pretty funny to hide one of their pirate ships somewhere in the massive water feature in front of us, tucking it into a fern for only observant people to find, like an Easter egg.
I tip my head up, taking in the tremendous size of the volcanic rock in the atrium.
“How’d they even get this big hunk of rock in here?” I ask. “They must have wide-loaded it down the interstate like a mobile home.”
Imani laughs. “I’d like to see that. But it’s poured concrete, June. Mom showed me a time-lapse video of the company that set up the molds and everything. They designed it with all the planters and maintenance panels and stuff.”
“Oh,” I say, and feel a bit disappointed that it’s not actually volcanic rock, carted all the way here from somewhere far away and sunny.
Then I picture a crew of construction people working on this one, beautiful thing, carving out places in concrete for hothouse flowers to grow.
“Can you imagine having that as your job?” I yelp. “Designing waterfalls! That would be so cool!”
Imani laughs, but it’s the warming kind that makes you feel like you’re lying in a patch of sunlight.
“Don’t ever change, June,” Imani says. “You see the good side of everything.”
She takes my arm and leads the way around the water feature.
Once past the huge rock, you can see the escalators that reach to the second floor, and then the third-floor escalators rising above that. Here the line of people entering the convention center splits into groups either heading to the open doors on the ground floor that lead into the exhibit hall, or riding up the escalators to the ballroom.
“Okay, let’s review,” I say as we wait in line to get on the escalator to the second floor.
Siggy claps, and Imani rolls her eyes.
“Ground floor?” I ask.
“Exhibit hall! Vendors! Autographs! Photo ops! Snack food!” Siggy rattles off the list like an A+ student.
“Good! Second floor?”
“Ballroom! Interviews and panels! Smaller panels in the banquet rooms! Dance party in the ballroom tonight!” Siggy says all in a rush.
“Excellent!” I praise her as we step onto the escalator.
“You forgot skyway to the hotel for lunch,” Imani says drily.
“Imani! You were listening to the orientation!” I tease her, but it’s all in fun. Imani is excited to be here; she just didn’t need the floor-plan prepping.
“Last but not least, third floor!”
“No con activities! Go up for extra bathrooms if there’s a big line!” Siggy says.
“Excellent! You pass with flying colors,” I say.
Directionally, Siggy is hopeless. She couldn’t find her way out of a paper bag, but she’s as ready for this con as I can get her, and anyway we’re using the buddy system today.
We step off the escalators on the second floor and walk to the ballroom lobby area, funneling into a pack of people moving into the ballroom for the opening session.
ZombieCon! is being opened officially by Hunter Sterling.
“Don’t forget to breathe,” Siggy instructs me as we catch a glimpse of the huge screen hanging over the stage. Hunter’s character, Clay Clarke, stares out at the audience.
“Who needs to breathe when you can see that face?” I reply.
“Imani, slow down, June is hyperventilating here,” Siggy calls to Imani in front.
I’m not, but I did just bump into Imani because I was looking at the screen instead of where I was going.
Once we’re through the doors, the ballroom buzzes with voices and excitement. There’s row upon row, easily twenty or thirty, of padded metal chairs set out in three sections facing the stage.
Imani doesn’t stop to get her bearings or scan the rows of chairs for a group of three seats; she just walks immediately to the left, and then straight up the farthest of three aisles toward the front of the hall.
I don’t even question it. After practically my whole life with Imani as my best friend, I can say without a doubt: that girl always knows where she is