Ship It(83)

“Hi, guys, what’s up?”

“Listen,” Ms. Greenhill says, “first things first, I was really sorry we didn’t get a chance to chat after the Seattle convention. I know a lot happened, between the panel and the screening and everything that went down on Twitter….”

That’s a nice euphemism for Blame heart-of-lightness.

“Yeah,” I say.

“I feel like we left things on a bad note, and I was hoping to give it another shot. What do you think, would you be interested in joining us for one more convention?”

I feel a zing of excitement at getting to go to another con, but it’s quickly followed by caution. The pain of how things ended is still too fresh.

“I… I don’t know.”

“Claire,” Caty says, jumping in. “It might help if we told you the name of the convention. Maybe you’ve heard of it. San Diego Comic-Con?”

I snap to attention. San Diego is the biggest, most important convention in the country. Everyone—everyone—goes to it. I stand up straighter. I’ve wanted to go to this convention practically since my first fandom.

But still…

The idea of going back, seeing Forest, seeing Jamie. I just don’t think I can do it.

“We know you deleted your blog,” Caty says, barreling on. “And that’s totally fine, I get it. We’d set you up as the official guest-blogger on the Demon Heart Tumblr. We’d also have you doing media for some of the digital outlets that would be there. You’ve still got a lot of interest swirling around you, girl, even more so now that you’ve dropped off the grid. People want to know what you think. So? What do you say?”

“I, um…” I stumble, wondering. Go to Comic-Con? Liveblog for the show? Be another PR shill for them?

“No.”

There’s silence on the other end. I picture them wordlessly conversing about who should speak next. I save them the trouble.

“I just don’t want to go back into the same situation as before, you know?” I say, rubbing my eyes under my glasses. “It didn’t end well for me.”

“It didn’t end well for a lot of fans,” Caty says. “That’s why we want you back. To reset the conversation. A fresh start.”

“I can’t reset the conversation by liveblogging,” I say. “If you want me to help out, you should—” I stop myself. Do I mean what I was about to say? Would I really do that?

“What?” Caty prompts.

“Tell us what you want and we’ll discuss it,” Ms. Greenhill says.

I shake my head, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but talking to these three, I’m starting to feel that I can still make a difference. They’re offering me a voice in the conversation, and I’d be missing a big opportunity if I didn’t take it, and then ask for more.

“Let me moderate the panel,” I say. “At Comic-Con. Put me in charge of it.”

Rico laughs—one short, exuberant bark—but no one else speaks. I imagine Caty and Ms. Greenhill are probably having another wordless conversation. I wait it out, wiggling my toes in the grass nervously.

Finally, Ms. Greenhill clears her throat. “Okay, let’s do it.”

Holy smokes, I didn’t think that would work.

Rico lets out a hoot. “This should be fun!”

“I’m emailing you the info I need for your badge right now,” Caty says.

I peek at the house, where my parents are watching me through the kitchen window. “Do you think I could get three badges?” I say. “I have a couple of old folks I need to bring with me.”


The sky as we descend into San Diego is bright and clear, and I can see seagulls circling over the sparkling blue ocean. There’s a man with a sign that says STRUPKES at baggage who takes us to the convention in a shiny black town car. Mom is freaking out and wondering what the taco situation in San Diego is like. Dad is quiet and, I would bet a dollar, composing poems in his head about this. I don’t think either one of them has ever been south of Reno.

We see our first cosplayers when we’re still miles away—a Peggy Carter mom holding the hand of a very young Luna Lovegood. I wonder if it’s the girl’s first Comic-Con. I wonder if she’s as excited as I am. As we get closer to the convention center, the crowds get bigger and bigger, until they pack the sidewalks and move in waddling huddles. It’s truly a spectacle.

Every single kind of fan is present in this place at this time. Most of the cosplays I recognize, but some of them are completely new to me. I see a whole group dressed like punk-rock Disney princesses and smile to myself. Beyond them, there’s a group of pale, twitchy guys in oversize T-shirts who look like they haven’t seen the sun since this time last year. To their left, there’s a news camera interviewing a Castiel on the street. Next to Castiel is another Castiel. Actually, looking around, there are so many Castiels.

“Wow,” Mom says, in awe, taking in the totality of the convention swarming around us.

“I know,” I say.

The driver pulls up in front of a hotel. As we get out, Ms. Greenhill comes up to us, her smile huge.

“Claire! Trudi! Chuck, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” she says, vigorously shaking our hands in turn. “You guys ready to have fun this weekend?”