Blog of a Teenage Superhero

Chapter Twenty-One: The Calm Before the Carnival

^^ Sapphire, Ruby, Garnet

Though we belong to the same fandoms and spend at least a quarter of every year preparing costumes for comic con, Kai, Finn, and I have only cosplayed together once.  This is because last time, we nearly killed each other. We chose to play Garnet from Steven Universe, and Ruby, and Sapphire, even though Ruby, Sapphire, and Garnet can't exist all at once in external parts.

Finn and I both wanted Garnet. Badly. He said whoever was tallest should play her and I said whoever kicked the most butt —very obviously me—deserved the role. We were seconds away from blows when Kai pulled as apart and proposed we draw names, and so we did, because we couldn't afford Finn breaking a few bones so close to con. 

It was Kai, neither tall nor butt-kicking, who played Garnet. But watching Finn fumble with Sapphire's poofy dress made up for it. Almost.

"Sorry," I say, smoothing the lump in the dress's back where my cape bunches up at the shoulders, "about taking your dress." I'm already sweating and the dancing hasn't even begun.

"It's fine." Finn buries himself in the couch cushions, whapping his bouquet against his thigh. He blinks up at me with a polite smile. "You look nice."

For the first time, I'm wearing makeup other than to hide my scars. "Finnamon Bun, you need to stop being nice to me. This isn't the natural order of things." 

"It could be."

I don't know what that means, and I don't have time to find out. There's a knock on the door. My heart leaps into my throat. I snatch up the petalled paper-plate mask I made when I was in my crafty phrase, one hand caught in my mess of hair. It's still tangled; Kai got blonde hairs stuck in my comb. "Coming!"

Kai races out of the bathroom, his hair fixed, bangs gelled up into a feathery twist. He jumps the couch, twists, lands hard beside Finn. He kisses him on the cheek and wrenches the bouquet out of his hands, laughing, squealing. "AHAHAHAH! I'm your date now!"

"What—no! Give that back!" The boys are up on their feet in seconds, Finn shouting, Kai laughing, mercilessly laughing. Ducking, zagging, tearing through the library, Finn flailing for him, Kai flinging books with one hand, waving the flowers with the other. Ms. Stanley bangs her ceiling relentlessly. Neither boy yields. Kai vaults over Dad's armchair and ducks behind my waist.

"Help!"

"Hey." I meet Max at the door, my hands suddenly hot. He's smiling at me as I lean on the frame, a failed attempt to look cool in a costume dress where the sleeves poof out and the skirt is set with hoops. Honestly, I wish Finn brought the funeral suit. Behind me, he screams. Max flinches. I wave an apology. He's wearing a white Phantom of the Opera mask that curves to cover the right half of his face. Black shirt, silk white tie, white carnation pinned crookedly to his lapel. His brown hair peeks up in curls against his neck. And all I can hear, beside the beat of my own heart, is Finn and Kai, giggling and shrieking. A symphony of normality, pure and sweet and wonderful. 

"Sapphire?" Max asks, beaming.

"Phantom." I'm trying to hide a broadening smile, though his has already taken over the bottom half of his face. He's quaking as if to stifle a fanboy squeal. In this moment, with him as the phantom and me as Sapphire and the two of us grinning with happy, fangirl memories of both beloved properties, I figure if he ain't the one, no one is.

The night is sticky, warm, and young. A hot wind fluffs the feathers of Max's hair, a tendril of his cologne wafting to me in the breeze. It's faded and thin, musky. Nothing like I've ever smelt on a teenager before. His hand finds mine as we thump down the creaky stairs, pushing a small box into my palm that I don't open until I've situated my butt and the frills of my dress in the passenger side of his father's Benz. Black leather seats, embossed seams, sleek curves. My pulse pounds beneath my clammy skin.

In the blinking light, Max's brown eyes look like they're filled with star-dust.

I curl my fingers around the box, slip it open by the creaky blue hinged lid. My breath catches. Inside, tucked in velvet and stapled to a gossamer wristlet, is the single prettiest flower I've ever seen. A corsage. Curling in on itself, the petals creamy white, flecked gold on the edges. Light pools in its yellow center. Delicate. Perfect. I pick it up with my fingertips, the thing so thin and precious, I think I'll crush it.

"Thank you." The air conditioner blasts the smell of evergreen air freshener and his old-timey perfume. It makes me drift into a state of misty-eyed nostalgia, like I've stepped into an old movie. "This is really nice of you."

Max doesn't smile. He stares at me, turning the key but never quite looking at it. The engine thrumming, his eyes are flitting up the curves of my face, watching me. I can't read him with half his face covered, but I know his eyes aren't glowing anymore, like he's short-circuited.

"Max?"

He looks down at his shoes, then back at me. There's a pink scar beneath his chin, and his eyes are ringed with dark circles. "I just want to dance with you," he says, "just once."

"We'll have all night," I say, patting the crook of his arm. At my touch, he flinches. He catches himself, eyes a fraction too wide, then relaxes against the seat with a soft laugh. It's so odd, but I decide to chalk it up to Finn's "nerves." No need to jump to conclusions. His knee thumps the console, and as my fingers curl around the petals of his corsage, his hand touches mine. I jolt, all too aware of the heat between us. Staring at each other, the moment is trapped in its own world, just me and him. 

"Yeah," he says, the corners of his lips turning up only slightly. The engine hums, idle.

"What's wrong?" I ask. His hand is cold on mine. "Are you okay?"

His dark eyes flutter. I can feel his beating pulse against mine. A second of quiet passes between us, and then:

"Can I kiss you, Monet?"

I lean toward him. Thoughts are coursing, flowing. A million red flags are waving. Max wants to kiss me, kiss me. But it feels right. That musky sweet perfume, the corsage, the poofy dress, the handsome suit. The sun is setting, and the sky is filled with color. Pinks, golds, oranges. A red medallion, dripping with paint. If we were in a movie, this would be the exact moment for a first kiss, the two of us swathed in gold light as the sun plunges into the sea.

My thumb settles on his scar. It's nothing to write home about, this kiss. Our masks bump. Max is strapped in, and it takes him about twenty seconds to unbuckle his seatbelt so he doesn't have to strain over the console. When our mouths meet, I'm trying too hard to remember a kiss's moving parts to enjoy it and all I can really hear is the scraping of my paper mask against his, the hardened scales flicking off from the friction of his plastic and my hot glue. 

But you know what? It's my kiss. And it's quick. Only a minute before we pull back, a little flushed, a little shaky. The world is dancing under my fingertips. Warmth. The taste of mint and chapstick. His hands are still cupped around my face, and his eyes are rounded and wild. In them, I see something like fear.

I pull out of his grasp. I want to pretend everything's okay, that I'll protect him like I protected Chip. Just this once, just this one night, everything will go okay for me. For him.

"Ready?" I ask.

He puts the car in reverse. "Yeah," he says, wiping the side of his mouth."I just...I just have a bad feeling about this, is all."

"I'll protect you," I tell him, playing with my purse strap. But when I glance at his reflection in the passenger-side window, his jaw is clenched and he's squeezing the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.

Max isn't the only one with a bad feeling about this.