We sit in silence for a second, just looking at each other—her through her feathers and me through my mask—but it doesn’t feel weird. It feels . . . nice? Until she clears her throat and sits a little straighter, and I stare down at my shoes, willing my foot not to tap.
“How did you end up working for Satan’s Comics with your sister tonight? Is it some kind of, like, sibling purgatory program or something?” she asks. “Did you do something really awful?”
“Satan’s Comics?”
“Sorry, sorry, The Geekery.” She rolls her eyes. “‘Satan’s Comics’ is just our little family nickname for it.”
My stomach tenses. Right, she hates us, like everyone else. Shit, even I do, and I own shares. Or will own shares someday. Maybe. If I’m in the will. Which I might not be, actually, but. “They aren’t that bad, are they?”
“Oh my god.” She frowns. “They’ve brainwashed you. Don’t worry, I can help. Hurry, let’s run away together. I’ll introduce you to some real artists and a good comic shop, and we’ll do our best to deprogram you before our evil overlords ever find out.”
I do this snort-chuckle thing that I will definitely be cringing over for the rest of my life and shake my head. “Come on, they can’t be as terrible as all that.”
“You poor thing,” she says, clutching her heart in mock horror. “Yes, they are. Do you know how many people they’ve put out of business? Not to mention the sort of events they promote.” She makes a gagging face. “Plus, the way they go after Vera Flores now. I mean, come on.”
Shit. Of course she would know about that—she’s dressed as one of Vera’s characters. She’s probably as big a fan of hers as I am. If this girl finds out who my dad is, I’m totally screwed.
thinkthinkthinkthinkthink
“They do a lot of charity work,” I point out, which sounds pathetic, but.
“Probably just for the PR,” she says, which, fair. I should probably care that she’s trash-talking my family’s legacy, but the way she gets all animated and her eyes get all sparkly while she rants is a little bit addicting.
“Seriously, if you ever want to run away . . .” She laughs.
“Watch out, I might take you up on that,” I say, the words just slipping out, and she smiles the kind of smile you can’t fake, with the tip of her tongue sneaking out between her teeth. And I feel happy and sad at the same time and wish I was anyone else, because anyone else would be going in for the kiss right now, and I’m just sitting here staring.
Her phone dings. She reads a text message and frowns. “Shit. I have to go.”
“You do?” I ask, trying to swallow the disappointment that’s building like bile in my throat.
waitwaitwaitplease
Music starts playing—violins, maybe?—and it takes me a second to realize it’s her ringtone. Which is surprising. I don’t know what I expected, really, but I guess not classical music.
“Hello?” she says, wincing as she answers her phone. “Mom, I’m fine. . . . No. No! You do not have to come find me. Why are you even at the prom? . . . Uh-huh, sure, drink tickets, I completely believe that. I’m fi—okay, okay! Ten minutes? . . . Fine, five. Five. I’ll be there. . . . Love you too. Bye.”
“Everything okay?”
“Apparently, my mom showed up at the prom to ‘give me drink tickets’ and was pissed that I left without telling her, so now I have five minutes to make it to my room before I’m grounded for life.”
I scratch the back of my neck, guilt turning it crimson. “I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”
sorrysorrysorryyoucangopleasestay
“You didn’t,” she says, raising an eyebrow. “I knew what I was doing when I left. This was basically an experiment anyway, so there was bound to be a learning curve.”
“Experiment?”
whattheactualfuck
“Yeah, it’s called ‘stepping outside of my comfort zone.’ You should try it.” She pulls a pen out of