22. Declan
DECLAN
Three days until OA Con
Everything is prepped and packed to go for Saturday.
Two massive, wheeled chests are filled to capacity with pre-cut foam dagger pieces, markers, rulers, utility knives, and enough hot glue to erect a small building.
I have decorative envelopes stuffed with take-home patterns, crafting stickers, and business cards directing them to subscribe to my YouTube channel.
The final paint touch-ups for Jenni’s staff are drying as we speak.
I’m ready. So why does it feel like something’s missing?
Ava’s not here.
There’s no reason for her to come over now. The project is done. Aside from running the actual workshop on Saturday, our partnership is, for all intents and purposes, finished. Our partnership, sure, but we’re friends again. It’s not like we won’t hang out after OA Con.
My brain, at least, can still think rationally.
My body, however, is wound tighter than a saucer swing. I can’t seem to stop fidgeting. If it wasn’t past eight already, I’d take my energy out on my drum kit, but my parents have strict rules about late night playing. As in, don’t even think about it.
I push away from my computer desk, too anxious to properly get into Valheim, and hop onto my bed, rolling over the faded, blue plaid comforter to grab my cell phone off its charging pad. Nothing succeeds in distracting me like a little doomscrolling.
First though, I check to make sure I haven’t missed a text from Ava.
Just in case.
My chest deflates when it’s still on the corny joke I sent during lunch when I didn’t see her in the cafeteria. No response.
That’s fine. Toooootally fine.
I mean, it’s not like we shared a somewhat intense experience yesterday or anything.
Or fell asleep in each others’ arms. Okay, that last bit might be a stretch, but still.
Why hasn’t she texted me back? And where was she at lunch?
Now that I think about it, I’m not sure I saw Tyler in the cafeteria either.
Were they together? Are they together? First they’re prom dates.
Next thing you know, they’re getting matching tattoos and applying to all the same colleges.
Stop. Spiraling. Girls like guys who are confident, not anxious little hamsters who freak out over literally nothing. Now focus. Doomscrolling. Go.
I force myself to close the text thread and switch to socials instead, starting with my favorite prop makers and going from there.
A few of them have links to new build videos that look promising, but I’m not in the mood, so I bookmark them for later and move on to scrolling the OA Con hashtag.
The excitement I find there is contagious, and I settle back into my pillows while I let the convention anticipation wash everything else away.
SoraSews: A million hand-stitched sequins later, and Mayura is finally ready for #OACON!
AxelProps: Hot glue roll call: show me those battle wounds. #OACON
TheRealKeanuReeves4Real: NO. SLEEP. TILL #OACON!!!!
GregorTheMighty64: If you don’t see me at #OACON on Friday, I’ve collapsed under a pile of unfinished space armor. Send help. And tacos.
My stomach rumbles at the mention of tacos, and I consider making the trek upstairs and raiding the kitchen for snacks. But then my gaze snags on an all-too-familiar handle, and hunger quickly takes a backseat to dread.
Archer Aimes (verified): Guess who’s filling in for @HannahFoley at #OACON this weekend? I’ll give you a hint: It’s me. ;)
No. No, no, no.
This is not happening.
Archer is going to be at OA Con?
No. Absolutely not.
I fire off a text to Hiro, the need to scream about this to someone—anyone—overwhelming my senses.
Me: Dude. Ava’s dad is gonna be at OA Con?!! Have you heard anything about this?
I practically leap off my bed and into my computer chair. Phone scrolling no longer suffices. I need the big guns for this internet search. I pull up the convention’s website, toggle over to the Special Guests page, scroll down.
Fracking toasters. It’s true. His big, stupid face grins back at me from the screen, complete with his trademark disheveled hair (blond, like Ava’s) and icy blue eyes.
I click on the link to his appearances, praying that he’s at least scheduled for Friday or Sunday.
But of course, that’s a pipe dream. Saturday, Main Stage, 2 p.m. Fracking gorram toasters.
My phone pings with an incoming text from Hiro.
Hiro: Duuuuuude. That SUCKS.
Me: Seriously.
Hiro: Have you told her yet?
My fingers freeze over the keypad, uncertainty sweating bullets down my spine.
There’s no way Ava is going to miss this.
Not that Archer would deign to walk around the con unattended, but she’s bound to see his name on the signage.
Or someone at the workshop will mention the upcoming panel.
I mean, as much as I hate to admit it, he’s kind of a big deal in the anime universe.
The sheer amount of popular characters he’s voiced is mind-blowing.
Add in his charming facade, and the fans go absolutely nuts over him.
Hiding his presence is a non-option. Heck, he might even mention it to her himself.
She’s going to find out, and she’s not going to be happy about it.
But do I tell her myself, now? Give her an out to avoid seeing him in the exact type of setting that led to his infidelity?
If I do, and she opts to skip the workshop, I’ll be screwed.
The powers that be were extremely clear about the two-person minimum.
Whether or not I can handle running the workshop on my own is moot—if it’s just me, they’ll cancel the entire thing.
And if they cancel the workshop, Grady may very well change his mind about doing a summer collab with me. I mean, why would he, if I can’t even manage the one thing he asked of me? If I lose this opportunity, who knows when I’ll ever get another one?
No Ava equals disaster.
But not telling Ava…
That’d be more than a disaster—it’d be a betrayal. So I guess there’s really no question after all. I’ve gotta do it. Preferably face-to-face, given her recent panic attack. The last thing I want is for her to take off alone on some kind of night run.
Me: Not yet, but I will. Tonight.
Hiro: Just don’t get distracted and flake out on her like you did me the other day. My mom is still mad that you never showed up to dinner. Her dumplings got cold from waiting.
I grimace. Note to self: hold off on going to Hiro’s for a while.
Me: Sorry again!
I swipe over to Ava’s and my text thread.
Me: Hey. You busy? There’s something I need to talk to you about.
I expect to wait awhile, but those three little dots pop up almost immediately.
Ava: I need to tell you something too. Meet at the park in five minutes?
My hands vibrate with nerves, the expediency of her response and the less-than-awesome news I’m now honor-bound to share wreaking havoc on my ability to type words. The number of times I rewrite sounds good before it stops getting autocorrected to song goose is embarrassingly high.
I take a hot second to refresh my deodorant and check my teeth for food before grabbing the closest hoodie and heading for the sliding glass doors separating my split-level basement room from the backyard.
It isn’t until I slip it on over my T-shirt that I realize it’s my shop hoodie, i.e.
the most worn and fraying article of clothing in my wardrobe.
On the plus side, it’s actually clean, so I opt to leave it on, and jog around to the front.
Six houses up the street, a shadowy figure slips through the streetlight’s soft glow and crosses to the playground. Heads straight for the swings.
I hesitate, both eager to join her and not at all ready to be the bearer of bad news. Eventually my legs move, propelling me up the walk. Ava waves when she sees me, her feet kicking off the wood chips in a gentle motion. I wave back, holding my greeting until I’m seated on the neighboring swing.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” The tips of her shoes skim through the cedar chips, slowing her to a halt, and my heart kicks when I take in the light pink Vans—the perfect complement to the green pair I have shoved in a box beneath my bed.
Too small to wear, too special to throw away.
My heart speeds even faster at the sight of a green-and-pink bracelet dangling from her wrist. Not a replacement, but the original.
She still has it.
My mouth is a desert. A stark contrast to the swamps that are my palms.
“So I talked to Tyler today.”
Tyler? Who’s Tyler?
“And while I’m still planning to go to prom with him on Saturday, I made absolutely sure he knows it’s just as friends.”
There’s a pause. I attempt to form some kind of coherent response, while all I can think about is the fact that she not only kept the bracelet I made for her all those years ago, she’s wearing it. That means something. It has to mean something.
“Why?” The question comes out blunt, and I scramble to smooth it out. “I mean, um, that’s good. Good communication is, uh… good.”
Her lips twitch into a tiny smile. “Definitely.”
My heart pounds so loud I’m one hundred percent sure she can hear it. Heck, the entire neighborhood is probably wondering what all the racket’s about. “How did he take it?” Who cares how he took it? She said it.
“Pretty much the same way he takes everything, completely in stride.” She lets out a rueful laugh. “I actually felt kind of embarrassed for thinking there was air to clear in the first place, but I wanted to be sure before…”
I swallow, knee shifting closer to hers. “Before…?”
It’s her turn to lean closer, and an electric shock races up my leg where we touch. Never mind that we’re both wearing jeans, sitting on separate swings. That tiny point of contact is still enough to knock the wind out of me.
Ava’s cheeks pink, and I almost fall backward off the swing when she looks me straight in the eyes and bites that lip of hers. And then she’s standing up, moving in front of me. Hands wrapping around mine where they grip the chains. She leans in, bending slightly.
My head tilts back, angling toward hers like a flower reaching for the sun.
Her breath hitches. “Before I do this.”
The earth ceases to spin, the playground melting away before my eyes.
There is nothing but me and Ava and the whisper soft feel of her lips brushing mine.
It’s over before I can so much as blink, and yet I know I’ll never be the same again.
Not now that I know the sheer perfection which is Ava’s mouth.
Her hands slip free of mine as she begins to straighten, but I catch them before she can move away, unfolding myself from the swing until she’s the one looking up at me. I tug her closer, reaching up to thread my fingers behind her head, thumb brushing her ear.
Her chest rises, lips parting.
I cup the other side of her head, and her arms move around me, fists gripping the back of my hoodie. And for one, long moment we just stand there, holding each other in place. This place where so many of our memories were crafted.
Where knees were scraped and bonds were formed.
Where laughter chased us up ladders and followed us down slides.
Where tears were shed, and tender hearts broken.
“Ava, I…” I swallow, throat tight with the enormity of it all. The words fail to form, but it doesn’t matter, because Ava and I have never needed them.
Our lips meet, mouths crashing together in a desperate need to make up for lost time.
It’s the single greatest moment of my life.
One that lingers with me well after we come up for air, flushed and breathless with nervous laughter. It plays on a loop when we finally say goodnight, reluctantly going our separate ways. It simmers beneath my skin while I shower and dress for bed.
It isn’t until the lights are off, and I close my eyes, that I remember my reason for going in the first place. My stomach sinks. I never told her about her dad.
First thing tomorrow, I promise myself, and then I’m back, reminiscing about a kiss over ten years in the making. And so worth the wait.