Page 7 of You. Me. Us.

The glass facade of the Javits Center gleamed under the early morning sun, its angular lines and soaring heights a testament to modern architecture, but a little out of place along the riverfront compared to the historic buildings around it.

Hillary watched as a colorful stream of people flowed toward the entrance, their excitement palpable even from a distance. Superheroes and villains, princesses and wizards, creatures from the depths of the imagination and icons from the pages of history and anime galore walked in droves around her. Each person was here because they wanted to be. She was here because she had to be, and if she didn’t center herself, she’d be overwhelmed before she even got in the door.

A group of Stormtroopers marched in formation, their white armor catching the light. A Deadpool danced by, his red and black suit a splash of irreverence amidst the crowd. There were Harley Quinns and Jokers, their over-dramatic laughtercarrying across the street, and a towering Chewbacca, his furry head bobbing above many attendees.

Hillary took a deep breath, adjusted her glasses, and stepped off the curb. Crossing the street was more like crossing a threshold into another world. The closer she got, the more the energy of the crowd enveloped her. There was a buzz in the air, an almost tangible shared anticipation.

Grabbing the pro badge dangling around her neck, she awkwardly pulled open the doors the map she’d studied all morning alluded she could use. There was a crowd before security, but she was surprised the line was not longer, and wondered if people were low in attendance during the week, or if many were already inside. Though no one spoke to her, she was shocked there was no shoving or fights either despite the tightly packed crowd.

She reached the security scans and paused, taking in the scene before her. The floor was flooded with people running, posing and seemingly even getting dressed while welcoming the throngs of enthusiasts. Beyond them, she glimpsed banners hanging from the ceilings and two escalators that seemed to vanish into the ceiling. What she didn’t see was a clear map or way to understand where anything was or would be without going through her email.

With a mix of worry and excitement, Hillary lifted her badge and tried not to hold her breath as the guard scanned it, the simple chime followed by his nod. “Thank you,” she moved quickly past him as if concerned the scanner would find something she couldn’t bring in.

She blinked, adjusting to the change in light. The interior was gigantic even with the hundreds of people she could see and filled with a dizzying array of sights and sounds even without seeing merchandise booths or celebs right out the gate.

Towering banners hung from the ceiling, emblazoned with the logos of iconic franchises. No vendors seemed to be on the entry level, but a Starbucks to the right and a sign boasting chicken tenders made her remember she needed to figure out how to eat and not miss timed events.

There were displays of intricate costumes, standees with large crowds waiting to take pictures, and dozens of cameras thrust into the air trying to capture it all. Something she would have to start doing sooner rather than later.

The hum of a thousand excited conversations filled the space, punctuated by the occasional burst of laughter or exclamation of delight.

A smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. Despite her usual reserve, she couldn’t help but be swept up in the sheer joy and passion that surrounded her. She adjusted the badge dangling from the lanyard around her neck, took a deep breath, and stepped forward into the throng, assuming she needed to walk toward one of the up escalators.

Hillary navigated through the ocean of devoted and creatively dressed fans, the noise of their excited conversations and laughter washing over her. Vibrantly hued wigs, intricately detailed prop weapons, and meticulously crafted costumes engulfed her, making her plain blazer and slacks stand out like a sore thumb. She hugged her notebook closer to her body, seeking some sense of comfort amidst the chaotic energy of the Comic Con convention center. The air was charged with anticipation and passion, pulsing with the collective love for all things geek culture. A love she was going to have to find quickly if she didn’t want to offend anyone.

Taking a deep breath, Hillary ducked into a slightly quieter corner and pulled up her email to confirm nothing had changed. “Of course there’s a change.” She sighed as she clicked open theemail on the top despite knowing a new line up would destroy her confidence and prep.

Her eyes scanned down the list of requested photos and panels, each row filled with a jumble of words and time slots. She knew her brow must be furrowed in concentration putting others off, but she had to focus around the noise as she searched for any changes made to the schedule. Her heart fluttered and her stomach coiled with nervousness as she landed on a name that seemed to leap off the page.

Julius Theon.

“Not possible,” she whispered to herself, blinking rapidly as if the name might disappear. “This can’t be right.”

She double—then triple-checked—the schedule, but it was in black and white. Hillary Mitchell, journalist for Muse Magazine, was set to interview none other than Julius Theon, the biggest fantasy star in Hollywood. The same Julius Theon whose movies she’d watched countless times, whose posters had graced her teenage bedroom walls when he was barely older than a teen himself. The star she daydreamed about meeting more times than she would ever admit out loud.

Hillary’s mind raced, trying to process this unexpected turn of events. Muse magazine was the third largest magazine in its space, but to interview with her? With a journalist who has no front-page byline? Either he was crazy, or this was a mistake.

For a moment, she was torn between letting out a scream, or puking into the nearest trash can to try to evacuate her nerves. Neither seemed acceptable.

This could be the big break she’d been waiting for, the chance to prove herself as a quality journalist. But the thought of coming face-to-face with Julius, of trying to maintain her composure in front of his magnetic presence, made her palms sweat and her heart race.

“Okay, breathe,” she muttered, forcing herself to take a few slow, deep breaths. “You’ve got this, Hillary. He’s just another actor, another interview. No big deal. Do not focus on how handsome he is or how he’s shirtless half of the time in his movies and you know exactly what thought’s you’ve had about doing to him thanks to said costume.”

But even as she said the words, Hillary knew they weren’t true and that her cheeks flamed red as she placed her palms on them to confirm the growing heat. Julius Theon was a big deal, and this interview had the potential to change everything for her career. She glanced at her watch, realizing she only had a few minutes before she was supposed to meet him at his booth.

Debating whether or not she should fix her hair out of the boring bun or check her makeup, Hillary took one last steadying breath before stepping back into the bustling crowd, determined to make the most of this incredible opportunity.

She navigated through the throng of fans, her eyes scanning for any sign of Julius’s booth, her mind already spinning with potential questions and angles for the interview. This was her moment, she was either going to fly or fall. Her money was on the latter, but she would give anything for it to be the former.

“All fans for the Julius Theon autographing session, you have fifteen minutes to get in line before this scheduled opportunity closes. This is a curtesy announcement due to the time change. Another will not be made.” A man in a bright orange shirt shouted into a megaphone dangerously close to her.

She wasn’t certain if that was the universe sending her a blessing or calling her an idiot, but glancing up to see a sign labeled ‘autographs lower level’ meant she was going to find him and not let Olivia down on interview one.

Thank god.

Dashing past people, her heart nearly jumped out of her chest as she saw nothing of the stage itself. Hundreds, possiblyeven a thousand, people gathered in a queue that took up damn near the entire room. They may have fifteen minutes to get in line, but at this rate, she would miss her interview, which would push all her others back. The line seemed to stretch on forever, a testament to Julius Theon’s immense popularity. Another glance at her watch again, sent a sinking feeling in her stomach.

There was no way for her to get where she needed to be.

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