Ship It(91)

I notice right away that he’s a man. He has a beard and he’s wearing a giant black backpack that’s the size of a small child. He leans in too close to the mic and asks his question. “Hey, Forest. I’m pretty interested in the fact that you might be the new Jack Tension. What can you tell us?”

Okay, fine, we’ll get the Red Zone question out of the way first, and then we’ll move on to Demon Heart questions.

Forest smiles at the guy and gives a line that sounds practiced. “All I can say is I would be incredibly honored to be considered for the part. I love the game.”

“Do you even play Red Zone?” the gamer asks.

“I’m sorry, but just one question per person, please,” I say as the gamer scowls at me and leaves the line. The next person steps up to the mic in a LAG KILLS shirt. Another freaking gamer.

He says, “Okay, but do you play Red Zone? And which character do you play as?” I roll my eyes and look back at Forest.

“Actually, yes, I play almost every day. I was just playing it this morning with a friend of mine.” I feel my cheeks warm at that. Friend. I bite my lip and try to keep a smile from taking over my face. He sneaks a look at me. “And I play as Jack Tension.” There’s a titter in the crowd, and I realize that this seemingly innocuous statement about which character he plays means something to Red Zone fans. I wonder who else you can play as, and what that choice means about the player. I guess every fandom has its own set of insider politics and identity markers.

The next person steps up to the microphone and I am going to scream because it’s another freaking gamer. “What other video games do you play? Like, actually play. Like, to the end,” he says. Is this whole panel going to be video game questions?

I find Tess in the audience, and she rolls her eyes. I almost laugh. I can’t wait to hear her commentary on this afterward.

Forest leans into his microphone. “You know what? I’m gonna put a pin in that one. It’s a legitimate question, if a little condescending, but I’d like to see if there are any Demon Heart questions from the audience. This is a Demon Heart panel, after all, not a Red Zone one.”

I’m impressed. The gamer fan grumbles and moves aside as he looks around to see if any Demon Heart fans are going to step up. A very small girl, about ten years old, squeezes past the gamers and reaches the microphone. She tries to speak, but the mic is too tall for her, so she turns and looks pointedly at the gamer behind her. He snaps into action and lowers the microphone. It makes me thaw a bit toward him.

Rico is completely melting over this girl. “Yes, hello!” he says. “Do you have a question for us?”

“Hi,” she says. “My question is actually for heart-of-lightness.”

I freeze. Me? I can see Jamie chortle out of my peripheral vision. I stand a little straighter, determined to answer it as best I can.

The girl says, “I just started writing fanfiction and some people were making fun of me for it and I was wondering if you have any tips?”

Oh. I have zero idea how to respond. It feels like all I’ve done as a fanfic author is make people mad. But, well, there’s a small girl waiting for my answer.

“I think it’s great you’re writing fanfiction. It takes a lot of creativity and dedication,” I say because that seems like a good thing to start with. My own feelings on it may be turbulent and complicated, but I still believe that much. “But it can be hard, too. When you’re a fan, sometimes there are people who will try to make you feel bad about it. Sometimes it’s jerks on the internet, sometimes it’s people you know, like classmates or friends. Sometimes it’s the people who are making the thing you’re a fan of in the first place.”

I look at Jamie, who is doing his best to tune this out, sitting back in his chair, sipping from his glass of water. “I know how easy it is to hear the messages from other people and start to feel crazy.”

I look back at the girl. “But you’re not crazy. And you should never be made to feel ashamed for loving the things that you love.”

Weirdly, there’s applause there. I guess that line connected with people. But the little girl isn’t done with me. She asks, “But didn’t you delete your blog? Are you going to stop writing now?”

And I guess the one-question rule is going out the window, because I respond, “Yeah, you’re right, that was kind of BS, wasn’t it? I’m not even taking my own advice. Here I am encouraging other people to write no matter what The Powers That Be are saying about them, but I’m not willing to do the same thing.”

The crowd gets quiet, maybe they can tell that I’m not really filtering myself right now, I’m just thinking it through, out loud, in front of a few thousand people. “The reality is, I looked at myself and realized that I was spending a large percentage of my day—of my life, really—thinking and writing about characters who were dreamed up by someone who doesn’t really care about people like me.”

I find Tess in the audience again. She’s got her hand on her cheek, but she’s smiling at me, and I think there might be tears in her eyes. I don’t want her to cry. This is good. This is a good moment. I want to wipe the tears off her cheeks and tell her I screwed up and please, yes, let’s try again.

I think about kissing Tess, and how it feels better than any fic feels. I want to kiss her again more than I want Smokey to kiss Heart, and that’s a lot. I don’t know exactly what that makes me, but I know where to start.