What Happens Now(23)
“Satina!” I said back.
When Eliza hugged me, I could smell the chemical scent of the wig. She wore fake silver eyelashes that felt like butterfly kisses against my cheek. The surprise of her being dressed like this, the way this recognition washed over me. I laughed again, then caught Kendall’s confused expression.
“Reboot Satina meets Original Satina,” said Eliza. “This is why I was hoping you’d show up.”
Eliza was dressed as Satina Galt from the short-lived revival of Silver Arrow that aired five years earlier. They’d made the character younger, brooding and rebellious. Everything about that version of the show had been darker and more gritty, a palette of tarnished metal, social commentary, and graphic violence. Most old-school Arrowheads hated it, including my mom, but I thought it was great and never dared tell her. I watched it online in my room, at night, wearing headphones.
“This is my friend Kendall,” I finally said. Eliza offered her hand and they shook.
Max walked up behind Eliza, and thanks to his silver wig and the whole yarn thing, I instantly knew which character from the Arrow universe he was supposed to be.
“Bram,” I said. “Sir.”
Max smiled, then slipped on a pair of dark sunglasses—Bramglasses—and half-bowed to me before moving on to another part of the party. Bram didn’t talk much. I was impressed with Max’s commitment to the character.
I scanned the room again and noticed some other people wearing costumes, or parts of costumes. A girl with a bright orange wig and skintight silver dress who looked vaguely familiar—maybe something from one of Lukas’s video games? There were two other girls dressed in slutty Hogwarts uniforms, and a guy channeling Loki from Thor.
“Is this a costume party?” asked Kendall.
Eliza shrugged. “It didn’t start out that way, but then it sort of morphed into a cosplay meetup. Here, let me show you where the drinks are.” She said it in a way that prevented further questions.
Where was Camden? I couldn’t wait to see him. I was terrified of seeing him.
The kitchen island had been turned into a bar. There was wine and beer, and a pitcher filled with what looked like brown sludge. But there was also seltzer and lemonade and something labeled “homemade organic herbal iced tea with rosemary” that offered way more details than necessary.
“Try this,” said Eliza, pouring a glass from the pitcher. “I made it with frozen bananas, peanut butter, and two kinds of chocolate liqueur.”
She handed me the glass and I took the tiniest, it-doesn’t-count-as-drinking sip. It was possibly the worst thing I’d ever tasted.
Then I looked up, my mouth still trying to twist around the drink. Standing in front of me, as if he’d been there the whole time but I was only seeing him now, was Captain Atticus Marr.
Well. It was Camden.
But he was dressed like Atticus Marr. The younger, brash rookie version from the reboot rather than the seasoned and contemplative Original Marr my mom had admired so much. (Or was superhot for. I finally got that a few years back.) Like Eliza, he wore a gray T-shirt and gray cargo pants, but his uniform included a silver collarless flight jacket. He’d even swept his hair, with the help of gel or something else that looked shellacked and impenetrable, into the exact right cowlick.
It was a faithful, eerie re-creation. No question about that. Both incarnations of Atticus Marr made fangirls light-headed. I would have needed to step outside for some fresh air, if Atticus Marr were my thing.
Except he wasn’t. Marr was sometimes arrogant and obvious. I liked the repressed, suffering, telepathic Dr. Azor Ray. I liked him more than a lot.
“Ari!” said Atticus/Camden. He smiled like he was glad to see me. Like that could be a real thing. “Eliza said you might be coming.”
“Hey,” I said, scanning the outfit. “Or do I need to call you Captain?”
“I knew you’d appreciate it. You like? It’s a test run for the SuperCon later this summer. Oh, good, I see you have a drink already.” He turned to Kendall, who was looking at him in a way that I didn’t even want to interpret. “I’m Camden,” he said. “I’ve seen you before.”
“Ditto,” said Kendall. “Your house is amazing.”
“Thanks. I’ll give you a tour later, if you want. Not that there’s much else to see—it is a barn, after all. But I’m happy to show you the bedrooms.” There was an awkward pause. “Wow, that came out wrong. I so didn’t mean it like that.”
Kendall laughed, then Camden did, too, when he saw he’d made it okay.
“I want to talk to you guys, but I have to give my mom something.” He grabbed a glass and poured some wine into it. “I’ll be right back.”
He moved away from us toward the outdoor patio, and Kendall leaned in close. “Do you think Ed Penniman bought this house for them? I wonder if he comes and visits, and where he sits.”
“You didn’t see the Ed Penniman Chair over there? It’s got a plaque and a velvet pillow.”
Kendall slapped my arm playfully. Then we were quiet again, watching Camden hand his mother the wineglass, bending down to say something in her ear, his arm protectively sweeping her shoulder.
“That must be one of her pieces,” I said, directing Kendall to a large felt disk hanging on the wall, a swirl of colors like a sun from the next galaxy over.