Ship It(22)

Then I see Rico’s last tweet. Demon Heart is doing a prize giveaway on the floor of the convention in—I check the time—fifteen minutes.

What kind of prizes? Maybe I could win a new T-shirt!

But no. I can’t go. Not after today. I don’t have it in me.

But what if they have new poster designs? I could finally finish covering the walls of my bedroom….

NO. I’m not going.

It’s in fifteen minutes, though. I could go and be back in half an hour tops.

But what if Forest Reed is there? There’s literally no one I want to see less.

But Tess might also be there….

What do I care about Tess?

She’s a potential friend! Of course I care. A friend. It’s not like I’m exactly rolling in friends. It might be my last chance to see her before I go home to Pine Bluff and we never meet again. How sad would that be?

Okay, that settles it. I haul ass out of bed. “Mom, I gotta go!”

She sticks her head out of the bathroom in only her bra. “What?”

“Demon Heart is doing a prize giveaway! I gotta go!”

“Ooh, prizes? I want to see this,” she says, wriggling into a shirt and jeans.

“I thought you wanted nothing to do with the convention,” I say, yanking on my pants and shoes.

“Well, now my daughter is sad and I want to be with her, is that so wrong?”

“Okay, well… Hurry up, then.”

Fine, Mom can be sweet sometimes. Still annoying, though, don’t get me wrong.


PAULA ALMOST DIDN’T let me go, but Caty told her I tweeted exactly what I was asked without hesitation, so I’m starting to get back in their good graces, unlike Jamie, who hasn’t been seen since he stormed out of the greenroom. Paula did force me to bring Caty with me, though, because apparently I can’t be trusted without a chaperone anymore.

“God, don’t you just love the floor?” Caty says as we speedwalk through the wide, busy aisles on our way back to the Red Zone booth.

I don’t answer, I just pull my hat down farther over my eyes as I skip sideways to avoid running into a man bending over to pick up his toddler. Caty is practically jogging after me to keep up, but I don’t care. I have to get back to the Red Zone booth and explain the situation to Tattoo Guy before he has a chance to report back to Reynolds about the panel. I have to explain Demon Heart isn’t like that. Smokey isn’t a gay character—I’m not gay. Of course, there’s obviously nothing wrong with being gay, I’ve known a ton of gay guys in the acting world, but I don’t want to be thrown in with that group just because some wack-a-doo fangirl reads my character that way. That way lies trouble. That way lies a lifetime of gay roles. That way lies the death of my Red Zone dreams.

But when we reach the booth, there’s no one there. No Reynolds, no Tattoo Guy, no nerds in line, just a banner hanging over an empty booth. I slam my hands down on the table and bow my head. Dammit.

“Guess they’re not here. We gotta get going, anyway,” Caty says, checking her phone.

I try not to think about the worst possible scenarios Tattoo Guy could report back to Reynolds. Option 1: Oh sure, he’s got a following, but they’re all girls…. Not really Red Zone’s brand. Worse, option 2: Guy seems great, but there’s something about him, I don’t know if he can do action hero. People seem to think he’s a little, you know, GAY.

Gay, gay, gay. Why is this happening to me? What did I do to deserve this?

And then, of course, there’s option 3: Nothing. He could just not mention it at all. And my career could sputter and die, and this could all be over five seconds after it started.

I can’t wait to get out of Boise. To get away from this convention tour, to never have to see another teenage girl again.

Caty’s phone dings. “Seriously, Forest, we gotta go.”

I remember when I used to wait tables and we’d get busy, I wouldn’t think about how many tables I had, or how many hours left in my shift, or how much I’d made in tips so far. I just did the work, and when someone told me to go home, I’d go home. I’m good at that. I’m a workhorse. But back then, at least, I could choose how to be. I could charm customers with my jokes and get tips. I could choose my shift, my outfit, my haircut. I could choose how to act and what to say.

I’m not in charge of my schedule anymore. I’m not in charge of my shirts or my hair. I don’t get to decide who I talk to or don’t. I am the property of Demon Heart. I’m no longer a workhorse, I’m a show pony.

I stand up straight and look at Caty, who is tapping her fingers on her phone case impatiently. “Okay,” I say. “Let’s go.”

Caty guides me through the aisles, around clumps of people, past vendors and artists, checking back to make sure I’m with her. At times I put my hand on her shoulder to keep her with me so we don’t get separated.

Once, I hear someone shriek and say, “Forest, Forest!” I just keep my eyes on Caty’s shoulders as she tells them she’s very sorry, but we’re in a hurry and we can’t stop just now. I feel the flashes of their phones anyway as they take photos.

I can hear the cheering before we see the reason. A large gathering of fans is being led in some kind of contest to see who can cheer the loudest. We round a corner and at the back of the floor, there’s a stage set up. Rico stands confidently up there, goading on an electric crowd of fans.