2. Declan
DECLAN
Nineteen days until OA Con
The most critical event of my years-long propsmithing journey is coming up in less than three weeks, and I am nowhere near ready.
A fact that my best friend and cosplay partner, Hiro, has yet to grasp.
He’s all, it’s cool, we’ll get it done, while I’m over here burning an ulcer through my stomach lining just thinking about it.
I like to be prepared.
Something I was very much not when I received Grady Wells’s email last night.
An email from the most influential prop-maker in the Pacific Northwest. Nay, the country.
No, the world. The man is a legend, and I had the mind-blowing honor of assisting him in a crafting workshop during last year’s OA Con.
An honor I was thrilled to accept once again this year, the anticipation of working side by side with said legend buoying my every step. But then came the email:
Hey Declan,
Sorry to drop this on you at the last minute, but I’m double-booked.
They need me down in LA the weekend of OA Con.
I hate to cancel the workshop when it’s already filled up, so I checked with the convention, and they said it would be okay if you lead the workshop in my place, on the condition that you have at least one other qualified (take that with a grain of salt) person there to assist. All my local contacts are busy that weekend, so you’ll have to get one of your maker buddies to help out.
I know it’s A LOT to ask this close to the con, but I wouldn’t if I didn’t think you were up for the challenge.
Side note—I’ve got a big project coming up this summer, very hush-hush commission for a prominent cosplayer, and I could use an extra set of hands if you’re up for a collab. Will touch base after the workshop!
Thanks in advance,
Grady
Collaborating on a massive project with Grady Wells?
Heck. Yeah. Anyone would kill for a chance to work with him one-on-one.
He’s the ultimate prop mentor. But running a convention-level workshop is no easy task, and if things go badly, I can forget collabing anything.
He probably wouldn’t even ask me back as an assistant at next year’s OA Con.
Best not to think about that, though. Gotta stay focused.
“We’re gonna want plenty of extra foam, various thicknesses. And we’ll need enough hot glue guns that no one has to share. Oh, hey, did you ask about X-Acto knives? Is the convention going to let us bring them in, or do they expect us to have people chew through the foam like rats or something?”
I tap a nervous beat with the end of my pencil, running a hand through my mess of dark brown hair while I scan the notes scribbled in my journal. Cafeteria chatter fills the space around me, but I tune it out as I glance over at Hiro, his giant backpack wedged onto the bench between us.
“I think you’re getting a little ahead of yourself,” Hiro says around a mouthful of ham-and-Swiss sandwich. He swallows. “We haven’t even decided on what prop to make yet.”
“That does seem like a critical first step,” Bailey adds from her place across the table.
She leans into Zeke’s side, and he immediately wraps an arm around her, tugging her close before dropping a kiss on the top of her turquoise-streaked hair.
Honestly, the two of them are so cute together I could puke.
“Must we endure the endless PDA even at lunch?” I grimace. “People are trying to eat over here, you know.”
Zeke quirks a pierced brow, eyeing the untouched food on my tray.
“I was obviously referring to Hiro,” I grumble, picking at the grilled cheese lying cold and unappealing before me.
I seriously need to start packing my own lunches.
Although, that would probably require getting up more than fifteen minutes before leaving the house, so scratch that. Cafeteria food it is.
“Don’t stop on my account.” Hiro beams at our friends and lifts a carton of chocolate milk in their direction. “I find your open affection delightfully refreshing.”
I try not to gag.
I fail, miserably.
“Whatever, Mr. Props Are My Life,” Bailey scoffs, a teasing smirk dancing across her black-stained lips. “Just wait until you have a girlfriend someday. You are going to eat those words so hard.”
“Um, excuse me?” I tear off a section of sandwich and wave it at her face. “I’ve had girlfriends.”
“Girlfriends?” Zeke’s smirk is scarily similar to Bailey’s as the pair of them stare me down. “Or girl friends? Because I’m pretty sure the ladies from your mom’s book club don’t count.”
The hunk of blindingly orange cheese and soggy bread flies from my fingertips. Its intended destination: Zeke’s stupid face. Unsurprisingly, given my lack of athletic prowess, it veers wide and smacks straight into the passing brick wall that is Tyler Denning.
The Greek-god-in-training stops, his blue-eyed gaze swinging to meet mine as he plucks the greasy blob from the shoulder of his lacrosse jersey. I cringe at the oily mark it leaves behind.
I am so dead.
“Sorry. I, um, was aiming for him.” I nod at Zeke while summoning my best apologetic grimace. Mentally, I begin flagging my possible exit routes should I need to make a break for it. Lo and behold, however, the golden boy jock merely laughs and tosses the offending sandwich glob onto my tray.
“No worries. Might wanna work on your aim, though.” He does that universal dude bro chin up gesture that popular guys are always giving each other before sauntering off without another word.
No threats to my life, no complaints about his soiled clothing.
Dude couldn’t have been more chill if he tried.
“Now that”—Bailey jabs a fry in his direction—“is a class act. Bet he doesn’t get weirded out by his friends’ extremely mild PDA.”
I frown, even as I silently agree with her. “Of course he doesn’t. He’s too busy juggling his own PDAs.”
“Actually, I’m pretty sure he’s single,” Hiro interjects, plucking the now-infamous piece of grilled cheese off my tray and holding it up. “You gonna eat this?”
“Gross, dude. No.”
He shrugs and tosses it in his mouth.
I shudder. Apparently, all of my friends are out to make me nauseous today.
“Word on the street is he has his eye on someone, but they’ve yet to make it official,” Hiro continues, and something about the way he looks at me when he says this has the hair on the back of my neck prickling to attention.
Like he’s watching to see how I’ll react.
But why would I care who Golden Boy likes?
Bailey leans across the table, brows waggling. “Ooh, spill the tea, Hiro. Who among us has finally managed to snag the elusive, golden unicorn?”
“Okay, starting to get a little jealous here,” Zeke mutters, but Bailey shushes him, her focus never leaving Hiro’s face. Which is still turned toward me. Guarded. Calculating.
My chest tightens, and suddenly I really want him to just keep his mouth shut. Not to stir the pot. Don’t say it, don’t say it, don’t say it…
His mouth opens, but I can barely hear him over the rush of wind in my ears. It doesn’t matter. I can read the name as clearly as if it was announced over the PA system. It falls from his lips, settling in my stomach like a stone.
Ava Aimes.
Beautiful, laughing Ava Aimes, pink streaks dancing through her blonde waves as she swings beside me.
Her freckled face lifted to the sun, lips curved in an infectious smile.
A smile that melts into tears when the scene changes, the tiny playground growing dark and rainy.
Her hair plastered to a pale, drawn face.
Lip trembling as she twists the green-and-pink woven bracelet that matches the one hanging around my own wrist.
I’m sorry, Declan, but I… I can’t be your friend anymore.
Nine years of friendship flushed down the toilet with a simple I can’t be your friend anymore.
I taught that girl how to make fart noises with her armpit, for crying out loud. I deserved better than that. Surely it wasn’t all one-sided…
Was it?
“Dec?” Someone touches my shoulder, and I snap back to the present to find my friends staring at me with mixed degrees of concern. Hiro drops his hand, but his rounded face remains sympathetic. “You okay?”
I blink, wishing I could slap myself without being obvious.
What the hell is wrong with me? I couldn’t care less who Ava goes out with.
I mean, we’ve barely even looked at each other over the past five years.
Her love life is of zero consequence. I paste a look of indifference on my face. “Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
My friends exchange silent glances, and a spike of irritation shoots through my system. It grows stronger when Bailey bites her lip and says, “Well, you know. Because… Ava.”
My eyes narrow. “And?”
She lifts her shoulders in a helpless shrug and shoots Hiro a help me look.
I slide my glare his way, hackles rising.
Hiro and I were friends long before the whole Declan-Ava upset at the end of sixth grade.
He witnessed the fallout firsthand. But he should also know it’s all in the past. Deep, deep in the past.
Hiro tugs at the ties of his gray I Speak Fluent Broadway hoodie, a surefire tell that he’s nervous. “It’s just”—he peeks up at me, then back at his tray—“you watch her sometimes. When you think no one’s looking.”
For the love of foam, do my friends all think I’m… I’m… pining after Ava?
A glance around the table is the only confirmation I need before a wave of humiliation comes crashing over me.
How pathetic do they think I am? It’s been five years.
No one’s stupid enough to cling to a one-sided crush for that long, especially after the other person literally tells you they never want to see you again.
Maybe not in so many words, but the point was made.
A laugh scrapes my throat, scornful and tinged with a bitterness that burns my tongue.
“The only reason I would ever look at Ava Aimes is for the pure ridiculousness of seeing a duck acting like a swan. She thinks she’s God’s gift to high school or something, but in reality she’s just another empty shell trying to fit in with a crowd of lemmings.
Honestly, it’s kind of sad to watch. She’s… ”
The rant I was gearing up for fizzles out into confusion at the wide-eyed looks and subtle head shakes that Bailey and Zeke are giving me from across the table. Again, the hairs on my neck stand up, and a sinking sensation creeps over me when I turn, almost robotically, to look behind me.
Straight into the hurt-filled eyes of Ava Aimes.
As if this day couldn’t get any worse.