Ship It(42)

Because Forest Reed is thinking about shipping. He’s deliberating about SmokeHeart, and it’s all because of me.

Some fans might not like what I’m doing right now. Fans like Tess, who think fandom should stay in fandom. But he asked! He demanded I show him Tumblr. I could have said no, but he would have just looked it up himself, and he’s honestly better off with me as a chaperone. If I weren’t there guiding him, he probably would have searched for my fanfic straightaway, and that’s like jumping into grad-level classes without taking the prerequisites first.

Maybe I’m totally off base, but it feels like he’s starting to understand. When he looks at those gifs, is he able to see what we see? Does he notice the obvious chemistry, the yearning emanating from their every torrid glance? Or does he just see his bro Rico and a cold night in the woods? I can’t be sure, but I think maybe, somewhere beyond his high walls, there’s a glimmer of a shipper, fighting to make it out.

It makes me want to hug him, to tell everyone in this hotel that there’s hope for Forest Reed, there’s hope for SmokeHeart. It makes me think the future could be better. Maybe he can talk to Jamie, convince him that this hyper-masculine heteronormative vision of demon hunting is beyond old-fashioned. Maybe he can be the ally we need to get SmokeHeart to finally become the canon it was always meant to be. It feels like a real possibility. For the first time in a while, it feels like hope.

If SmokeHeart ever had a chance, it’s right here, right in this moment. I have to say something.

“So… what do you think?” I ask, softly, gently.

He blinks hard and breaks his gaze from the computer to look at me. “What do I think about what?”

“About this.” I nod toward the computer screen. “About SmokeHeart.”

He frowns; he doesn’t know what I’m trying to say.

I try again. It’s now or never. “What do you think about its chances? Can you take it to Jamie, talk to him about it?”

He looks away, rubs his knuckles over his eyes. Shit. I thought I was getting through to him, I thought…

“Claire…” he starts.

“Don’t.”

“It’s just… It’s not going to happen like that. For a thousand reasons,” he says. He’s trying to be kind, I can tell, but there’s nothing kind about this.

“So you won’t even try?”

“There would be no point,” he protests.

“Just think about it,” I say, a little more fiercely than I intend to. I can feel my cheeks flush hot and the pressure building behind my eyes, but I won’t cry in front of Forest Reed. Not about this.

I hold his eyes and refuse to look away first.

“Okay,” he says finally, quietly. “I’ll think about it.”

“Thank you.” I start packing up my things. I have to get away from him, now. My phone buzzes with a text and when I glance at it, my stomach does a single, perfectly executed backflip. It’s from Tess.

We still on for dinner?

“Shit,” I whisper to myself. I had kind of forgotten we made plans.

“What is it?” Forest asks.

“Nothing, it’s just…” I sigh. “I’m supposed to get dinner with this girl.”

“Oh!” Forest exclaims, like this is some big realization. Then he says, “Ohhhhhhhhhh,” like the shoe is continuing to drop.

Good god, literally everyone I meet thinks I’m gay. Why do they keep wanting to decide my sexuality for me? Can I just have this one thing?

“It’s not like that,” I tell him. “It’s not a date. I date boys.” Well, a boy. Once. And it was bad.

“Ohhhhhh,” Forest says some more, like everything is finally clicking into place for him. And now he’s just being an asshole.

“Stop it,” I say. “Seriously. I’m gonna tell her I can’t make it.” I pick up my phone to text her back.

“No, you gotta go! Why wouldn’t you go?” He reaches out and covers my phone with his hand to stop me from texting. God, he’s so obnoxious.

“I’m not talking about this with you,” I say, jerking my phone away.

“Claire, seriously, dude. I’m not just saying this so you’ll stop stalking Jamie,” he tells me, “I actually think that’s pretty funny. I’m saying this as a friend—you gotta put yourself out there.”

“As a friend?” I repeat incredulously.

“What?” he says, taken aback. “We can’t be friends?”

This is a supremely weird conversation.

“Tell me about this girl,” he says. “What’s her name?”

“Tess.”

“What’s she like?”

“She’s kind of… She’s…” How do I explain Tess and Everything She Is? “It doesn’t matter, I’m gonna tell her I can’t come. If I tell her I’m with you, she can’t complain.”

“No!” He hits the table softly with his fist. “You will not use my name to get out of a social engagement. If you try to do that, I’ll… I’ll tweet that I’m playing Red Zone alone in my room and then she’ll think you’re lying!”

I gasp. “You wouldn’t!”