The Geek's Guide to Unrequited Love (23 page)

Somehow I've found yet another connection to Robert Zinc's words. Despite everything, I have to marvel at that. After all, it's not every day that one finds yet another dungeon to explore deep in the heart of his most beloved fandom.

THE AUCTION IS STILL GOING
on at a little before four, and Casey lets us know there's a screening and panel he wants to get to that starts at four. “It's for a new pilot, a show called
Mr. Advantageous
.”

“Oh!” Samira chimes in. “That's the one with Tim Fisher, right? Will he be there?”

Casey glances at his schedule. “Yup.”

“I'm in for that,” Samira says, eyes flashing in the giddy way of eleven-year-old girls.

“Me too,” Felicia says, and I notice her expression isn't too different.

“Okay,” Casey says as he turns to me. “You?”

Actually, I was just about to suggest getting out of here anyway, but not for
Mr. Advantageous
. “I think Roxana should be getting out of the screening soon. I might go hang around that room so she can give me the scoop.”

“Oh, that sounds good! Mind if I go with you?” Amelia asks.

“Not at all,” I say.

“I'll come too,” Devin chimes in, and I take note that he didn't even ask.

Joanna says she has to head home to study for a precalc test, so she splits for the exit, while Casey, Felicia, and Samira part ways with us a little bit farther along the hallway.

Amelia and I are walking in step, but I'm aware of Devin's tall shadow looming behind us.

“So, Graham,” Amelia says. “I've been meaning to ask you something.”

“What's that?”

“I'm going to be blunt, because, well, I'm a city chick. But is there something going on between you and Roxana?”

I start. I was not expecting that. I stare down at Amelia, who's waiting patiently for my answer, and I laugh nervously before I give it to her. “Nope. Nothing,” I finally say. Because there isn't.

Amelia pauses. “But do you want there to be?” she asks shrewdly.

I'm speechless for a minute. I also realize that behind us, Devin, who up to this point has been messing around on his phone, is now keenly listening.

“I did,” I finally admit.

“Did?” Amelia asks.

“Do,” I correct myself after taking a moment to think it over. “But it's not going to happen, I don't think. So I'm trying to get over it.” I smile down at her with a faint shrug.

She looks at me piercingly before she speaks again. “Well, I appreciate the honesty.”

“Ah, honesty. It's my fatal flaw.”

“Truthfully, I appreciate a lot of things about you, Graham,” Amelia continues.

“You do?”

“Of course,” she says as she stays in step beside me but keeps looking up at me. “You're smart and funny and crazy talented. And we have a lot in common. Not to mention, I think you're hot.”

I stop short, my mouth gaping. Devin bumps into me from behind, but I don't care. “You think I'm . . . wait. What?”

I honestly had no idea where this conversation was going, but I can truthfully say I was not expecting this. I stare at this girl—no, scratch that—this
beautiful
girl who just told me she thinks I'm hot, and for the next ten seconds, I'm pretty sure I'm about to wake up from this admittedly fantastic dream.

“Please,” Amelia says with a smirk. “Piercing blue eyes. Thick black glasses. You've got a total Clark Kent/Superman vibe going on.” She grins at me, and I involuntarily touch my glasses, amazed that they
actually seem to have served their intended purpose. “Are you really telling me you don't know when a girl likes you?”

I let out a short burst of laughter. She can't possibly fathom how accurate she is with that observation. “I can say with one hundred percent certainty that—much like Jon Snow—I know nothing when it comes to that department.” I smile shyly down at her.

“Well, to make it clear . . . I like you, Graham.”

We've stopped walking, and we're sort of in the middle of the hallway, but I'm too floored to contemplate etiquette right now. People stream around us like we're a boulder stuck in their stream, and if they curse at us or even elbow us, I truly don't notice.

Forget beautiful. Amelia is brave, too. It only took three months, a lot of alcohol, and an annoying British guy for me to work up the nerve to tell the person I know best in the world that I love her. And this girl is laying it all out there for a near stranger.

“So I guess I want to know if you want to go out with me sometime,” she finishes.

I stare at her, this girl who is
not
Roxy. I hardly know her at all. I don't know her favorite foods or her least-favorite subject. I don't know her comfort movie or even if she has one. I have no idea how many freckles are on her nose. And she knows just as little about me; I'm not her best friend. But then again, I'm not like a brother to her, either. As Felicia put it, I haven't been put in that compartment.

And now she's waiting for an answer. “I . . . yes. Sometime,” I say
without overthinking it. I'm surprised by my own words, but I also immediately know they're the right ones. Yes, sometime, someday, and probably soon, I'll be ready to get to know Amelia. I think I'll want to try to start something together, on the same page, knowing we're reaching for something more than friendship right from the start. What a novel concept.

She smiles up at me, and we're close enough that I can count the freckles on her nose. There are seven.

“That sounds like an honest answer. See, one of your strong points.” She lightly reaches out and touches my hand, and I'm surprised by how exotic that feels—warm and slightly electric. Instinctively, I take my thumb and sweep it gently once over the back of her hand. And that feels pretty great too.

We grin at each other, not noticing that the door to one of the rooms a bit down the hallway has opened up and people are streaming out. I don't even see the short-haired brunette girl who's made a beeline for us until she's right at my elbow.

“Oh my gosh, you guys.” Roxana is breathless. “Althena. The way she looked. Fiona Ruthers is
exactly
the right person to play her. And Noth. I know we were all skeptical about Malcolm Vreeland, but he totally surprised me. It was perfect . . .” She stops midsentence and I can tell she's assessing something. Even though Amelia and I have sprung apart and aren't touching anymore, maybe it's how close we're still standing to each other.

I finally feel conscious enough of my surroundings to pull us all over to the side of the hallway.

“Tell me more, tell me more,” Devin sings at Roxana, and she looks at him, blinking. Almost like she forgot about him. Then she looks back up at me, her eyes questioning.

I put on a smile. “Right. You said you'd tell me everything.” I say it mildly, but an accusation hangs in the air nonetheless: You said you'd tell
me
 . . .

I think of what I imagined, us sitting in her backyard just like on the countless days we've done that before, and I realize that just like every other perfect scene I've fantasized about, it's gone. It's never going to happen; it never was. “Tell
us
everything,” I amend, trying to put a bandage on it.

Roxy looks at me, and for a moment, I think she sees it too—the image of the two of us in her backyard, vanishing in a puff of smoke.

But she does start to talk. “Well, the rock star thing actually worked for Malcolm as Noth,” she says, referencing the musician's acting debut. “Just because Noth is supposed to be so mysterious and aloof. And after a couple of minutes, I stopped flinching every time he opened his mouth to say a line. He's actually totally believable. And the costumes and sets were really great. Almost exactly how I pictured them.”

“How was the Solomon Pierce-Johnson Q&A?” Amelia asks. “He helped inspire confidence in the movie, right?”

Roxana seems to study Amelia before answering. “Yes, actually.
That's a good way of putting it,” she agrees slowly. “He is definitely an Althena fanboy, and he knows his stuff, so it felt like the thing is in good hands. Oh! They did change around some timeline stuff. That scene with Althena and the ice cream cone comes within the first ten minutes.” She looks at me expectantly.

I think about it. “Hmmm. That's kinda hard to process when you know the story so well, but . . . I can kinda see how that might work? To establish the Ezula mode of communication earlier?”

“Yeah, exactly,” Roxana agrees. “It was kind of jarring, but when I thought about it after, I could see why they would do it that way. Anyway, I wish I could see the rest of the movie
right now
. I'm much more excited for it now than I was before.”

“That is definitely promising, coming from you,” Amelia says.

“Definitely,” I agree, and though a part of me listens to the rest of the conversation about the movie, a part is also highly aware of the very strange situation I'm currently in: here is the girl whom I professed my unrequited love to yesterday, and here is another girl who just professed her crush on me. It's definitely enough to make a geek's mind explode.

“I HATE TO SAY THIS,
but I have to go,” Amelia announces after we've raptly listened to Roxana detail the entire screening from beginning to end. “Joanna's not the only one who needs to cram for that precalc test. Math used to be one of my strong suits, but something about this year is already kicking my ass.”

“Right? They really weren't kidding about junior year,” I say.

“No, sir, they were not.”

“Good luck,” Roxana tells Amelia.

“Thanks,” Amelia says brightly, and turns to me. But before I let her open her mouth and be the brave one again, I smile at her.

“I'll talk to you later,” I say.

Her smile grows wider. “Okay. See you guys!” She gives Roxana and Devin a jaunty wave and touches me quickly on the shoulder, where I can feel that small jolt again even through my T-shirt. I watch as she joins the stream of people heading toward the exit.

“Where are Samira and the rest?” Roxana asks.

“They went to a screening of a new TV show,” I say. “I think it lets out at five. So in about forty-five minutes,” I conclude after glancing at my watch.

“Got it. So . . . what should we do?” Roxana asks.

Devin whips out his phone, brings up the NYCC app, and starts skimming through the schedule. “There's something called How to Survive a Zombie Apocalypse. Or Harry Potter Wand Duels.”

“Oooh. Let me see that.” Roxana stands at Devin's elbow, her face practically in the crook of his arm, as they read his small screen together.

I'm the third wheel.
The thought comes unbidden. And as much as I've been fighting it this weekend, it's the truth and I have to accept it. Devin hasn't been tagging along, unwelcome, this whole time; Roxana has clearly wanted him around, has been returning all his attentions. I don't want to think about Roxana and Devin alone together at Comic Con, finding shared interests, falling in love, or—God forbid—kissing. But I also can't prevent it by being that awkward other presence. That's the first step, right? The admission? So I admit it, Devin. I can't win.

“Hey, guys. I think I'll just meet you in front of the
Mr. Advantageous
screening room at five. I actually want to get some work done,” I say.

“Work?” Roxana asks, looking confused.

“Yeah, I just got an idea for an issue and I really have to write it down before I lose it. You know how I am.” And that part is totally true. She does know that when an idea comes to me, I have to find a pen, or an iPad, or anything just to jot down at least a few words, or else I'll never see the thought again. How many times has Roxy seen me bend over in class, suddenly much more into my notebook than chemistry would ever inspire? Or stop midsentence during a conversation to open up the Notes app on my phone? In a way, this is one of those times. I realized it as I said it to her. I do need to write, not an issue necessarily, but . . . something.

“I think that room we were in with the raffle is empty now,” I continue, “so I can duck in there to concentrate.”

“Do you want me to come with you?” Roxana asks. “So we can talk it out?” She sounds weirdly eager, as if she really does want to come with me, as opposed to finally getting more alone time with Devin.

I shake my head. “Nah. I'm in that initial headspace thing. I'll discuss it with you later, though.”

She stares at me, looking bizarrely shaken. “Of course you will.” Her words almost sound menacing. Or is it threatened? I can't tell.

“Of course,” I agree. “See you soon.”

I turn and walk down the hallway, finally alone with my thoughts and ready to face them too. I'm right about the raffle room. It's not
being used for anything official, but other people had the same idea I did. There are a few groups taking a break from the grind of the con, sitting on the floor and chatting. Other people are quietly typing or swiping on their laptops and phones. There are three outlets around the room, and those seem to have the most people congregated around them, charging up their various essential devices.

I find myself a nice bit of unoccupied carpet near a quiet section of wall, and I sit down. I take a few deep breaths, and then I open up my backpack and take out my worn stenographer's notebook and a pen. I flip through the filled pages—some packed with wisps of ideas that never turned into anything and some crammed with full outlines of
Mage High
issues—until I find the first empty page. I poise my pen at the top of it and I let my mind formulate the first thought:
“It's where I keep my selfness,”
Althena explained to Charlie in the very first issue.