!” He tapped Tekla’s image. “We could even go together. Dual cosplay, if you will. It’d be great!”
“Xander…” Liv groaned. “I don’t think—”
But Xander was already sizing her up. “Yes, yes. You could totally pull off her outfit. You have the bust…” Liv crossed her arms over her chest just as Xander reached for her booted foot. He pulled it up. “But her legs are longer than yours.” He waggled his eyebrows. “You’re built for comfort rather than speed.”
Liv kicked her foot away from him. “Stop it!” she hissed. “You’re embarrassing me.”
He laughed. “You really do have an amazing figure.”
“Enough!” She could feel the heat rising from her chest to her face.
Xander chuckled and leaned back in his chair. He waved away her words with an indolent gesture of dismissal. She never knew how he could pull off the whole “cosplay as a way of life”; just thinking about one day of dress-up terrified her.
“When I convince you to come to Dragon Con with me, I’m going to insist you try it.”
Liv purposefully ignored his suggestion. “You know there’s a bunch of people from the Starveil fandom going to Dragon Con this year. Apparently MRM’s making some big announcement.”
“And are you coming with the Spartan entourage?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Any chance I could change your mind? There’s even a parade, you know. We go right through downtown Atlanta. They film it and everything.” Xander grinned. “DC is a cosplayer’s paradise.”
Liv’s palms went sweaty at the mere thought. “I don’t really think that’s for me.”
“You don’t know unless you try,” Xander insisted. “It’s better than Comic-Con. The stars are much more accessible. And I have every intention of convincing you to come along.”
Liv snapped the laptop closed. “Coercing me, you mean.”
He smirked. “All a matter of opinion, dearest.”
“Sometimes,” she sighed, “I think you take the whole Byron thing way too seriously.”
“You’re the one who cast me as the Rebel.”
Liv smiled despite herself. “If the shoe fits.”
* * *
March disappeared.
April began.
The posts to the #SpartanSurvived tag grew. Liv and Xander made another vid, which made YouTube’s top ten video picks of the week. Rumors on several websites suggested that the Spartan Survived movement had drawn the attention of Hollywood itself, and Entertainment Nightly did a feature on the “grassroots movement” to bring back America’s favorite Rebel. In it, they interviewed Mike R. Miles, the creator of Starveil, about the fan movement, and he spoke of “reassessing fan interests” and “projects in the works.” As crazy as it sounded, Liv had to admit her death-defying enterprise was doing exactly what she wanted. People really were wondering if Spartan had survived. And if Liv ignored the last ten minutes of Starveil Five and just read fic, then she could convince herself he hadn’t really died.
She read Spartan. Vidded Spartan. Dreamed of Spartan.
If only, Liv thought morosely, my real life were as thrilling as my dreams.
Her crush on Granola Hank had grown worse, not better, over the last weeks. He looked so much like Spartan! She found herself arriving at class early, offering to work late on projects, her body thrumming with desire whenever he smiled at her.
“You need to ask him out,” Arden announced the afternoon she stopped by Liv’s house to pick Xander up after filming.
Liv jerked like she’d been burned. “Wait—what?”
“That guy in your socio class,” she said, flopping onto Liv’s bed. “The guy you like.”
Liv gave Xander a seething look. “You told Arden?!”
Xander paled until he matched his shirt. “I … I didn’t know it was a secret.”
“Why wouldn’t it be?!”
His eyes widened until there was a ring of white around the irises. “I—I’m sorry, Liv. I—I never—”
“So why haven’t you asked him out yet?” Arden said. Liv turned to discover she’d thrown herself across the pillows of Liv’s bed, making herself at home. “The longer you wait, the more likely someone else will snap him up,” she said. “There’s no time to waste.”
Liv had the sudden urge to scream. Arden had no right to meddle.
“I’m not even sure why you care,” Liv said.
“I care because I’m your friend,” she said in a hurt voice.
Liv wilted. Why was Arden always so goddamned nice to everyone?! It made it hard to hate her.
“It’s obvious you need to get out,” Arden said with a sympathetic smile. “C’mon, Liv. It can’t be fun being cooped up all the time. I’m worried about you. We both are.”
Liv glared at Xander, who was looking increasingly uneasy.
“We just want you to be happy, Liv,” he said.
Arden sat up. “The first step is to ask this guy out,” she said in a cheery voice. “You like him. He likes you. End of conversation.”
“But I can’t!”
“Why not?” Arden asked. “It’s not 1950. A girl can ask a guy out if she wants. I asked out Xander.”
Liv knew Arden meant well, but she hated the comparison to Arden’s picture-perfect social life: Arden, the sorority sister, fun-loving and outgoing, at ease in every situation, versus Liv’s overall dorkiness and lack of social graces.
“I know, it’s just…” Liv groaned. “It’s terrifying.”
Arden gave Liv a pained look. “I know this might be hard to hear,” she said gently, “but with all your worrying, you’re sabotaging yourself before you even begin. It’s a date you’re suggesting. Not marriage.”
“It’s not ‘just’ anything.”
“It is.”
For every argument she came up with, Arden had another. Eventually Liv was too tired to fight.
* * *
The cinema downtown was hosting a midnight showing of the first Starveil movie. It had been filmed more than a decade before, when Tom Grander was a fresh-faced unknown, and Mike R. Miles a washed-up television director. The dialogue was cheesy, the special effects second-rate. But it was the start of the empire, the beginning of the franchise. Besides, Liv rationalized, if she was to have any chance at all with Hank, he would have to know about her Starveil obsession.
It was a make-or-break proposition.
The day was sunny. A good sign, Liv decided, as she waited ou
tside the sociology classroom. She and most of the other students had exited the room, but she could see Hank next to their professor, his arms swinging as he argued animatedly about today’s topic. He was the physical embodiment of a Starveil AU. Liv’s chest tightened in response. Hank had no right to make her feel that way, but in the last few weeks, it was like her brain and hormones had parted ways.
From inside the classroom, Hank suddenly looked up. He gave her a brilliant smile as their eyes met. Liv’s knees went weak.
“Oh God,” she muttered. “I’m hopeless.”
But it was too late to run. Hank was walking right toward her. No, she thought, not walking … striding. Whereas Xander strolled through life, Hank walked with determination, as if he were about to start up a farm collective or carry an orphan baby to an inoculation station in another village. A smile insisted on resting on Liv’s mouth—spreading the closer Hank got—and as much as Liv fought it, she couldn’t make the expression go away.
“I thought you’d already gone,” Hank said.
Liv shifted from foot to foot. “No, I … I wanted to talk to you.”
“Is this about the notes I borrowed? I’ve got ’em in my bag. I can bring them back next class. Just need to copy them.”
“No, not that.” She swallowed with a dry mouth. “I … It’s something else.”
He nodded, his grin unchanged. “What then?”
“I was…” Liv cleared her throat. “I was wondering if…” She squeezed her eyes shut, focusing on the sounds caught in her throat. “I mean, I was trying to…” The words simply wouldn’t come.
She opened her eyes to find Hank watching her with an expression of concern. “Are you okay, Liv? You look like you’re gonna throw up.” He caught hold of her elbow, steering her to the side of the hallway. “Here. There’s a garbage can.”
“Nope. Fine,” she choked, pulling from his grip.
“Seriously, Liv. You look awful. You’re green.”
She gave a high-pitched laugh, forcing herself to smile, though it was really just a reflex, the way a dog did before it vomited. “No,” she squeaked. “I’m … I’m good. Had something caught in my throat.”
Hank smiled again. (Hank always smiled.)
“I, um … I was wondering…” she said. “That is, I was thinking … about you. Well, not about you exactly … but about…”
He tipped his head to the side.
“If you were, maybe … I don’t know—” Her gaze skittered to the door, where the next class’s students were arriving. “If you weren’t busy … that is … didn’t have anything happening…”
Suddenly Hank—who always had a smile on his face—frowned at her. It was the strangeness of the expression that pushed her to blurt it out.
“If you wanted to go out to a movie sometime,” she gasped. “Like … Like a date or something.”
The bomb dropped.
She waited, but Hank didn’t move. He stared at her for a long time. Liv felt like she was caught in a movie, and everyone else had switched into slow motion, but she hadn’t. She was certain at least thirty seconds passed before he blinked, like the film he was in had been on pause and he had abruptly caught up to her.
Hank smiled, but this time it was a different sort of smile. A weaker one. “Liv, I … I don’t know what to say.” He beamed down at her, but it wasn’t the toothy grin she knew. This was something else. Something that hurt the inside of her chest. “I’m flattered. Really, I am. But I have to say no.”
“What?” The word was the sound of someone kicked in the gut.
Hank’s smile faltered. “I can’t. I mean, I’d love to, if I didn’t have a girlfriend.” He winced. “And if I felt that way about you.”
Liv turned away from him. Her stomach roiled. The only possible way this situation could get worse was if she did throw up. “Oh my God.” She pushed past a gaggle of girls lingering outside the doorway and headed down the hall. She needed to get away!
“Liv, wait!”
She walked faster, vision tunneling down. Now she felt like she might pass out. Oh God, her mind screamed. What have I done?
“Liv?”
She couldn’t answer.
Hank jogged up next to her, keeping pace. “Please don’t get me wrong. I’m really flattered, Liv. I am and I—”
“You already said that,” she snapped.
“But I am. It’s just that I have a girlfriend. Hayley doesn’t live in Boulder, but we’ve been together since we were in high school. I couldn’t say yes and just—”
Liv came to a sudden stop. “I get it!”
Hank’s perma-smile faded to nothing. “I just wanted to explain. It’s me, not you. You’re a cool chick, and if I wasn’t with Hayley, then—”
“Oh my God, please stop!” Liv shouted. “Just stop talking! You’re making it worse!”
Hank’s face looked all wrong when he was sad. Like something had broken inside, and the parts she recognized weren’t working anymore.
“I’m trying to be cool, Liv,” he said quietly. “I want to stay friends with you.”
The hallway swam beneath a layer of unshed tears. “I want to die,” she croaked. “But thanks anyhow.”
She turned and sprinted down the corridor.
* * *
* * *
Liv and Xander sat in the theater, the room humming with excited chatter. Almost every seat was taken, a surprise for a decade-old rerelease. Liv squinted into the semidarkness. She recognized a couple of die-hard fans, people she’d seen standing in line for the Christmas Eve, midnight release of Starveil Five alongside her months earlier. Others were new, younger fans: middle schoolers who bounced in their seats like balloons about to release. The room was packed, and Liv wondered how much of that was due to the buzz over #SpartanSurvived. It was unbelievable what a difference three and a half months had wrought. She flashed to the moment when Spartan had died in the last film, her brow creasing in pain. It hardly felt like canon anymore, and that moment—sitting alone in the theater crying—felt like it had happened in another lifetime.
Xander slouched at Liv’s side, one leg thrown over the arm of the chair next to him.
“You’ll get kicked out of the theater if he sees you doing that again,” Liv said. Xander had already been warned by the exasperated theater attendant, but he’d put his feet back up as soon as the young man had walked back up the aisle.
“No, I won’t,” Xander drawled. “I’m Major Malloy. I’ve been spending months trying to bring Spartan back. I’ve earned more than one seat.”
“That only works if he recognizes you,” Liv said. “You look more like a fop to me.”
“Wrong century. I’m a flaneur, if anything.” He brushed his fingernails against his jacket. “I do like the sound of that, by the way.”
“Well, whatever you want to call yourself, your foot’s still on the seat. That’s a theater rule, and you’ve been warned.”
Xander waggled his fingers at her. “Ah, but the leader of the Rebellion doesn’t care about rules.” He glanced back at the crowd. “Besides, I like legroom.”
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
Liv’s smile faded as a group of young men entered, jostling one another as they headed up the aisle. “Just my luck,” she groaned, slumping until the back of her chair blocked the group of men from view.
Xander sat up, following her line of sight. “Is that the fabled Granola I’ve heard so much about?”
“No,” Liv sighed. “But they’re all his friends, and that means he’s probably here, too.” She slid down until her chin rested on her chest. “Dragnat all! This was a terrible idea.”
“No,” Xander said. “It’s not. And who cares if he sees you out? That’s good, right? You’re not pining for him. You’re moving on.” He slid his arm over her shoulders and winked. “Moving up, in my opinion.”
“Not helping,” Liv fumed. She refused to turn around to see where Hank’s friends had gone.
“M
y dear Liv,” Xander said in his best “Colin Firth trying to be rational” tone. “You’re worrying about this far too much.” His words were clipped, inflection decidedly upper-crust.
“I wouldn’t care,” Liv sighed, “except I thought he actually liked me.”
“And perhaps he did. A ‘no’ could have many reasons for it.”
“He didn’t like me, at least not in that way.” Liv took a surreptitious peek over the back of the seat. Hank’s friends were there, but there was no Spartan look-alike among them, no glowing smile. She turned back, catching Xander watching her. “I’m just one of the guys to Hank. I could have been anyone. You, even.”
Xander’s mouth twitched in amusement. “I’m sorry, dearest. You may be many things, but you are not one of the guys.”
“Yes, I am. That’s exactly how guys think of me. It’s my role.” She nodded to a passel of young women dressed in yoga pants and too-tight T-shirts. “I don’t know how to do that.”
“Good lord,” Xander said with a shudder. “Who’d want to? That’s about as unfeminine as I can imagine.”
Liv giggled.
“Your problem, dear, is that you trap yourself by overthinking.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
Xander’s lips curled mischievously. “You could become a Siren, luring men to their deaths.” He leaned forward. “I’d follow you onto the rocks.”
“Just so you could laugh when I drowned.”
“Pfft! Flirting’s like acting. Even fools get onstage.”
“But flirting depends on timing, and not sticking your foot in your mouth,” Liv argued. “I suck at it.”
“Rubbish!” Xander said in a sharp voice. He sat up, looking around the theater. “You’re overthinking again. Choose someone. Anyone here.”
“Wh-what?”
“Choose someone. Anyone in the theater. Right here and now.”
“I am not going to talk to them.”
“I know,” he said with a wink, “but I am. And I’ll show you what I mean.”
Liv peered up and down the aisles, catching sight of Hank’s friends. Xander snapped his fingers.
“Hurry up, Liv, the movie’s going to start. Wouldn’t want to miss Spartan, would I?”
It was his jibe that made her do it.
