Ship It(23)

“Is that the best you can do, left side?” he screams at one side of the crowd, and they lose their shit at him.

“That’s right, that’s better,” he hollers, and pulls out—you gotta be shitting me—a T-shirt slingshot and flings three Demon Heart T-shirts into that side of the crowd. Fifty pairs of hands strain to catch one.

He’s so comfortable on that tiny stage, so easy and happy, giving out merch and hugs and making the day of everyone here. I imagine myself up there with them, and the crowd going quiet. Paula seems to think they might all hate me now, but Jamie said that’s only a fringe group of the fans. What’s the truth? I don’t know. If they hate me, will a couple of free T-shirts make it all better? I really don’t want to find out, but Caty grabs my hand and leads me toward the front.

“Oh, and look who decided to join us!” Rico says, pointing me out from the stage as everyone starts craning their necks. The fans closest to us pull out their phones to snap photos or take video. I pull off my Sooners hat and smooth down my hair.

Caty brings me around to the stairs up to the stage as Rico waves at me to join him. Another stage, another chance to embarrass myself. But we’re just handing out free shit, right? How hard can it be?

I glance back at Caty for any words of support, but she only brings her thumb and forefinger to the sides of her mouth to indicate that I should smile. I smile with my lips closed. She indicates to smile bigger, so I do, opening my mouth and baring my teeth, and feeling like a cheeseball. She takes my picture.

“Perfect. That’s your power pose from here on. Now get up there and do your job.” She gives me a little shove and I climb the stairs to the stage.

Don’t fuck up, don’t fuck up.

Rico reaches into his bag of merch for another T-shirt, then feels around exaggeratedly. “I think that’s it,” he says, and tips the bag upside down to prove it. The crowd moans. Rico grins at them, then turns to me. “What do you think, Forest, can we scrounge up something else to give away?”

Rico hands me another microphone, eyes twinkling. Now I’m standing on a stage holding a microphone in front of an expectant crowd, not entirely sure what I’m doing and what to say next. So I do what I’ve been doing for the last six months: I trust Rico.

“I think we can probably find something,” I say, and the crowd cheers.

“How much do you guys love Demon Heart?” Rico turns and asks the crowd. They scream their heads off. “And how much do you love coming to meet us at conventions?” They cheer even louder.

“Well, Demon Heart loves you, too,” Rico hollers over the madness. “So as a special thank-you to all you fans out there supporting the show, we’d like to offer one all-expenses-paid trip to join the cast for the rest of the convention tour!”

Wait, what?

The crowd freaks the fuck out.

Paula steps up to the stage and hands Rico a bowl, which I recognize as the Bowl of Holding—a prop from the show, decorated with “ancient”-looking symbols that are really just nonsense squiggles dreamed up by our art department. Paula gives me a pointed smile, and I know this is all because of what happened in the panel today. This is their apology to the fans, their new game plan. But why does Rico know all about it and I’ve been kept in the dark? I watch Paula carefully as she heads back to the sidelines, always behind the scenes, never in the spotlight.

“We have the names of all the attendees of the Demon Heart panel today,” Rico says. “Or, at least, the ones who signed up for our email list.” The crowd grows quiet as they all hold their breath.

“Forest, would you do the honors?” Rico holds the bowl up high so I can’t see in. I reach in and feel around, then look at him. He holds my gaze. Just do it, his look says.

I pull out a name, then peer out into the audience and pause as the room completely stills in anticipation.

I don’t want to read it. I already know who it is.

Rico leans over into my mic and reads the name for me. “Claire Strupke.”

There’s a scream as the crowd turns to look, and there she is, that outspoken girl from the panel, in a hoodie, with the ponytail and smudged glasses, standing frozen, staring blankly up at Rico and me. I look at Paula, who has her arms crossed in front of her, glaring back at me as if to say, I own you, Reed. And she does. Because this convention nightmare is far from over. We’re headed to Portland next, then Seattle, and I’m going to have to do this all over again, and again, but this time I’ll be side by side with a wild-eyed superfan teen. One who thinks I am—or at least should be—gay.

I toss the paper with Claire’s name on it back into the Bowl of Holding.

It was the only paper in there.


UM.

Wait.

What?

Wait.

WHAT?

Everyone is looking at me.

Probably because my mom just screamed pretty loudly.

A moment ago, my name was inside Rico Quiroz’s mouth.

WHAT?

Mom pushes me toward the front. Rico gives me a hand up to the stage, then sweeps me into a giant hug.

“Congratulations, Claire!” he says, his voice in my ear. He pulls away and grins at me, and I’m just straight-up dazzled, lost in his broad smile, in his happy eye crinkles. He brings me back to reality with a wink. “I can’t wait to get to know you.”