Be Dazzled Read online

  “Controverse is a team sport. You know that. Perhaps there’s someone else who would be willing to work with you? A certain boy, abandoned onstage last night?”

  “I’m not calling Luca,” I say bitterly. “Please. Just let me work alone.”

  “And why would I do that? If you want a future in this world, you’re going to need to learn to work with others. You can’t do everything alone. You certainly can’t do this alone.”

  I draw back as Irma leans in close. It’s weird that she’s smiling. It’s weird that she’s still giving a glossy performance, like she’s back on the stage. “I’m going to let you think about this, mm-kay? Find a teammate, or forfeit. You’re here because I wanted you here, but I can’t convince you to do what it takes to stay. That’s up to you.”

  She leaves me in the care of Madeline, who is busily dialing numbers on her phone. Probably calling other backup contestants.

  I clutch my phone, too. I know that if I called May right now, she would come through for me. But it would break our trust. After today, what would become of our friendship?

  It’s time to give up. It’s time to move on. There’s a suitcase waiting for me to pack it up at home, to zip myself into a new life where I am chic and focused, having left the messiness of crafting behind forever.

  “Ten minutes,” Madeline says between voicemails.

  I turn my phone over in my hands. Maybe I should call Luca? Maybe I gave up on him too quickly. What’s stopping me from calling him now? It could be pride; it could be fear. Whatever it is, I just stand there as my chance slips away.

  “Two minutes.”

  It’s too late. Time has made the decision for me.

  “Raffy!”

  Cool air blasts my back as the doors rush open, followed by the warmth of an arm over my shoulder. He looks tired, like he hasn’t slept at all. “I heard you could use a partner.”

  I stare at Luca like he’s not even real.

  “Did May call you? What are you doing here?”

  “Saving your career. We’ll talk later,” he whispers to me. Then he throws a prizewinning smile at Madeline and says, “We’re ready for our second chance.”

  There’s an exchange between the clubbers and Irma, who looks beyond self-satisfied with this development.

  “Superb work,” she says to me, a thickly ringed hand on my shoulder. “I knew you’d choose right.”

  I let her believe that.

  We’re pushed through security and into the makeshift Craft Club. They’ve brought jerseys for us to wear over our clothes, and they tell us to put our stuff in a private curtained area. For a moment, we’re silent, each of us watching the other.

  “Luca, why are you doing this?” I ask.

  “I want to do this.”

  “But after everything that happened, you said—”

  “I know what I said.”

  “No talking,” the coordinator commands. “Hurry up.”

  We’re led into the main area, where the rest of the teams are already waiting. Inaya sees me first, then sees Luca, and her face goes from surprised to amused. I shove down my usual jealousy toward her. Inaya is the most focused person I know, and right now, I need to be focused, too.

  “We’ll film Irma explaining the rules in a moment, but first some housekeeping items before we start rolling.”

  The coordinator explains that cameras have been set up all over the arena with live feeds that’ll be shown on Ion. On the home page of Ion, actually. We’ll be filmed for the entire twelve hours, followed by judging at the end. Teams only need to create one outfit each, but they must be fully completed. We’re allowed to take breaks by ourselves outside of the filmed area, but never with our teammates, and talking to other teams off camera is also forbidden. There’s a single bathroom off to the side, and each team has a changing room near their station that can be used for getting into costume.

  “This is going to be in front of the whole world,” I tell Luca.

  “I know.”

  “Do your parents know you’re doing this?”

  Luca lifts just one eyebrow. “Does Evie?”

  Fair point. I forged her signature on all the forms. I guess Luca did the same with his parents. It’s just like old times, the two of us hiding with one another. But that’s about to change for sure.

  The clubbers come around with a bin to collect our phones. Before they take mine, I type a quick message to my mother.

  Something came up. I can’t go with you to NYC. I’m sorry.

  I don’t bother telling her anything else. Not that I’m at Controverse. Not that I’m excited. Certainly not that I’m about to be on TV. It won’t matter.

  Then I hand over my phone, and the clubber disappears as Irma is prepped for her entrance. The cosplayers are marched back behind the shelves, and we’re told that we’ll come out one team at a time. I try to listen to the directions, but I can’t stop thinking about Luca’s shoulder pressed to mine.

  The camera crew leave us for a minute, and suddenly we’re all alone.

  “So, my favorite boys are back together,” Inaya says to Luca, sarcastic.

  “Get lost, Inaya,” Luca says. “That was pretty brutal, what you did last night.”

  “Sorry,” she laughs. “But I told you I was going to do whatever it took to win, didn’t I? You can’t say I didn’t warn you.”

  Luca crosses his arms. “Whatever. I’m on Raffy’s team now.”

  Inaya laughs. I’m reminded of our lost friendship, and I wonder if I ever really understood it—or Inaya—at all. I was always so captivated by her and her talent, but were we ever actually close? There was mutual respect, but our relationship always felt mostly work-based. Cosplay, crafting, and then little to no contact after Blitz Con was over. Inaya chose Luca, and now she has chosen Christina. Maybe this is just the way she works.

  “You should give up now,” Inaya says playfully. “Unless you just really love hanging out in last place.”

  “Please, you’re just scared of Raffy,” Luca says.

  Inaya shrugs. “Maybe, but there’s only one of Raffy on your team. Christina and I have been scheming all night. This is a competition for serious crafters. No offense, Luca, but I’m not sure how far you’re gonna make it once we actually have to do, you know, hard work.”

  I don’t laugh. Luca and I have a lot of history between us, but Inaya’s comment feels outright cruel. I know she’s just speaking her mind, but I see Luca dim a bit.

  “It’s a show, Inaya,” he says. “All of this is a show. You could do the best work, but if no one wants to watch you, I don’t think Irma’s going to care.”

  “And why would people want to watch the two of you more than the two of us?”

  At that, Luca strips off his shirt, alarming everyone. He untangles his jersey and pulls just that on. It’s tiny on him, originally meant for May, and the result is a very taut view of his chest and abs beneath the thin material. His exposed arms bulge as he flexes.

  “Well, for starters, I’ve got this going on,” he says.

  I take Luca’s side. “Yeah, for starters, he’s hot.”

  Inaya rolls her eyes. “You’re using sex appeal? In a crafting competition?”

  “I’m using sex appeal in a cosplay competition,” Luca corrects. “You of all people ought to know that a bit of skin can go a long way. Isn’t that why you teamed up with me in the first place?”

  Inaya lets out a small laugh. “You’ve got me there.”

  The coordinators return, shushing us. The audio guys finish hooking up our mics, and the lights are up on the arena floor. It’s time for introductions.

  The first two teams are called in.

  “You nervous?” Luca asks me.

  I am. I have no idea what we’re about to walk into. We’ve prepared nothing. Schemed not at all. Luca an
d I have barely even talked these last few months, and there’s so much to talk about. But the clock is ticking, and everyone is getting ready, so where do I even start?

  “I’m really glad you’re here,” I tell him.

  Luca looks down at me.

  “You are?”

  I nod. It’s the truth. When he walked through those doors, I felt relief. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in a long time without feeling sad, or angry, or annoyed.

  The next team is told to enter. We’re walking in last.

  “I know it’s bad timing, but I really want to talk about what happened,” Luca says. “I even wrote out what I’d say, but it never felt like enough for you. Nothing ever did, to be honest.”

  That doesn’t sound like me. It sounds like Evie.

  “Do you ever think about trying again?” he asks.

  “All the time,” I admit.

  “Bet you didn’t think it’d be here and now. Sounds like everyone’s counting on us to fall apart again,” Luca says.

  “Don’t worry, we won’t. We’ll figure it out,” I tell him as they call for us to enter.

  “Yeah, we will,” he says.

  I’m talking about the work, but as usual, Luca is talking about us. He takes my hand, and that’s how we enter the arena. Two boys, fingers locked, ready to face anything.

  Twenty

  Then

  Seven months ago

  The truth is, I had no idea what would happen if I told Luca that I loved him. Saying it was as scary as cutting into new cloth. I always measure, I always trace, I always know the shape of what I want to create. But I never know exactly how it’ll turn out. I love you was the plunge. The slice. The commitment to that final shape, whatever it may be.

  So much about Luca and me has happened without words—has had to happen without words. No names, no definitions. The time spent between two boys, sometimes painting, sometimes gluing, sometimes sewing, but always touching? I have a name for that, but Luca doesn’t. And I’ve always known that namelessness was important to him.

  It’s not bad if it’s not named. But if it’s love? If it’s love, it’s something, and if it’s something, it can’t be nothing. It can’t just go away when it’s hard.

  I didn’t know what would come after the moment. But I knew I had to find out if there would be an “after” at all. So I said it. I made the cut.

  It turned out that what came after was a lot of kissing. At least in this situation, my measurements and my careful tracing and my pained planning paid off.

  In the wise words of Luca: WOO!

  Luca and I walk through Craft Club hand in hand on a Sunday afternoon. Evie’s home right now, so we’re taking a break from the studio. It feels weird not to be working and weirder to be holding hands in public, but I’m strangely at ease. Maybe it’s because I’m exhausted, or because I’m hitting the bottom of my iced coffee from Jurassic Perk. Or maybe I’m learning to enjoy breaks. I don’t know. I don’t feel anxious for the first time in…ever? And since I’m not on the verge of panicking, I don’t mind that Luca is leading us toward whatever catches his eye. Sure, I made a list—I am in love, but I am still Raphael Odom—but Luca has changed the way I approach projects, and I think it’s for the better. Right now, my top priority isn’t progress. It’s watching Luca get inspired.

  “I was thinking we could get, like, studs or something? I saw a video where this girl glued studs onto her collar,” Luca is saying, picking through packets of geometric studs in brass, silver, and chrome. “We need a copper color, though. I guess we could use that buff stuff you got?”

  He’s talking about Rub ’n Buff. You use it to buff on a worn look, and he’s exactly right. I was thinking that, too.

  “Where would we put the studs?” I ask.

  “The hilts of the weapons. And maybe on the straps?”

  Luca’s ideas are becoming less whimsical and more strategic. Ideas I can work with. Good ideas, actually.

  “We can use glue for the flat-backed ones on the weapons, but that won’t hold for the straps,” I say. “We should get ones we can use on flexible material.”

  “Do they make those?”

  “Luca, it’s Craft Club. They make everything.”

  He squeezes my hand, pushing a warm kiss into my hairline.

  “Okay. Here’s the plan,” he says, knowing I love nothing more than a good plan. Luca’s plans are very simple—really just next steps—but whatever. It’s the effort to stay organized that counts. I pull on a serious planning expression, salute him, and await orders.

  “You go grab the fabric. I don’t know how to do that. I will go ask about Rub ’n Buff and sew-on studs.”

  “Look for rivet studs specifically. Check the leatherwork aisle.”

  “Right. Rivets. Studs. Leather. I like where this is going.”

  Another kiss, and he’s off. I march to the back of the store, where the bolts of fabric form a jungle of patterns and colors. I review the list in my build book. I’m looking for neoprene, or a scuba-suit-like fabric that has a matte finish. You won’t see much of it under the armor, but it provides a very workable surface for affixing the lightweight foam pieces. I’m also looking for a knit fabric for Deimos’s shawl. Which reminds me to grab magnets—the key to a durable cosplay is having intentional break points so that things like capes just snap off if they get caught. I add that to the list of stuff we’ll grab at the hardware store after this.

  I take my time, for once. I feel each texture, waiting for inspiration to spark in my palm as it drifts over the right bolt. I locate the neoprene I want, then the knit, but I keep exploring. I find a roll of soft pleather scored with scales. Without thinking about it, I mentally dress Luca instead of myself. This fabric would fit him like a second skin. Maybe I could make a full-body suit and dress him as a heartless from Kingdom Hearts. Something slinky but athletic. Lithe, dark, dangerous.

  I find a second fabric that could work for that: a bolt of slick patent leather. It’s super stretchy, more like a Lycra. Even better.

  “Can I help you with anything?”

  I turn to the clubber, their magenta vest rousing me from my daydream of dark cloth and skintight armor.

  “Yes, actually. Can I get cuts of this and this?” I pull out the cloth I actually came here for, writing out the yardages. Then I wait by the cutting table as the clubbers help the people before me. I fiddle with my phone. Absently, I swipe through Ion. My recommended feed is full of people getting ready for Blitz.

  One video is titled “Final Touches for Blitz!” Another is labeled “Blitz Makeup Test Number 2.”

  The lazy vibe of my day dies, just like that. Here I am, just now getting my fabrics cut, and people are already nearly done? Before I can stop myself, I’m fast-forwarding through other videos, checking out photos and bingeing on updates that make me feel worse and worse. Then I’m looking at my calendar, counting the days until Blitz.

  Not to be dramatic, but mathematically, we are fucked.

  I try to do the whole deep breaths thing. I have to calm down before Luca finds me, or else I’ll ruin both of our days. But I can’t calm down, and suddenly I can’t be in Craft Club. I leave my fabrics behind and race to the doors, scrambling outside before the sheer abundance of the store overwhelms me.

  Do I usually shake like this? Do I usually shiver? I pace around the plaza until a cool voice cuts through my racing thoughts.

  “Raphael?”

  I look up. I’m in front of Jurassic Perk. There are only a few people seated outside in the cool, March day. One of them is a man I vaguely recognize, maybe someone Evie knows? But then he moves, and the person with him comes into focus. It’s Evie herself, staring at me like I’ve just fallen out of the sky.

  “Hi,” I say.

  “Oh, so this is the young Odom that Evie keeps hidden away,” the man says p
layfully. Evie gives him a pained smile, hiding her own surprise just in time. I’m guessing this is a gallery colleague. Probably not the person she wants finding out about me and my dirty little habit of cosplaying.

  “Were you in Craft Club just now?” the man goes on, filling the silence between Evie and me. “What are you working on? I’ll admit, I’m more than curious to see what the offspring of the great Evie Odom gets up to in his spare time.”

  “I’m making—” I begin.

  Evie snaps out of her daze. “Oh, Raphael is very private. Let’s respect his process and not pry, Marc.”

  Marc shrugs. Evie stands. “Excuse us for a minute, will you?” Marc shrugs again as Evie sweeps me away. I throw him a Mayday look, but he’s on his phone.

  Evie stops in front of Craft Club. The doors slide open, but we don’t enter. She just looks at me, arms crossed, like she’s brought me to the scene of a crime she knows I committed.

  “Don’t you dare,” she says.

  “Dare what?”

  “Try to embarrass me in front of one of my colleagues. You were going to tell him the truth. I could sense it.”

  Evie takes advantage of my shock by snatching my notebook from my hand. She flips through my sketches and diagrams, her disgust deepening with each page.

  “It’s not embarrassing,” I say meekly.

  “Oh, no, it is,” she quips. “I looked up all this cosplaying, you know. I thought maybe I was wrong after Rocky talked to me about it over Christmas. But my instincts, as always, were right. It’s dress-up. Not even drag. Just dressing up as cartoons.”

  I mean, yes, it is, but in the same way that painting is just smearing shit on paper. I don’t say this. I still can’t find my own voice.

  The doors try to close, but jerk back open because we’re still blocking them. A small family carrying bright pink bags stops short of our argument as they try to exit, then awkwardly passes through it. Evie flaps her hands at them like they can’t see or hear her.

  “You couldn’t have picked a more spiteful hobby, Raphael. I mean, seriously. Cosplay, from what I’ve seen, is nothing but the cheap mimicry of someone else’s design. I thought if I surrounded a talented child with originality, they’d covet the divine singularity of what they alone could create. But no, here I find you at home in a store for hobbyists, presumably to rip off some other artist’s work and play heroes and villains. I could scream, Raphael, I could just scream.”