Page 58 of The Brave and the Reckless

Seriously?

“She’s done nothing wrong,” I interjected. Technically not true, but nobody seemed to know what we did when our microphones cut out.

“I know,” Renee sighed. “I called all three of you here because I want to try and make the next few weeks a little easier for Esra.”

“I’ve had it easy,” Esra said. “I don’t really spend much time online, and there’s only been a few people who were outright rude to me in the park. Judith shuts them down so quickly. She’s great at that. I don’t even have to interact with them.”

I’d had no idea that she’d been dealing with any vitriol in person. It was one thing for people to say as much to me when I was in costume. They thought they could draw a mean comment from me because I played the antagonist in the town’s tale. Making Esra face their opinions was plain cruel. They could consider themselves lucky that they’d only been shut down by Judith.

“I think it would help if you upped your online presence,” Renee said. “Nowadays a lot of people come to thepark to see the people and characters they found online. Like thatRen Fairewhip guy who keeps singing pop songs and changes the lyrics to be about whipping, so people come to his shows to suggest really horny songs. He’s hot, he’s funny, he rakes in the cash.”

All three of us stared at Renee. She’d never taken a big interest in our social media profiles. There were a few rules she made us follow to keep the general park image family-friendly, but she’d never spelled out what she wanted to see from us or what she expected for the park. She’d also never questioned whether we made extra cash through our accounts, even though there was probably some legal ground for her to request a cut if we filmed in costume and during work hours.

“I’m not saying you guys should start singing BDSM songs to curb the fallout. Just think of something to make Esra a little more likable. As Annie Lou. You’re a likable person, Esra.” Renee quickly clarified that last part.

“You just want us to include her on our socials?” Lucas asked and shot Esra a smile. “I can think of a few ways to do that.”

“Likable,” Renee repeated. “We already have one Heather.”

Translation: no half-naked tricks on horseback.

“I might actually have an idea,” Esra said, biting her lip, “but I’ve only taken one year of psychology and wrote only one paper based on the hypothesis that the performative belongingness that comes with being a superfan fulfills the emotional and psychological needs of a person more than the actual subject of their admiration. Plus, that paper focused solely on the fans of three different sports teams, sowhile I was able to theoretically confirm my hypothesis, I don’t know if it can be translated into practice or if it works for fictional cowboys.”

I only understood half of what she was saying, but I couldn’t look away. It was the Hippocratic oath all over again. The stark reminder that Esra couldn’t do her laundry or bake a batch of cookies without putting the whole house at risk but had lived a whole different life before she took this job. Just like many times before, I wondered what the fuck she was doing here. For once, that thought didn’t strike because she was somehow unfit for this place, but because I realized Bravetown could never measure up to this girl. She was blindingly bright in ways that couldn’t be taught in school. How did someone with a brilliant brain like hers end up running around in a costume in a small local theme park? Why on earth was she letting me touch her every day when she should have been dating Nobel prize winners or something?

“What?” Renee asked after a moment of stunned silence, probably doing both Lucas and me a favor.

“Bravetown is a construct more than a place. It exists online. It exists in that short-lived TV show and in the picture books you sell in the parks. It exists in people’s minds,” Esra explained, “and to the fans, being part of Bravetown is more important than the individual pieces that created it in the first place.”

“Do you think it’ll work?” Esra stared up at me wide-eyed and hopeful.

“In some ways, yes.” I weighed my answer. “I think it will win over some of the people who are ambivalent about you, and the ones who support you will support you louder than before. It’ll help drown out the negativity.”

We walked home side by side after spending two hours filming short videos with Lucas. He’d walked off toward the hotel, claiming that was the best Wi-Fi in the park if you wanted to post on social media, but I knew for a fact that the entire park had good signal. I usually filmed my reactions on short breaks at the stables. So my best guess was that some park guest had slid into his DMs with her room number.

“Hmm… but the root of the problem remains. Me. I suck as Annie.” Esra sighed. “I guess I can say that at least I tried.”

We’d just filmed a dozen videos re-enacting snippets from the most popular fanfictions in our category. It had taken Esra only an hour to pull together links, quotes, usernames and screenshots, all neatly organized in a spreadsheet. She’d died twice– once in Lucas’s arms and once in mine– and I’d stared deeply into Lucas’s eyes for much longer and much more often than I’d ever anticipated. After the initial awkwardness, theatrically ripping my shirt open, biting down on the stem of a rose and tearing Annie from Kit Holliday’s arms had actually made for a fun way to spend the evening. The kitsch of it all reminded me of those pulp Westerns the park was based on.

“Look, from where I stand, only half the comments are valid. The ones saying Annie Lou is regressing instead of progressing,” I said, holding open the gate that led us out of the park and directly toward staff housing. It was theonly route out we were allowed to take in costume because it was completely shielded from the public.

“And the other half?” she asked and stopped on the threshold.

“Don’t think brown eyes arepretty.”

“Huh.” Her lips pursed. “Idiots.”

“Exactly.”

“Are you saying you think I have pretty eyes, Young?” She grinned and fluttered her lashes at me, still not moving, keeping us locked in the narrow frame of the gate.

“I’m saying we can do something about how pathetic you look on a horse.”

“Charming,” she groaned and slipped past me.

“Princess, if you want charming, you have to look for a prince.”

“No, thank you. I hearvillainsare better at giving head.” She cackled and shot a look over her shoulder at me. “So, what? You want to give me riding lessons?”

---