Ranking so low in both the ensemble and solo competitions at IPAC had really sucked. But not placing in the Creativity Corner thing didn’t bother me at all.
Because even now, standing in the lobby waiting for Scott, I kept hearing snippets of conversations and creating a soundtrack in my mind, editing and rearranging to alter the mood and even the meaning of certain lines. I really didn’t want her to go, accompanied by a mournful violin, indicating sadness and regret and extreme melodrama. I really didn’t want her to go, followed by a trombone wah wah wah, indicating the line is a joke and you’d be an idiot to take it seriously. I really didn’t want her to go, spoken over low, disjointed chords gradually growing louder, indicating that something terrifying was about to happen.
I really needed to practice that whole “hearing intention” thing.
I glanced nervously at the elevators and tugged at the hem of my new Weird Sisters T-shirt. I’d bought it after we’d left the Creativity Corner, both because I liked Vanessa’s and because it seemed appropriate enough dance attire without going full costume.
“Hey, Phoebe.”
I whirled around and found myself facing Scott. “Oh! Hi.”
He smiled tentatively, stretching his arms out a little and flexing his fingers. So he was nervous, too, which somehow made me feel both better and worse. When he opened his mouth to start talking, I stopped him.
“Sorry, but there’s something I need to tell you before you say anything.” I took a deep breath. “First, I’m really sorry I didn’t meet up with you yesterday. I should have. But that girl who interviewed you for her podcast? That’s my friend Callie. I swear on my life I didn’t know she was going to talk to you. But she did, and … I heard it. Everything you said.”
Scott blinked. “You did?”
“Yeah.”
His shoulders relaxed. “Thank god.”
“What?” This was not the reaction I’d expected. “You aren’t mad or anything?”
He shrugged. “Nope. Saying that stuff to some random girl was easier than saying it to you. And look,” he added, his smile vanishing. “I know you probably didn’t believe it when I said I didn’t tell everyone, but—”
“No, I do,” I assured him. “I talked to Brian. I know they, um … heard us.”
Scott didn’t even answer. He just slumped back against the wall and mouthed thank god to the ceiling. I started snickering, and he grinned at me. “What? I figured you were going to hate me forever.”
“I don’t hate you.” As soon as I said that, I realized this was the part where I was supposed to tell him how I did feel about him. But I couldn’t. I’d been trying to psych myself up for this for the last two hours, but the fact was, I wasn’t ready yet.
But neither was he. After all, he’d just told me it had been easier for him to tell “some random girl” how he felt about me. And he was clearly relieved he didn’t have to say it to my face. We were both bad at this, but maybe that was okay for now. No reason to rush anything.
So instead of saying I like you or whatever a more romantically inclined person would say, I went with: “Got any plans next Saturday?”
Scott’s eyes lit up, and he stepped forward. “No …”
“Halo?”
“Sure!” His smile turned slightly wicked. “Wait, actual Halo, or …”
I rolled my eyes, trying not to laugh. “Yes, actual Halo.”
“That works, too.”
The silence that followed managed to be both awkward and electric, and I stared down at my shoes. “Although, I mean, that was fun, before. Well, until … you know.”
“I thought it was all fun.”
I looked up. Now he was grinning in that very specific way he did when he was challenging me. I crossed my arms and smiled back, hoping I looked like someone whose pulse wasn’t racing out of control. “Yeah? Well, coffee-soaked underwear isn’t really my thing, just FYI.”
He nodded. “I’ll keep that in mind for next time.”
“Next time? That’s a pretty big assumption,” I said lightly.
“I know.”
Cats. We were both grinning like idiots by now, and my face and neck were probably beet red, and my stupid body was basically betraying me in every possible way. I needed to end this conversation before it turned into Phoebe’s Adventures in Sexland: The Sequel.
“I need to get going,” I told him, taking a step back. (And how had we ended up standing this close, anyway?)
“You’re not going to the showcase concert?”
I shook my head. “No, I’ve got the Farewell Ball.”
“The what?”
“It’s a, um, dance. At the fan convention. I made some friends this week who’ll be there, so … What?” I added, because Scott was looking at me funny.
“Nothing! It’s just … a ball? Seems kind of girly for you,” he teased. “Gonna get a fancy dress, get your hair and makeup done?”
I flinched and instinctively opened my mouth to fire off a defensive retort. Then I paused and thought about what he’d said.
“Yeah, so what if I am? Anything wrong with that?”
Scott’s brow furrowed. “Well … no?”
“Okay then.” I smiled. “See you later?”
He smiled back. “Yeah.”
I waved and headed across the lobby, my pulse gradually slowing to a normal rate. As I passed the registration desk, I heard a vaguely familiar woman ranting at the poor receptionist. “I demand this hotel compensate me for at least one night’s stay. Really, the entire thing should be free. This was the most important week of my Beige’s life, and neither of us could sleep a wink thanks to that horrible man next door with all those dead animals. The smell!”
I half wanted to call her out on that—I’d spent enough time in the taxidermy trade show to know the animals didn’t smell at all. I glanced at her tiny daughter, who stood several feet away from her mother, gazing openmouthed at a huge group of WTFconners in costumes, clearly on their way to the dance. Beige’s face was scrubbed clean now; no wig, no black leather. She took a few steps toward A-wing and, for a second, I thought she was going to make a run for it. Then her mother glanced over her shoulder.
“Beige! You stay right here next to me!” The little girl stopped in her tracks, crossed her arms, and pouted.
Shaking my head, I headed toward the bridge to the convention center. A second later, someone nudged my arm.
“Poor kid, right?” Merry said.
I grinned. “Seriously. Hey, Vanessa!”
On Merry’s other side, Vanessa smiled at me, her cheeks pink. “So, it looked like things went well with that Scott guy?”
My eyebrows shot up. “Were you guys spying on me?”
“Not on purpose!” Vanessa exclaimed at the same time Merry said: “Obviously.”
As soon as we entered the convention center, I could hear the thump thump thump of some pop song coming from the A-wing ballroom.
“Yeah, it was …” I trailed off, because that was when I noticed they were holding hands. “Hey. Heyyyy.”
Vanessa turned bright red, but she was smiling so hard it looked like her cheeks might split. Merry swung their clasped hands back and forth, beaming at her, and Vanessa somehow blushed even more.
“Okay, stop,” I told them. “This is, like, an illegal level of adorable. You might get arrested.”
Merry sighed loudly. “Oh well. Lock us up, if you must.”
Vanessa tried to look scandalized and, when she failed miserably, pointed at my Weird Sisters shirt instead. “Hey, that looks familiar! Is it—”
“Not yours! I bought one after the Creativity Corner,” I told her as we reached the ballroom. Merry let go of her hand to pull the doors open for us, and I leaned closer to Vanessa. “And don’t tell Callie, but I bought her one, too—I’m gonna try to hide it in her suitcase before she leaves. Seemed like we should all three have one, you know?”
Vanessa didn’t say anything. Just beamed at me, her eyes all shiny. I grinned back. And maybe my eyes were a little shiny, too. And maybe I didn’t care. I linked my arm through hers, and Merry took her other hand, and we walked into the dance together.