Page 6 of The Crafting Con

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.

CHAPTER 3

AVA

Nineteen days until OA Con

Empty. He thinks I’m empty.

Pressing a hand to my chest, I can’t deny the hollow ache that’s taken residence ever since the weekend’s closet debacle. A duck acting like a swan. He’s not wrong.

Admitting as much doesn’t lessen the sting, however.

Shouldering my way through the hallway, I make a beeline for my locker, in no mood to talk to anyone. I’m still reeling from the fallout of my idiotic urge to talk to him. Why did I do it? What possessed me to walk up to his table like I was anything other than the jerk traitor that I am? You can’t just ignore someone for five years then pop over and say hi out of the blue and think everything’s going to be okay.

Good grief, I didn’t even have a follow-up ready. Just… hi.

At least I was saved from the humiliation of speaking.

A flash of silver catches my eye as I pass the school’s bulletin board, and I can’t help sliding my gaze over the glittering poster announcing this year’s prom theme: Seasonal Faerie Courts. Each corner of the rectangular card stock is decorated with a different season’s aesthetic: cherry blossoms for spring, falling leaves for autumn, and so on. An ivy-wrapped throne fills the center, with the faceless silhouettes of a king and queen in dazzling evening wear sharing its seat.

Saturday, May 6th at 7 p.m.

Tickets On Sale Now

I slow to a stop and sigh. I really should just give in and find a date already. Mom is practically foaming at the mouth to go dress shopping, and Stasia has made it abundantly clear that she wants me there. So what if formal dances aren’t really my thing? Sure, I’d rather be at home crafting something, or curled up with a good book, but I’ve attended just about every one the district has had to offer since middle school. Dressing up in a fancy dress and posing for awkward photos with some boy I’m not particularly interested in. I’m used to it. And the look on Mom’s face when she waves us off is priceless. It makes her happy, and isn’t that more important than a little disinterest on my end? Keeping Mom happy?

Nothing but an empty shell.

Declan’s words ring in my ears, and my cheeks burn from their blatant truth. And yet. He doesn’t understand the stakes. His parents are a perfect love match, living perfect lives. He could never understand what it’s like to be me. I’m the way I am for a reason.

A crinkled flyer peeking out from behind the prom poster distracts me from my inner rant, and a single word leaps off the page, drawing my attention like a moth to a flame: Otaku.

I pluck the paper from its corkboard home before I can overthink it.

Otakus Anonymous

Seattle Convention Center

Friday, May 5th – Sunday, May 7th

OA Con. That’s right. It’s always the first weekend of May. My heart kicks into overdrive as I stare at the colorful flyer, complete with both a red-haired anime girl and boy laughing while they slide down a rainbow Care-Bear style.