Chapter Eleven
Chapter
Eleven
Mona has outdone herself this year—and I’m far from the only person to notice.
Wide-eyed and blushing furiously, a kid encouraged by her smiling guardian shuffles up to Mona and asks, “Please, can I take a picture with you? Your cosplay is amazing.”
Mona obliges with a happy grin, and I admire her costume again as she poses for the photo.
Mona’s blond hair is caught up in a bouncy ponytail, and her hot pink lipstick, sparkly blue eye shadow, and thick mascara scream Barbie.
But her outfit comprises dozens of pieces of pink foam armor, complete with a heart-shaped chestplate and a short, flirty warrior’s kilt.
Even her four-foot-long fake axe is a glittery pink, and as the preteen stands next to her for their pic, Mona offers to let her hold it.
The entire outfit is spectacular. Barb-arian, she calls it.
“Like I said, best one yet,” I say as Mona returns to my side, practically glowing from all the attention.
Mona and I have been coming to ComicConnecticut without fail every year since we were kids, save for when she was in the hospital and during the pandemic.
Dad had started the tradition—of course he had—back when the convention was just a jumble of tables in a single large reception room.
It’s grown exponentially since then, with dozens of panel chambers and a sprawling convention floor crowded with actors signing autographs, artists, booths for various games and publishers, and more.
And ever since Mona caught sight of her first cosplay, she hasn’t stopped creating her own.
“Where to next?” she asks.
I pull up the con’s map on my phone. I occasionally cosplay when the mood strikes, but I didn’t prep anything this year. Not to mention, I’m here to make an important introduction, and I want to be dressed as myself when I do it.
“Well, I have plans to meet—”
“Holy shit, Pickles is here?” Mona gasps. She snatches my phone from my hand and squints at the list of artists. “Oh my god, she’s so niche, I didn’t even know she did conventions! We have to go find her.”
“Pickles? Who’s that?” Mona’s way more plugged in than I am.
“She’s an online creator I follow, draws for all sorts of fandoms. Can we go?” Mona is literally bouncing on her toes. I have no idea where she found the pink faux fur for her knee-high boots to complete the look, but it’s holding up well in the wake of her restlessness.
I retrieve my phone and glance back down to the map. “There’s a booth I want to check out first, and they’re closing soon. I’ll meet up with you later?”
Mona is already walking away. “Yeah!”
I huff a laugh through my nose and look back up to survey the convention floor.
This area—the Dealer’s Room—houses mostly local and popular vendors who are here to sell merch.
But they have a few tables set up to publicize other nerdy events happening throughout the year, including an anime convention, a horror-themed con, a cosplay contest, and, early next year in Boston… NEWT.
I wind through the maze of tables, passing a merchant selling wigs, a child wearing a light-up Transformers costume, the entirety of the Lord of the Rings fellowship walking in a linked line down the aisle, and a crowded stall with buyers looking through collections of Magic: The Gathering cards.
The cards remind me of Colin, and I briefly wonder where the others have run off to.
I hadn’t wanted to invite everyone, not with things still so freshly awkward after my outburst last week, but Mona convinced me that this might be a good opportunity to smooth things over.
I bite the inside of my cheek at the irony as I wander the booths alone, thinking about how well that went.
We’d parted ways almost as quickly as we’d met up.
Arthur and Shay had a long list of panels and presentations they wanted to attend, while Colin planned to camp out in the gaming room and crush every competitor who dared challenge him in Magic.
Mona and I ran off on our own, content to people-watch and engage with whatever caught our eye first—it’s how we’ve always done it.
I haven’t seen Wesley at all. Colin mentioned he wouldn’t be coming until later, but I’m not counting down the minutes.
Lately, being near him has been…confusing.
The moment of understanding we shared at East Rock Park really mixed things up for me, and the way he opened up the story in our last D it’s my first time.” Technically, I’ve already registered online, but I figured stopping by the booth to introduce myself and check things out couldn’t hurt.
His expression brightens. “That’s awesome. What kind of games do you make?”
“Video games.” I’ve toyed with a few ideas for board games and other tabletops, but my skill set is better suited for video games.
“Hell yeah, me, too,” he says. I glance to his name tag, which reads Jace.
He passes me a sheet of paper crowded with text about submission guidelines, a QR code included for more info.
“All you need to know is here. Submissions close on the last day of January, and we host our showcase and awards at the festival in March. Is this the first game you’ve made? ”
I shake my head. “Just the first I’m entering.” I look up at Jace, whose expression is open and friendly. He’s obviously familiar with this space; he might…
I clear my throat. “I made After Dark, and Witching Hour?”
His brows jump high on his forehead. “You’re Witch Riley?” he asks, nearly hiccuping over the name I publish my games under. “No way,” he says with a laugh. “I loved After Dark. My friends and I were obsessed with it, though we could only play during the day—got too scared at night!”
I smile. “That’s how my sister has to play it, too.”
“Wow, it’s so great to meet you. I can’t wait to see what you submit.”
“Nice to meet you, too, Jace. I’m—”
Before I can say my real name, someone beats me to it.
“Reagan.” The voice comes from behind me, its tone thick with amusement and edged with self-assured satisfaction. I’d recognize it anywhere.
Wesley.
He approaches with his hands dipped into the pockets of his jeans, teeth flashing in that familiar crooked grin.
“We have got to stop meeting like this,” I warn, and it sounds like a threat. Hell, maybe it is. At this point, I’m starting to wonder whether he’s following me.
With Wesley all smiles and me trying to burn two holes into his skull with my laser-like gaze, Jace shifts uncomfortably in the rapid change of atmosphere. He offers up a hesitant smile. “Is this your partner?”
“No,” I snap, too harshly. “I work alone. I’m in the solo dev contest.”
Wesley’s eyes sparkle. I want to pluck them out of his head. “How funny,” he drawls. “So am I.”
My field of vision narrows until the only thing I can see is Wesley’s fucking dimple, and the chatter around me dulls beneath the ringing in my ears.
I have a new project I’m working on, he’d said.
I should have known.
Jace casts an uneasy sidelong glance toward me before launching into his pitch for Wesley’s benefit. I grip the info sheet so tightly at my side that the paper begins to crease.
I try to calm my shaking hands, try to loosen my jaw where it’s locked tight. My chest feels like it’s on fire, and it takes a concentrated effort to keep my breathing even. What pisses me off, though, is the realization that I’m not angry at all.
I’m excited.
Wesley and I both know this battlefield like the backs of our hands. I can’t think of a better motivator than wanting to crush him to dust. It’s not wholly spite that has driven me to compete with him in the past. It’s the fact that I know he’s good—but I can be better.
“Well,” Wesley murmurs, turning away from the booth and looking down at me with a rude coy smirk. “I’ve got my work cut out for me, don’t I?”
I’m grinning back; I can’t help it.
“You have no idea.”
I can’t wait to tell Mona. She’ll get such a kick out of this, and I know she’ll do everything she can to help me get the game ready by the end of January. I’ve done maybe five laps around the Artist’s Alley looking for her before I finally get her text.
Mona:
omg shay and i want to go to the dungeons & drag queens panel
i’ll meet you at dinner?
I text back, sure!!, though the double exclamation points look more chipper than I feel.
I can’t help but deflate a little as I pause to look around.
I’d left Wesley in the dust as quickly as I could.
He’d looked like he wanted to talk more about the competition, but the second Jace had distracted him with a question about his game dev experience, I turned on my heel and disappeared into the crowd.
Now I frown, my fingers tight around my phone, regretting letting all of my friends run off without me.
Friends? I think. Is that what we’re calling them now? Even him?