How to Repair a Mechanical Heart - By J. C. Lillis Page 0,53
prepaid for and our VIP goodie bags.
Then the double doors swing open.
I’m like…swept away. It sounds like fluttery fanfic but there’s no other way to describe it. Entering the ball is like crashing on a planet where no one cares how you dress or how you dance or who you love. Everywhere you look there’s a beautiful weirdo: the guy gyrating on stilts in a homemade Xaarg cape, the chubby tattooed girl twirling in a skirt made of glow-sticks, the pale androgynous couple in matching Lagarde black leather. Beyond a cluster of small tables with glowing centerpieces shaped like Xaarg’s hat, there are even two girls dressed like Cadmus and Sim, holding hands on the edge of the dance floor.
Bec and Dave run off together, disappear into the churn of dancers. I just stand there in the doorway with Abel and grin like an idiot, the disco ball scattering stars on my face and the music pounding me a new heartbeat. I scan the crowd for hey_mamacita, for the sunflower she said she’d pin in her dreadlocks.
“The night that changed everything…” Abel says.
I look over at him, hopefully, but then I see he’s ripped his goodie bag open and is holding an oversized trading card, reading the caption under a picture of the smashed-up Starsetter.
“What’s in your bag?” he says.
I tear it open, not caring, still glancing around for dreads and a sunflower. A sheet of Castaway Planet logo stickers, a few jumbo trading cards, a silver favor bag of cinnamon jellybeans, and a reminder to purchase our pre-autographed Darras/Ransome photos from the booth to our immediate left.
“Thirty bucks? What a rook.” He’s already fishing in his wallet. “One David Darras,” he yells to the booth guy.
“Really?” I poke him.
“It’s for you, dimwit.”
“You don’t have to—”
He waves me off, grabs his change and the rolled-up photo. “Here, babe. Your hero.”
“What about your hero?”
“Eh. Got him in my head.”
I slide off the rubber band and unroll the photo. Darras is in his Sim costume, perfect as always, but the smile is stiff and cheesy and the signature’s so sloppy I can only read the Ds. It’s weird; a few weeks ago I would’ve held the photo up to the light to trace the whorls of his fingerprints, would’ve nearly passed out just knowing that David Darras was backstage and I was going to lay eyes on him in person within five minutes.
I blink at the photo. I don’t feel too much, just a little twinge. It’s only special now because Abel bought it for me.
“Thanks,” I tell him.
He looks away. “S’okay.”
Brandon gathered all his courage like dry tinder sticks and, with a sharp hopeful intake of breath, boldly lit the match.
“You…want to dance?”
“Umm.” He fiddles with the collar on his Sim shirt. “Maybe we should wait.”
I droop inside. “Why?”
“I don’t know. I think maybe—”
“THE MOMENT HAS ARRIVED.”
The music cuts off. The blue and purple lights stop pulsing. On the ballroom stage, a single spotlight pops on, and a slick-haired announcer in a tux jacket and logo t-shirt steps into place. Everyone flips into cutthroat mode, squeezing and elbowing toward the stage for prime Q&A real estate.
“Wanna get close?” Abel nudges me.
Yes. Yes.
I shrug carefully. “Let’s stay here.”
“Really?”
“We’ve got a question paddle. They’ll see us.”
“Don’t you want to see them?”
I’d rather see you. God, I need a better line. hey_mamacita, where are you?
“And NOW, Castie boys and girls,” the announcer’s saying, “it’s my honor and pleasure to introduce the men of the hour—the best of friends and the oddest of couples—” He winks, and then waits for the shipper squees to die down. “Let’s give a huuuuuuuuge Castie welcome to the Captain and the Android, ED Ransome and DA-vid DAR-rasssssss!”
Ransome and Darras trot out from behind the black curtain. Matching tuxes. Holding hands. When they hear how loud everyone’s cheering they play it up, raise their clasped hands high like a wishbone and stand there smiling while the whistles and hoots wash over them.
Abel tilts his head. “Ed Ransome’s shorter than I thought.”
I nod. And Darras is an alien without his pale Sim makeup. Tanned and blond and floppy-haired, with a soap-star smile and a loose, preening walk.
Maybe too loose.
“Your boy’s had a few,” whispers Abel.
“Okay, ohhhhhhh-kay, settle down,” Darras grins, waving his arms like a Muppet. “We know. We’re awesome.”
“Well, you’re awesome,” Ransome pouts. “I only aspire to awesomeness.”
“He sells himself short, guys. All the time. Kinda tragic, don’t you think?”
They pingpong some more. I am in the presence of David