I BOLT AROUND the corner, shoving up my Batman mask and sliding down the wall before the elevator doors even shut. Okay, breathe in, hold it, breathe out. Repeat. This shouldn’t be so hard. Wait. Do I hold it for one beat? Two? Three? Oh god, now it just feels like I’m drowning.
pullittogetherpullittogetherpullittogether
A cute girl dressed as my favorite comic character should not have this effect on me, but.
breathebreathebreathebreathebreathe
It used to be I could tell the difference between excitement and anxiety. It used to be I could handle crowds and small talk. It used to be a lot of things . . . but now it’s not.
I take another gasping breath, replaying the moments in my head. The way her cheeks turned pink when she told me to keep the feather twisted me up in interesting, not terrible, ways. And yet.
And yet.
I dig my fingers into the carpet and stare up at the ceiling, trying to ground myself before this panic attack spins too far out of control, but seriously, fuck this. Fuck being seventeen and wired so wrong that a person smiling at you can spin you into heart failure.
A door clicks open and a couple—drunk and sloppy like the rest of the casino crowd—steps out. I slide my mask down and shove myself through the door to the stairwell across from me, a welcome escape from their questioning looks.
It’s one flight down to the dance or eleven up to my room, but I start to climb anyway, wishing there was a delete button in my brain. I don’t know why I opened my mouth at all. So yeah, I should go. To my room. And probably never come out. Because reasons. But I still have this feather and—
My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out, sighing when I see Gray’s name pop up.
“Ridley, where are you?” she asks. It’s nearly impossible to hear her over the background noise.
“In a stairwell,” I say.
“For good reasons or bad reasons?”
“Are there good reasons?”
“Yes. Come to the ballroom and I’ll tell you all about the time I made out with your favorite superhero in the stairwell at RICC.”
“Never happened,” I snort.
“Okay, fine, it was his stunt double. On the escalator. Still counts.”
I laugh; I can’t help it. Two seconds ago I couldn’t breathe, and now I’m laughing. Gray is magic like that.
“Are you trying to make me meet you or run away faster?” I ask, but I’ve already started trotting back down the stairs.
“Ha ha, baby bro,” she says. “Seriously, get down here. I can only cover for you for so long.”
I let out a long breath. “I’m on my way,” I say before hanging up.
There aren’t many things that could get me to change directions when my head is like this. In fact, there’s only one—Grayson Nicole Everlasting, Gray to me, heir apparent to the family business, the golden child to my black sheep, and the best big sister I could ever ask for. Not that I’d admit that last part. She’s got a big enough head as it is.
I hit the bottom of the stairs, and Gray texts again to make sure I’m coming, the buzzing phone equal parts accusation and encouragement. I drag the heavy door open, focusing on the pinch of the mask’s elastic strap behind my ears and the prick of the feather in my hand to keep from freaking out even more. The sound of slot machines and the smell of cigarettes waft through the air, and I try not to cough.
My parents don’t usually bring me along to this stuff, since I kind of suck at being social, something that seems to frustrate my dad on a cellular level. But once a year, FabCon comes around, and with The Geekery being its biggest sponsor, my dad insists our presence is required. So Mom and I fly in from the Seattle house and he drives over from Connecticut with Gray, and we all fake being a happy little family for seventy-two torturous hours.
I skirt around the edge of the casino floor on my way to the convention center, holding my breath, with a smile pasted on my face. Mom spent the whole plane ride reminding me to hold it together in front of her Very Important Friends and to not piss off my father, so that is THE GOAL. All caps. Because I would give anything for this fake family reunion to be real, for just once my dad’s hand on my shoulder to not pinch.
I take a long, deep breath when I finally cross into the no-smoking area—god, I hate cigarettes—and come to a stop in the hallway outside of FabCon prom, undoubtedly the most ridiculous part of this whole weekend.
There’s a giant banner on the wall with my family’s logo under the words PROUDLY SPONSORED BY written in the biggest letters imaginable. I don’t know whether to tear it down or high-five it. Everything my father does is big, bigger than big, like a superhero from one of his favorite books. You kind of have to respect it.
“Ridley!” my sister calls, leaning over the railing the bouncer put up. She’s dressed like—I don’t even know. Poison Ivy, I think, but with a masquerade mask, I guess. Not like I’m in any position to judge. What did that other girl call me? Office Batman? Cool, cool, cool.
“Get in here before Allison tells Dad you were late,” she says, frantically waving me over. She’s right, but I roll my eyes anyway.
Allison Silverlake is Dad’s assistant, spy, and latest hookup. Like it’s not even a secret; he literally moved her into the Connecticut house with him. When my mom heard the news, she just raised an eyebrow and said, “Really, Mark,” mildly exasperated, like he had called to tell her he got a speeding ticket or forgot the milk or something. I assumed finding out your husband of twenty years was shacking up with his mistress in your old family home would warrant a bigger reaction, but nah. That’s not how my supremely fucked-up family rolls.
I squeeze the feather tighter between my fingers and start to head inside, but the bouncer, a big burly guy with a shaved head, puts his leg out, blocking me from getting in. “You got a ticket, kid?”
I reach into my pocket to pull out my lanyard, which says THE GEEKERY STAFF, EVENT SPONSOR in big block letters, but before I can show him, my sister reaches across his leg and grabs my arm.
“He’s with me, Jake.”
The bouncer drops his leg with a big smile because Gray always has that effect on people. “You all have a good night,” he calls after us.
“Doubtful,” I grumble, which makes her punch me in the shoulder as she pulls me through the crowd. Everybody thinks Gray is this perfect lady, but for the record, she is not. I mean, around other people, sure, but I’ve wrestled her over a slice of pizza before and that girl leaves bruises.
“Hey, Bats,” someone calls out, and I whip my head around just in time to see the girl in the peacock dress walk by with her friend.
I want to say hi back, but hi seems too simple now that she’s upped the ante by assigning a nickname.
thinkthinkthinkthinkthink
Calling her Mora like the character seems so formal. But what do I say? “Hey, bird girl”? Nope. “Hey, Peacock . . . Lady”? Nah. “Hey—” But the moment’s passed, and she’s still walking, and the tightness is back in my chest, and my sister is holding my wrist, which helps, but it also probably looks like she’s my date. I shake my hand free, even though the loss makes my heart rate spike back up.
“Who was that?” Gray asks, stepping behind a long table. She shoves an armful of T-shirts and glow sticks at me, all adorned with THE GEEKERY in big letters, as if she expects me to go through the crowd like a proper host and hand them out. I raise my eyebrows right as the music kicks up a notch, the DJ jumping around to try to get the crowd pumped up. I can’t believe how many kids are here, 150 at least, and this room isn’t even that big.
Gray flashes me an apologetic look. “You’re probably not up to handing those out, right? You doing okay, though?”
“Well, I haven’t jumped off any houses lately, so.”
“Not funny,” she says, taking everything back and pulling the feather loose along with it. Gray picks it up, examining it in the purple and blue lights. “What’s this?”
“Nothing,” I say, snatching it from her and smoothing it into a slightly wrinkled version of its former glory.
She taps her chin, narrowing her eyes. “This wouldn’t have anything to do with a certain peacock that’s strutting around tonight, would it?”
“No,” I say, dropping into my seat.
“Okay, great. Because I think the way you were stroking that feather just now was weirding her out.”
I shove my hands under the table and scan the crowd.
She ruffles my hair. “Relax, Ridley. I’m messing with you.”
“Ha, good one,” I deadpan.
“I’m just saying, if you’re going to become lovebirds”—she looks me up and down—“or lovebats, you need to step up your game. As in, like, put the feather down and at least say hi back when she talks to you.”
“I’m not going to be love anything, with anyone, ever again,” I grumble.
“Ridley . . .”
“Don’t you have shit to hand out? God forbid a single person doesn’t have something with our company name on it.”
“Don’t be like that.”
“Can we just get through this night so Allison tells Dad I was here? Where is he, anyway?”
“You know him.” She shrugs. “Always someone to schmooze at our events.”
“Right, so why don’t you follow in his footsteps. You’ll be the delightful hostess, I’ll watch the table, and we’ll never mention my personal life again.”
Gray rolls her eyes. “She wouldn’t have talked to you if she wasn’t at least a little bit curious.”
“She didn’t talk to me; she called me Bats.”
“Same thing.”
“Drop it, Gray,” I say, because my leg is already bouncing as fast as it can go, and if she keeps it up, it might bounce right through the table.
“Fine.” But then she scrunches up her nose, and oh no, I know that look. I hate that look. It’s the look she gets when she thinks she’s being clever.
She unties a balloon from the table, grabs a bunch of free-soda coupons and glow sticks, and pushes herself out into the crowd. And okay, maybe I was wrong. Maybe it was just her “time to get down to work” look. Maybe I can survive the next two hours in relative peace and then hightail it back up to my room without any more drama. Maybe I’ll do such a good job that tomorrow I’ll get invited to breakfast with my father . . . and maybe tomorrow pigs will fly.
I slouch in my chair. The bass line rumbles through my chest like an extra heartbeat, and I dig my fingers into my knees, reminding myself that I’m here and Gray’s right over there and it’s all okay. Someone comes to the table, and I shove some coupons and a glow stick at them, grateful for the distraction.
I spot my sister weaving through the crowd again. She looks over and gives me a little wave, and I know, I know whatever is coming next, I’m not going to like it. And shit, there she goes, right up to that girl in the feather dress, handing her the balloon and some coupons and leaning toward her ear.
Peacock girl—Peak, I decide, is the name I would have settled on if I’d thought of it when she first walked by—laughs and my heart twists. Peak and Gray talk for a bit, a few pointed looks cast in my direction. I slink lower in my seat, fiddling with a glow stick. I don’t realize Gray’s come back until she kicks my chair.
“Hey,” she says, dropping into the seat beside me.
“What was that about?” I shout over the din of the music.
“I told her I was your sister.”
“What?”
“I told her I was your sister,” she shouts even louder.
“No, I heard you. I meant why.”
“So she didn’t think I was your date.”
I tilt my head, glaring at her and swallowing hard. “What did you do?”
“Look.” She points toward the middle of the dance floor. I can’t see Peak anymore, but I see the yellow balloon bobbing along over the crowd like a latex buoy on an ocean of sweaty teens. “I just gave her the balloon so she’d be easier to spot. I thought it would make you feel better if she couldn’t sneak up on you.”
My anxiety kicks back up a few notches as Peak gets closer to the exit. “She’s leaving, Gray.” I shouldn’t feel so disappointed, but I do.
dosomethingdosomethingdosomethingdosomething
Gray cranes her neck, leaning over the table to see better. “I don’t think she is.”
The balloon disappears, and now I’m standing up and leaning too. I watch Peak take a Sharpie from the bouncer and scribble something on it, and then she looks over at me and smiles.
I turn toward my sister, my eyes going wide. “What else did you say to her? Jesus, Gray, what did you do?”
“Okay, okay, I may have also mentioned that you could probably use a little encouragement.” She scrunches up her shoulders. “Sorry?”
“I’m gonna kill you.”
“Are you, though? Look.”
I follow her gaze to where Peak stands. Over her head bobs the bright yellow balloon again . . . only now there’s a crudely drawn bat in the center of it.
“What the hell is she doing?”
“Flashing you the Bat-Signal, dumbass. And it’s friggin’ cute.” My sister laughs, giving me a shove. I stumble a little, my heart pounding in my chest, in my feet, in my tongue. The music isn’t helping. Not at all.
“Go,” my sister shouts behind me, and I do.
I do.