The Pros of Cons by Alison Cherry, Lindsay Ribar, Michelle Schusterman (10)

I didn’t go to the costume contest. Not because I didn’t want to see Merry win—and obviously they’d win—but because my brain was full to overflowing with what Callie had said about me and Soleil in the ice room, and there was no space left for anything else. Not costumes, not Merry, and definitely not crowds. So after Callie left, I went straight back to the hotel room. I called my mom, because I’d promised to do that at least once a day so she’d know I hadn’t been murdered by an internet creeper. Then I changed into my bathing suit and headed for the pool. And, joy of joys, there was a hot tub! I climbed in. And I asked myself a very serious question:

Did I have the guts to make the first move on Soleil?

The answer, terrifyingly, was yes.

Yes because it had to be yes; I was willing to bet that she and Dave had done plenty of kissing, and even though I totally-definitely-one-hundred-percent wasn’t jealous of him, I couldn’t let him keep all that Soleil-kissing for himself. Yes because being together with someone meant stepping out of your shy-little-wallflower comfort zone; years and years of reading first-kiss fanfic had already taught me that much. And yes because, as Callie had said, we were already a couple, so what did I have to lose?

Problem was, I had no idea how in the world you were actually supposed to go about making that kind of move. My characters were always so good at it, but actual real-life me …?

When my hands started turning pruney in the hot tub, I went back to the hotel room, pulled up FicForAll on my laptop, and started reading through my own stories. And Soleil’s stories. And the one we’d written together. I skipped right to the kissing scenes in each one, and I studied all the descriptions we’d written of the characters’ body language. It was all pretty vague stuff, like moving closer and leaning in and drawn together like magnets. Not helpful at all.

Except maybe it was. All those descriptions implied characters who were just so into each other that they couldn’t help getting up in each other’s faces, so hey, maybe that was the answer. Maybe I had to stop overthinking it and just follow my instincts.

When Soleil got back that night, I was lying on my stomach, reading the FicForAll message boards on my laptop—specifically, looking at all Soleil’s old posts, filling my head with everything I liked about her in anticipation of the First Real-Life Kiss that was about to happen. I’d spent the past hour or so, ever since the pool had closed, scrolling back through every message StraightFlush had ever left. The initial incident was exactly as Merry had described it: some guy being all homophobic about her fanfic, and Soleil generally being a rock-star badass as she put the guy in his place.

“Oh, Nessie.” Soleil sat beside me and put her hand on my back, right below my neck. Eeee. “I really wish you could’ve come had drinkies with me. Those girls are so cool, and Danielle and I had such a great conversation about ‘Carry Me Home.’ You would’ve loved it. Hey, whatcha reading?”

Kiss kiss kiss, I thought, twisting around to stare at her lips. This was supposed to be easy. It was always so easy in our stories. Okay. Relax. Stop overthinking. Just do it.

“Nessie?” She leaned over me to read my screen, and her hand was still on my back, and I wanted her to leave it there forever.

Then I remembered she’d asked me a question.

“Oh!” I said. “I’m, ah, catching up on FicForAll. Hey, did you see that StraightFlush douchebag is back? He’s harassing a different Five/Seven shipper now.”

I pulled up the page in question, and Soleil frowned down at it. “Yeah, of course I saw. I wrote a post about it last week. It got, like, a million hits.”

“Oh, I guess I didn’t see it yet.”

“That’s fine,” she said. “It’s the same stupid stuff as last time. You don’t have to read it. You’ve heard all my rants already.”

“Sure, but I’ll definitely read it anyway. Just not right now.” I shut my laptop and sat up to face her, all beautiful and confident and way more relaxed than me. She smelled like perfume and alcohol.

Kiss her, I told myself, because it needed to happen, and it needed to happen now.

Kiss her, I thought, and didn’t move.

“Uh, Nessie?” said Soleil, frowning at me. “Something up? You look like you’re about to puke.”

And, okay, that was almost exactly what Seven had said to Five in “Carry Me Home,” when Five had decided to tell Seven how he felt but couldn’t figure out the right way to do it. If that wasn’t a sign, I didn’t know what was.

I leaned forward, and I put my hand on her cheek to keep her right where she was, and … I kissed her. We were kissing. Oh my god oh my god oh my god.

And then—then we weren’t kissing anymore. And Soleil was giggling. It was almost identical to how my mom giggled after she’d had a couple glasses of wine.

“Aw, Nessie!” she said, patting my cheek as she leaned back. “Guess I’m not the only one who had a few drinkies tonight, huh?”

“Whuh?” I said dully, all kiss-dazed and stupid and, just, Soleil, Soleil, Soleil. I’d kissed Soleil. I’d broken the seal, and now we’d move on to the real kissing, with tongue and teeth and hands in each other’s hair, which was totally terrifying in the best possible way, and I was ready. I was so infinitely ready.

Except—that drinkies comment. What was that supposed to mean?

She leaned in again, just for a second, and gave me another peck on the lips. Not a real kiss, like the one I’d just given her. More like the kind my weird aunt Rosa gave me whenever she came over. It even ended with a “Mwah!” sound. And then she stood up and stretched her arms over her head, yawning broadly. “God, I’m beat.”

Okay, I was definitely missing something.

“Um,” I said slowly, hesitantly. “Um, sorry, but—”

“Oh my god, don’t apologize,” Soleil said with another giggle, as she pulled her hair back and wrapped an elastic band around it. “I get super cuddly when I’m drunk, too. Just ask Dave. God, just ask Dave’s roommates. Just ask my roommates. The things you learn about yourself in college, right?”

“But—but I’m not—”

“Ooh, right, right, you’re not in college yet,” she said, pulling her shirt off over her head. “Whatever. You’ll see when you get there.”

“Not that.” I took a deep breath. “I was gonna say I’m not drunk.”

Soleil paused, T-shirt crumpled awkwardly in her hands. She was wearing the cutest polka-dot bra underneath, and I tried not to stare at it. Or at, you know, her boobs. She stared at me plenty, though. But not sexy staring. Staring like she was trying to figure out what I meant.

“I’m completely sober,” I said, even though, duh. “I’m not … what you said … I’m not getting cuddly because I’m drunk. I’m … I mean we’re …” I gestured from her to me and back again. “Aren’t we?”

As soon as I asked the question, I immediately wished that I hadn’t. Because I could see the answer in the confusion on her face. Followed by the surprise. And then the … whatever that was. The little smile and the softening in her eyes as she sat back down on the bed with me.

“Aren’t we what?” she asked in this really soft, really serious voice.

Oh god, did she actually want me to say it, now that I knew I was wrong? Except—wait—how could I have been wrong? All those emails, all those texts, all those message board posts, out there in the open for anyone with a FicForAll account to see. Over and over again, the same two words.

I made myself say them again now: “Internet girlfriends.”

Soleil’s smile brightened, and she looked almost relieved. “Well, obviously we are! But that doesn’t mean— Oh. Ohhhhh.” Her eyes widened, and she actually pressed a hand to her mouth for a second. “Oh, Nessie, no. I never meant—like not—not in real life …”

Not in real life.

My throat was made of concrete. I was about to suffocate and die and, let’s face it, that would probably be for the best.

“I’m so sorry if I made you think that,” she went on, “but I say that all the time! The girlfriend thing. Julie’s my concert girlfriend. Yvette’s my French class girlfriend. Anna’s my gym girlfriend.” She bumped my shoulder with hers. “And Nessie’s my internet girlfriend. You get me?”

Oh my god. Oh my god.

“But … you were all flirty and … and I know you have that boyfriend, but you keep talking about how monogamy is stupid, and …”

“That’s just so Dave and I can make out with whoever we want at parties,” said Soleil. “We don’t, like, actually date other people.”

She didn’t date other people. She wasn’t dating me. And here I was, thinking I’d been in a long-distance relationship for the past four months.

I was the stupidest person alive.

“Hey, Nessie. Sweetie. You okay?” She tried to slip an arm around my shoulders, but I shied away and, thankfully, she took the hint. “Okay, well, listen, we don’t have to talk about it, if you don’t want. We can just pretend it never happened. Okay?”

It wasn’t okay, and I did want to talk about it, but the problem was, as usual, I had no idea what to actually say. So I stayed silent, my eyes squeezed shut because I couldn’t even think about looking at her.

After a moment, Soleil said, “All right. Message received. I’m gonna wash up, okay?”

She headed into the bathroom, leaving me on my bed. I’d spent all evening thinking I was about to star in a real-life version of one of our stories. We’d kiss, and we’d compare our feelings and find the parts that matched up, and we’d look into each other’s eyes and confess our deepest secrets, and we’d fall backward onto the bed in a tangle of passion. All the stuff that had happened in “Carry Me Home.”

Or the parts that hadn’t happened in “Carry Me Home.” Like me telling her that this had been my first kiss.

“Hey, Nessie?” called Soleil. “Is my contact lens case out there?”

“I don’t see it,” I called back, without even looking.

“Oops, found it!” There was a pause. “So, uh, hey, what are we doing tomorrow? I know we decided on the panel about gender in Doctor Who, but before that there’s still the choice between the vlogger thing and the presentation about Snape’s heroism. Oh, and the panel on lady superheroes. Which one—”

“Actually, I have to get my badge replaced tomorrow,” I said loudly.

“Wait, what? You lost your badge?” When Soleil poked her head out of the bathroom, she looked totally horrified.

“Yup. I have to go to the registration desk for a new one. So I can’t go with you to the morning stuff.”

“Oh man, that sucks so hard,” she said, looking all crestfallen.

It didn’t suck, the idea of not spending the morning with Soleil. It should have, but it didn’t. Not after everything that had just happened between us.

“Yeah,” I lied. “It totally sucks.”

Soleil went back into the bathroom, muttering something about the horrible texture of the towels.

I got out my phone, tucked myself into bed, and turned off my light. Then I downloaded the first episode of A Thousand Words. I’d never listened to it before, but Callie’s enthusiasm had piqued my curiosity, and I was desperate for a distraction from The Kiss. I plugged my earbuds in and listened, pretending to be asleep so I wouldn’t have to talk to Soleil again.

Eventually I fell asleep for real, to the sound of at least ten different voices talking about the difference between obsession and love.

*  *  *

The next morning, Soleil was gone before I even woke up. She’d left a handwritten note on my side of the dresser, though:

And she’d signed it, not with her name, but with a drawing of a smiley-faced sun.

There was nothing at all in there about last night. Sure, there was the “xoxoxo” at the bottom—but that was it. Maybe she was doing exactly what she’d said she would. Pretending it never happened.

But maybe that was for the best, all things considered. Maybe that would make it easier for us to stay best friends, even if I’d been wrong about the dating part.

On today’s schedule were a whole bunch of kick-ass panels, a writing workshop for which both Soleil and I had submitted stories, and the Karaoke Extravaganza at the end of the day. Soleil had already signed up to sing “Defying Gravity.” I’d promised to be the Glinda to her Elphaba. But before all that even started, I was going to check out the taxidermy convention. Callie had given me her badge in exchange for mine. I hadn’t been sure whether I’d pick dead animals over alone time in my room, but curiosity had won.

So when I finished showering and getting dressed—in another one of Soleil’s shirts because, well, she did have really good taste—that was where I went. Toward B-wing, where a mass of people in flannel and camo and trucker hats were all milling around under a banner that read:

Welcome to the World Taxidermy & Fish Carving Championships!

Fish carving?

Okay, then.

A bunch of people were headed upstairs on the escalator, so I followed them, painfully aware of how much I stood out. I mean, I wasn’t just a sore thumb. I was a sore hand. An entire sore arm. I wondered if my badge would get inspected. I wondered if someone would call me out as a fraud and I’d get kicked out or, like, skinned and stuffed. But when I got to the top, the security guy waved me through with a glazed expression and barely a glance at my badge.

Yeah, apparently people sneaking in wasn’t a huge concern over here.

The room was pretty big, but not nearly as big as the WTFcon marketplace room, which I’d visited yesterday with Soleil. It looked like a museum. A museum so crowded with displays that you almost couldn’t walk, but still.

There were lions. There were foxes. There were wolves and zebras and this giant shaggy cow thing, guarded by a super proud-looking guy dressed in a button-down American flag shirt. There were a couple of animals I was pretty sure didn’t even exist anymore, like a saber-tooth tiger, and I wasn’t a hundred percent sure if they were fake or not. Someone had sawed a baby deer in half and replaced its midsection with a fancy dollhouse—the title plaque below it read This Faun Is Not a Metaphor, whatever that meant. And right beside it were two enormous boars, one humping the other. I stifled a laugh as I moved past the display.

Just beyond it was a long table crowded with birds, all arranged in what I guessed were supposed to be their natural habitats. I zeroed in on a red-winged blackbird with spread wings, and leaned closer for a better look.

As I inspected the bird’s tiny feet, a male voice said, “No touching, young lady.” I jumped back. The flannel-clad guy who’d spoken pointed to a sign pasted onto the table.

DO NOT TOUCH, it said. A zillion other signs, pasted in front of pretty much every other display, said the exact same thing.

“I wasn’t going to,” I said.

A few feet away from me, a pair of serious-looking men approached another display: a cute black-and-white monkey perched in a forked tree branch. Its long tail was curled around one of the branches, and its face was tilted upward a little, like it was curious about something.

Now I understood why those signs were there. I really, really wanted to pet the thing.

“Cebus capucinus,” said one of the men as he peered under the monkey’s tail with a penlight and one of those little mirrors they stick in your mouth at the dentist’s. “Good pose. Has jizz, for sure.”

Okay, what? I inched closer to the two men.

“The neck’s slightly overstuffed,” countered the second man. “And is it supposed to be climbing up or down? The direction of the gaze implies up, but the way the metatarsals are flexed indicates down.”

The first man peered at a page in his binder, then at the monkey’s leg. “You’re right.” He leaned in and sniffed the monkey’s shoulder. Like, literally sniffed it. “Good odor, though.”

They kept muttering to each other, pointing out flaws that I absolutely couldn’t see. Uneven stitches along the inside of one ankle. Something about the paint color on the inside of its nostrils. And what in the world had they meant by jizz?

“… nothing for sale at all?” came a voice that, thankfully, startled me right out of that train of thought. Mostly because it sounded young. Like, my age. I hadn’t seen anyone in the entire B-wing who looked my age.

But there, standing between a slightly cross-eyed eagle and a really awkwardly posed lion, was a girl. White, dirty-blond ponytailed hair, seriously cute. She was talking to an older woman wearing a sweatshirt with a pug face on it.

“Sorry, sweetheart,” said the woman. “None of the work here is for sale. Now, if you wanted to mount your own vulture—”

“No, no, that’s okay,” said the blond girl. “I’ll just stick with my bluebird. Thanks, though.”

That was, like, a bluebird or whatever, came the echo of Soleil’s voice in my ears, and I instantly knew who the blond girl was. Wait, no. Not girl. The blond person.

“Merry?” I said, going over to them as the pug-sweatshirt woman wandered away.

They jumped a little at the sound of their name, then their eyes brightened with recognition. “Oh, Ness! Hey!”

Merry wasn’t in costume, which was why I hadn’t recognized them right away. Instead, they were just wearing baggy jeans, sparkly Chucks, and a T-shirt that said Maximum Effort across the chest, over a black-and-red circular logo.

“Deadpool?” I said, pointing at the shirt. “Nice. Good movie.”

“The comics are even better,” said Merry with a grin. “What’re you doing over here?”

“Secret mission,” I said.

“Ooh. Do tell.”

“Well, it’s not that secret. It’s not even a mission. I just wanted to see the animals. How about you?” Then I remembered what they’d just said to the pug-shirt woman. “Something about a vulture? Are your friends here somewhere, too?”

“Nah, they’re at a Supernatural panel,” said Merry. “I gave up on that show in the middle of season six, so we split up for the morning. But yes to the vulture part. You remember my hat? From my Boggart Snape costume?”

“Absolutely,” I said. “Hey, how’d the contest go? I’m really sorry I couldn’t make it. Did you win?”

They rolled their eyes. “No. I wasn’t authentic enough.”

“Because of the bluebird? Come on, that’s the tiniest part of the costume. And the rest looked amazing.”

“I know, right?” Merry sighed. “But there was another Snape, and he … well, he was a he. So, you know. Authenticity!”

“Ew,” I said.

“Whatever. It goes like it goes. But just in case the bird made the difference, I came over here to buy a vulture for next time—only it turns out none of this stuff is for sale.” They looked furtively around, then lowered their voice. “It also turns out that these people are the absolute best kind of weirdos. Did you see that lady I was talking with before? She’s a taxidermist, and she was trying to drag me over there to see what she made, which is, and I quote, ‘a portrait of two boars who love each other very much.’”

I burst out laughing. “Oh, I saw that! They were humping!”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Seriously! Come on, I’ll show you!”

But before we got more than a couple feet, I felt a tap on my shoulder, which made me jump. I turned, and right behind me was yet another girl who looked my age. Tall and brunette and freckled, she grinned at Merry, then at me, and said, “Hey, I’m trying to find someone, and please say you can help me so I don’t have to talk to any of the trucker-hat guys?”

Merry shook their head. “Sorry. Don’t know anyone here.”

“We’re stowaways,” I added in a dramatic whisper. “We’re actually with WTFcon.”

“Ooh, really?” said the brunette. “Man, I tried to sneak into that one before, but they are total dinosaurs about checking badges.”

Merry and I exchanged a look. I was pretty sure we were thinking the same thing, but I took point on saying it:

“Dinosaurs?”

“Oh, sorry.” The brunette laughed a little. “My little brother discovered swear words last year, so my family’s been trying to say different stuff instead. Mainly animals. There’s a swear jar if we slip up, so. It’s kind of a habit now.”

“Foxing good habit,” I said, as straight-faced as I could.

“Exactly,” said the brunette, pointing at me as Merry burst out laughing. “Congratulations, you are now an honorary member of the Byrd family.”

“Wait, wait,” said Merry. “You use animals to swear, and your last name is Byrd?”

“It’s a four-letter word.” She grinned at us. “Ba-dum-ching.”

“Womp womp,” I said, and Merry groaned.

“Oh, shut up, that’s the greatest joke I’ve ever made,” said the brunette. “Anyway, my point is, it’s impossible to sneak in over there. Way easier to sneak in here.”

“Can’t imagine why,” murmured Merry.

“Excuse me, you three,” said a man’s voice. It was one of the judges, and he and his partner, still looking oh-so-serious, had apparently finished inspecting the monkey. “Would you mind not blocking the aisle? There’s an aardvark over there that requires our attention.”

We moved dutifully aside, and there was this suspended moment where I was hyper-aware of the ridiculousness of my surroundings, and I could tell Merry and the brunette were, too.

“Aardvark is definitely one of my brother’s favorite code words,” whispered the brunette, and all of us instantly cracked up.

“I’m Vanessa, by the way,” I said, as soon as we’d all calmed down a little. “This is Merry. Should we call you Byrd, or do you have a first name?”

“I do, and it’s Phoebe,” said the brunette. “So, do you guys wear costumes or what? I saw a bunch of totally killer costumes last night. I think there was a contest or something.”

“Nah, I’m just a fanficcer,” I said, then tilted my head toward Merry. “But this one does the costume thing.”

Phoebe peered at Merry. “Oh, wait, it’s you! Weren’t you wearing that Boggart Snape costume last night?”

“That’s me,” said Merry. “I think I remember you! We talked for a second, right?”

“Yeah, because I couldn’t get over how completely amazing you looked,” said Phoebe. “Seriously, it was like you stepped right out of the movie.”

I noticed Phoebe’s eyes flicker down to Merry’s pronoun button as she talked. She didn’t comment on it, though. Just sort of nodded to herself.

Merry grinned. “Thanks. So, you’re not here for the taxidermy stuff, and you’re not with WTFcon. Please tell me you’re here with that baby beauty pageant thing.”

“God, no,” said Phoebe. “I’m here for IPAC. The percussion one.”

“Checking out the other conventions on your downtime?” I said.

“Well, that and these babies.” Phoebe held up a black case. “Long story, but I have to give these back to, what is it, Buchannan Taxidermy? And get my mallets back.”

I was about to ask what the long story was, when something clicked in my head. I’d tucked my badge into my shirt so nobody would call me out on not being Callie, but I pulled it out now and checked to be sure—and, yup, there it was. I held it up so Callie’s full name was right there in plain sight. “You mean this Buchannan Taxidermy?”

Phoebe’s brow furrowed in confusion. “But I thought you were here for the other—”

“Shh!” I hissed. “Not so loud. I swapped badges with this girl who wanted to see a panel about a podcast she likes. It’s actually really good. The podcast, I mean. A Thousand Words?”

“Oh, that’s one of my favorites,” said Merry. “After Limetown. And First Draft. Oh, and Welcome to Night Vale, obviously.”

“Ooh, I love Night Vale,” I said. “Cecil and Carlos, am I right?”

“Carlos and his perfect hair!” said Merry, pressing a hand dramatically to their chest. “Hey, did you read that one fic where Cecil and Earl hooked up?”

“One fic?” I said. “Come on, there’s, like, twenty-thousand fics of that.”

“No, but I mean this one in particular where—”

“Um, just so you guys know,” said Phoebe, “I have no foxing idea what you’re talking about. Who’s Cecil …?”

“Oh, sorry! Fictional character.” Merry shook their head with a smile. “Note to self: Make Phoebe listen to Night Vale.”

“Anyway,” I said, “Callie told me about the panel last night when I met her, and I had nothing to do this morning, so we swapped badges for a bit.” That was when my bag buzzed. “Actually, that’s probably her,” I said, and dug my phone out from under all my crap.

That was AWESOME, said Callie’s text. I totally owe you. Meet me by the weird cactus outside A-wing?

I knew the exact place she was talking about: a plastic cactus the size of a grizzly bear, standing outside A-wing for no reason that I could discern.

Cool, be there in 5, I typed back, and tucked my phone back into my bag.

“She wants to meet me outside,” I said to Phoebe and Merry. “Come with?”

Merry beamed as they nodded. Phoebe’s only reply, though, was “Aardvark.”

Apparently that meant yes.