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Bec and Dave run off together, disappear into the churn of dancers. I just stand there in the doorway with Abel and grin like an idiot, the disco ball scattering stars on my face and the music pounding me a new heartbeat. I scan the crowd for hey_mamacita, for the sunflower she said she’d pin in her dreadlocks.
“The night that changed everything…” Abel says.
I look over at him, hopefully, but then I see he’s ripped his goodie bag open and is holding an oversized trading card, reading the caption under a picture of the smashed-up Starsetter.
“What’s in your bag?” he says.
I tear it open, not caring, still glancing around for dreads and a sunflower. A sheet of Castaway Planet logo stickers, a few jumbo trading cards, a silver favor bag of ci
“Thirty bucks? What a rook.” He’s already fishing in his wallet. “One David Darras,” he yells to the booth guy.
“Really?” I poke him.
“It’s for you, dimwit.”
“You don’t have to—”
He waves me off, grabs his change and the rolled-up photo. “Here, babe. Your hero.”
“What about your hero?”
“Eh. Got him in my head.”
I slide off the rubber band and unroll the photo. Darras is in his Sim costume, perfect as always, but the smile is stiff and cheesy and the signature’s so sloppy I can only read the Ds. It’s weird; a few weeks ago I would’ve held the photo up to the light to trace the whorls of his fingerprints, would’ve nearly passed out just knowing that David Darras was backstage and I was going to lay eyes on him in person within five minutes.
I blink at the photo. I don’t feel too much, just a little twinge. It’s only special now because Abel bought it for me.
“Thanks,” I tell him.
He looks away. “S’okay.”
Brandon gathered all his courage like dry tinder sticks and, with a sharp hopeful intake of breath, boldly lit the match.
“You…want to dance?”
“Umm.” He fiddles with the collar on his Sim shirt. “Maybe we should wait.”
I droop inside. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I think maybe—”
“THE MOMENT HAS ARRIVED.”
The music cuts off. The blue and purple lights stop pulsing. On the ballroom stage, a single spotlight pops on, and a slick-haired a
“Wa
Yes. Yes.
I shrug carefully. “Let’s stay here.”
“Really?”
“We’ve got a question paddle. They’ll see us.”
“Don’t you want to see them?”
I’d rather see you. God, I need a better line. hey_mamacita, where are you?
“And NOW, Castie boys and girls,” the a
Ransome and Darras trot out from behind the black curtain. Matching tuxes. Holding hands. When they hear how loud everyone’s cheering they play it up, raise their clasped hands high like a wishbone and stand there smiling while the whistles and hoots wash over them.
Abel tilts his head. “Ed Ransome’s shorter than I thought.”
I nod. And Darras is an alien without his pale Sim makeup. Ta
Maybe too loose.
“Your boy’s had a few,” whispers Abel.
“Okay, ohhhhhhh-kay, settle down,” Darras grins, waving his arms like a Muppet. “We know. We’re awesome.”
“Well, you’re awesome,” Ransome pouts. “I only aspire to awesomeness.”
“He sells himself short, guys. All the time. Kinda tragic, don’t you think?”
They pingpong some more. I am in the presence of David Darras, I remind myself, but it doesn’t take. I bump my hand against Abel’s a couple times, accidentally-on-purpose, hoping he’ll get all lust-crazed from gazing at Ed Ransome’s rugged face and spiky hair and slide his warm fingers through mine. He just stares straight ahead at the stage, this weird unreadable look on his face.
“…soooo we know you guys have your questions ready,” says Darras. “But how’s about we start with the big question that’s been on evvvveryone’s mind since the finale.”
Ed Ransome nods. “Right. ‘Is Cadmus dead?’”
“No no no, dear. Did we do it in the cave?”
Shrieks and catcalls from the Cadsim shippers peppering the crowd. A few boos sneak in, but barely; everyone’s too drunk and giddy for ship wars.
“Ohhh, trust me, superfans and slashers,” Darras says, eyeing up Ransome head to foot. “Ed and I discuss this nonstop.”
“It’s true. We do,” Ransome deadpans.
“He calls me at three in the morning, people, and asks if I want to ‘practice some kissing scenes’…you know, just in case.”
“He can’t get enough of me.”
“For realsies.”
“David.”
“Yes, Ed?”
“Don’t say for realsies.”
Darras shrugs. “So, anyway. Regarding Sim and Cadmus. Here’s what I think: there was plenty of buildup this season, their friendship’s been unfolding in a distinctly ambiguous direction since Day 1, and when two actors bring such undeniable personal chemistry to the table, it’d be a crime against nature to waste it.”
My head throbs. Yes. Yes. Say more.
“Sooo, as a hopeless romantic and the former treasurer of my high school GSA, I’m go
Two Cadsim girls in front of us lose their minds. Darras and Ransome lean closer and mouth some smiley mystery words to each other. Ransome puts a hand up, waits for the crowd to quiet.
“Welllllll, I happen to be a realist,” says Ransome, twisting the gold band on his thick ta
Booing. Darras waves them quiet.
“HOWEVER, however,” Darras says. “Let’s clarify. You would not have been able to resist me, my dear.”
Ransome claps a hand to his chest. “Oh, well, that’s a given. Who could?”
A girl in the audience shouts something out. Darras cups his ear.
“What’s that? Yeah, you. Girl in the lovely dress with—ohh. Ed, is that an iron-on of us?”
“I believe it is.”
I crane my neck to see where he’s pointing. A stick-figure redhead twirls, shows off a blue t-shirt dress with a Cadsim-kiss manip on it.
“That is…oh, that is really quite special,” Darras says.
Abel mutters, “Miss Maxima minion.”
“Sweetie, you had a question?”
“Yes! Yes.” The girl scootches over to one of the mikes in the audience. “So would you guys—maybe show us what the kiss would’ve looked like? If it actually happened?”
A low expectant oooooooohhh travels the room. Abel freezes. He goes vacant, like Sim does when he’s plugged into his charging dock.
Darras puts on this i
Someone whips out the kind of whistle you use to hail a cab three lanes over. That sets the other girls off. More whistles, rowdy YEAHHHs. Darras and Ransome side-eye each other.
“Hmm.” Darras strokes his chin. “A real live Cadsim kiss—that’s what you guys call it, right? Cadsim?”
The girls in front of us are getting frantic now. I feel it. What they want is so close they’re afraid to trust it, afraid it’s a tease or a joke. Abel’s pale Sim face is three shades paler.
“Okay, but we want to know you realllllllly want it, right, Ed?”