belly button, which then devolved into this whole weird sky puppy conversation and—”
“Sky puppy?”
“He didn’t make up the term or anything. A lot of people call them that.”
“He calls bats ‘sky puppies’?” She grimaces.
“What’s wrong with that?”
“I don’t know. Instead of getting to know you, he’s sending you bat pictures. That’s weird. That’s a weird thing to do, Jubilee.”
I didn’t think it was weird; I thought it was cute. What does she expect? I’ve known him for like twenty-four hours; it’s not that deep. I roll my eyes. “Oh, what, is he supposed to be sending me dick pics on day one?”
She bursts out laughing, and I cross my arms. “What’s so funny?”
“Nothing,” she says, struggling to catch her breath. “Just that there’s a whole world between baby-bat memes and dick pics, you know? Maybe you could find someone more in the middle.”
“I don’t really want to find anyone; this is strictly for the good of my music,” I huff. “And hey, you encouraged this when I told you what this weekend was about.”
Jayla messes with her stereo, plugging in her phone and pushing play. Loud music starts thumping through the speakers, making the world vibrate in her rearview mirror. I glance behind me; I can’t help it.
“Relax, they veered off to get gas ten minutes ago.”
“Thank god.”
“You’re gonna ghost this guy, though, right? The whole point of con crushes is that you leave them at the con. It doesn’t really work if you don’t.”
“Yeah, probably,” I say. “Besides, he texted me earlier that he lives in Seattle and is flying back there tonight, so it’s not like we could ever be a thing anyway.”
Jayla glances at me. “I thought you didn’t have time for . . . things.”
“I don’t,” I say, fumbling with my phone. “I’m just saying, even if I did—”
“Right.” But then she peeks at me again, her eyebrows furrowing. “I’m starting to think you actually like like this boy.”
“I don’t even know him.” I’d want to, I think, if there were enough hours in the day and he didn’t live on the complete opposite side of the country. But there aren’t and he does, and I have a cello to get home to.
Jayla goes back to staring at the highway. “Mm-hmm.”
“I don’t,” I say again, not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Ridley
THE CON FINALLY ended at five, and an hour later, we’re barely halfway through teardown. Dad’s crew is currently boxing merchandise and running hand trucks full of comics out to the vans as fast as they can, probably hoping to escape a repeat of last year. I’m mostly standing around, chewing on my lip, trying not to combust. I’m so keyed up, I can’t take it, between Peak—who I absolutely shouldn’t still be texting but yet compulsively am—and trying to convince myself I don’t actually care that I’m about to fly to Seattle by myself while Gray and my dad get to stay here.
I grab a box of leftover glow sticks and carry it out with the guys to the loading dock. Grayson’s driving me to the airport soon, but she’s still making the rounds, hugging pretty much every single person she knows—i.e., every single person still here. Most of the smaller vendors and artists are already done with teardown, just mingling with friends before they hit the road. Vera is already gone, and Peak along with her, but we’ve been texting nonstop since she hit the road.
My flight’s not for three more hours, and I try not to think about the fact that our house is only forty-five minutes from here the way Gray drives, and I could conceivably go see it quick before hitting the airport. Not that seeing it would make it easier to leave. It would just be nice to be asked. There are so many things I want to know too, like is my room still the same, is the tree fort still there, does anybody notice I’m not around?
I slide the box into the van, frowning at my own neediness,