RORY LYON has a sinking feeling that CASPER RAMSDEN is making fun of her when they ran into each other at a local fan convention. It almost comes as a relief when she discovers he is attending Experience College Week alongside her. She hopes they mi...
"Not all of us can say, with any degree of certainty, that we have always been human, or that we are only that." (Goodley, D. et al., 2014)
Copper medallions sewn along the hem of a leather band wrapped around his waist tinkled as he dropped to one knee. "Moon of my life," he whispered, unsheathing the plastic sword slung at his side.
"Stop. Your character would never offer mine his sword. He might give her the still-warm heart of a sworn enemy, but he'd be the one to cut it out. Besides, it just hit me how creepy it is for a father and daughter to cosplay as a couple."
"Rory, how it might look to strangers doesn't matter to me when it comes to making my little girl happy. I'm just hoping to get a hug out of all of this."
Exchanges like this between most fathers and daughters might have seemed normal, but not with us. History would tell him that I'd find his words cheesy, and his hope for a hug imposing. In fact, a hug might literally be the last thing he'd get from me. I glanced around at the corset and crinoline crowd until I caught sight of a prop-sword hanging from someone's belt. Nudging my chin at it, I said, "Tell you what: I'll consider letting you hug me if I am on the brink of death because someone in there stabs me with their plastic sword."
"Let's hope it doesn't come to that," he said with a little laugh.
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We shuffled forward in unison with the line for a moment until the movement stalled. He gave his finger a twirl as we waited. "Turn around. I'm trying to figure out which of us is prettier." Sweat dripped from my palms onto the delicate blue fabric of my skirt as I held it away from my legs and turned in a slow circle. After an excruciatingly long pause, he said, "You look lovely."
"Nothing's out of place?" I asked, letting out an explosive breath I hadn't been aware of holding. Suddenly he grasped me by the shoulders and pushed me toward one of the glass doors, clearly intending to have me use it as a mirror to check for myself. I threw my hands over my eyes until a blast from the air conditioning told me we'd made it through the doors.
"Don't blame me if your eyebrows are crooked," he said.
"My eyebrows aren't drawn on, and I don't wear eyeliner or mascara."
"Or know what a brush is. Good thing you're wearing a wig."
"Funny," I jabbed my finger at his wig. "For the record, it's been fifteen years since you've had that much hair."
"Seventeen. My hair fell out the day you were born." I stuck my tongue out at him, knowing it was an exaggeration. His short salt-and-pepper hair would rival his character's flowing mane if he let it grow.
I could see the line ahead of us compressing as it reached the gate queues. Imagining all those bodies pressed against mine was enough to make me bounce on the balls of my feet. It made me feel better to see Dad's phone in his hand, ready to be scanned. We gathered our wristbands at the booth and headed toward the only uncongested section of the room in view.
