Chapter 17 I’m a gosh darn hero.
I’m a gosh darn hero.
Sean
THE DRIVE TO Ojai and back was uneventful.
It’s probably a good thing Josie didn’t come with me.
Putting aside the unethicalness of bringing an innocent to a clandestine exchange of illegal cosplay accessories, I don’t think I would’ve been able to contain my excitement, and then she would’ve really thought I was a weirdo.
Still, I wish she’d at least wanted to come.
She showed up at the restaurant, so why didn’t she want to come with me on the drive?
Was it something I said? Something I did?
I thought about pulling her aside at work this week to ask but didn’t want it to look like I cared that much, especially after I saw the translation of her interview with Hugo Valencia.
I know by now that Josie makes crap up pretty much on a minute-by-minute basis, but it felt pretty personal when she said she’d ditched me for a guy she liked better.
Truth or lie, the overall sentiment is the same: she’s not interested.
And if she’s not interested, I’m not interested.
The house is quiet. Rory’s gone home for the evening. I punch in the code on the lock to my cosplay room and step inside, letting the glory of this place wash over me. I set my phone to shuffle the Hamilton soundtrack. There. The stage is set.
The hatbox awaits me. With gentle fingertips, I remove the lid and relocate my treasure to the workbench.
God, it’s gorgeous. I click on a gooseneck lamp, stifling a sneeze at the smell of dust particles burning on the incandescent bulb as I inspect the hat and pick off a microscopic shred of lint. It’s perfect.
More than perfect. It’s epic.
I place it on my head and turn to the mirrored wall, straightening my spine and assuming my most presidential stance.
Christopher Jackson wore this hat for a whole year, and I get to wear it on my head.
My head! The feeling is indescribable. Like time traveling.
Like crossing the Delaware into paradise. Like falling in love.
I know I shouldn’t have bid on it. It was reckless and dumb and dangerous. I should’ve just let it disappear into the seedy underbelly of the performing arts theft world forever.
Oh, but then what kind of a monster would I be?
My phone dings with a message. It’s Siobhan giving me the time and place for the family meeting with two agenda items—number one, Seamus, and number two, Da’s sixty-fifth birthday party.
I remove the hat and set it onto an empty wig head.
It doesn’t feel right to have something so special closed up in a box.
Frankly, as good as it makes me feel to have it here in my collection, I need to turn it over to the authorities before they discover I have it—there was a news story about the ongoing search just this morning.
Of course, I’m not the one who stole it, just the unfortunate buyer.
If Seamus knew about the hat, would he turn me in?
I’d like to think blood is thicker than water, but who knows?
He was pretty mad about me taking over the role of Captain Footwork.
And that’s not the first time I’ve stolen his spotlight.
In high school, he had the lead role in Oklahoma!
—Curly—but he came down with the flu on closing night.
I was his understudy, so I stepped in. Brought down the house.
That was the first time I realized how good I was at the acting thing. And Da, well, he was so proud. He’d never responded that way to one of Seamus’s performances. It felt good but also… wrong. Seamus was the elder brother. He was supposed to be better than me.
My brother punished me mercilessly for months after that show.
Anytime I celebrated my success, he shut me down.
He went out of his way to belittle and humiliate me.
Stupid, crybaby, weirdo, wanker. It wasn’t that different from Da’s complaints about me—that I was too sensitive, that I needed to control my feelings.
“Man up, Seanny Boy,” Da said when our cat died.
“It’s not that funny,” he’d scold me when I’d get in a giggling fit over something that caught my fancy. “Settle down.”
“Seamus will get over it,” Mam had soothed as we sewed together, me in tears because the brother I loved so much had turned on me.
I still wonder if my auditioning for Captain Footwork after Seamus got let go was an act of revenge. An unbottling of the anger that somehow got inside me without me knowing it. But it must be some weird kind of anger because I never felt angry. I still don’t.
Truth is, I don’t know what I feel.
I sigh. The hat’s probably not worth the risk.
Besides, I’ve already gotten to enjoy it for a week.
Took a bunch of photos. I haven’t had a chance to cosplay it in public yet—damn shame, that—but life is full of disappointments.
There’s a nonemergency police line. I’ll look it up and call right now.
I reach for my phone, gaze still locked on my prize, but for some reason, my hand stops in midair, does a one-eighty, and retracts, smoothing the facial hair around my mouth instead.
You know what? Fear is a terrible motivator for decision-making. This room has a lock. All I have to do is use it. Besides, I saved this hat from disappearing forever. I’m a gosh darn hero. Soon, it’ll be back where it belongs, in a storage unit in New York City, unseen and unappreciated.
Soon. Just not right away.
My phone dings again. I get ready to swipe the notification of Siobhan’s text away and see instead that it’s Jason Connor inviting me to their game night. I always say no, but this time my ring finger hesitates over the reply field.
If I go, I might get to see Josie. I’m pretty sure she attends those nerdfests.
My heart does a little flip-flop remembering the feel of her in my arms as we danced. The George Washington hat with its jaunty bow and five-star-general energy seems to be urging me on.
“Should I do it?” I ask the hat. It doesn’t reply, so I answer for it. “Of course you should.”
I type yes but stop before hitting SEND.
What am I doing? I’ve let the excitement of the moment rule the day.
I can’t go to game night with Josie. I like her too much.
I thought about her the whole drive to Ojai.
I sang my entire playlist to her, pretending she was there in the car with me. That’s not normal.
Settle down, Seanny Boy.
If I go to game night to see her when she doesn’t want to see me, it’s akin to stalking her, and that would make me as bad as Seamus.
I swipe a quick, rude reply telling Jason I don’t want to go to his dorky game night. He replies back immediately.
Jason: Dude, please come. I have something really important to ask you.
Sean: Then ask me right now.
Jason: It’s too important to ask over text. Plus, it would mean a lot to Emmy.
I groan. But at least it gives me an excuse. If Josie asks me why I’m there, I can truthfully say that Snack begged me to come. It’s not my fault he’s a needy little chump.
Sean: Fine, I’ll come.
Jason: Great. See you at seven.
I stare at the screen. Then I start a text asking Jason if he thinks Josie will be there. I erase it and try again. Each attempt feels more forced and pushy than the last. Finally, I shove the phone away. Either she’ll be there or she won’t.
And why should I care either way?