Page 79 of The Holiday Fakers
“Holy shit, Piper! These are incredible!”
I hand him the tablet as I preen. “These are the best ones from my early twenties.”
Brody scrolls through pictures of elves and wizards, dragons, witches, mermaids—a whole world of beings from my imagination, books I’ve read and films and TV series I’ve binge-watched.
Brody’s taking his time with every image, his eyes tracking over the lines and the composition.
“Some of these are hand drawn and the others are digital?”
“Yeah. It depends on what mood I’m in or what kind of effect I want to achieve.”
He swipes to the last one in the gallery, and an old pain resurfaces in my gut.
“This one is familiar,” he says slowly, as if he’s trying to place how he knows it.
I sigh. “Yeah. It was the first one to go semi-viral. A massive online store ripped it off, printing it on everything from blankets to mugs. I complained, of course, but nothing happened. It’s just the same old bullshit when you’re an individual creator. Your stuff gets pirated, and you can’t do anything about it.”
Brody’s gone incredibly still, like he’s a panther about to pounce.
“It’s okay,” I say brightly, even though it’s not, and it’s never going to be. “I’m over it. More or less. And there’s no point in staying mad when it won’t change the situation.”
“Am I allowed to be mad on your behalf?”
“Honestly, I don’t want you to waste another thought on it. Yes, it’s shitty, but I’d much rather you think about the pictures themselves, and that I drew them.”
He takes my hand. “I’m so proud of you. These are incredible. I love them. You were always crazy talented growing up, but these are next-level cool.”
I can’t stop a smile taking over my face. “Thank you.”
“Seriously, I want you to send them to me so I can always see them. Or do you have them online? Is this what your mom was talking about?”
I nod. “Most of these are online.”
“Do you have any others?”
My cheeks flush with heat.This is it, the moment I unleash the crazy.
“I do,” I begin. “But if I show you, you have to promise not to freak out.”
He turns to look at me properly, and suddenly, I feel stupid. The best friend’s little sister with a crush that never really went away.
“I’ll do my best,” he says gently. “And I promise you there’s nothing you could ever say or do that would change my opinion of you.”
But thiswillchange his opinion. He’s gonna think I’m just like every other super-crazed fan who can’t tell fiction from reality.
I don’t know what to do. It’s like I’m made of tissue paper, and one word from him could tear me apart.
“You don’t have to show me if you don’t want to,” he says, his voice so patient and understanding.
Even though my mind says, “Don’t do it,” I still want to show him. It’s a secret I’ve held onto for so long, it’s practically begging to burst out. I just have to trust it won’t make him run.
Taking the tablet from him, I open my secret folder, the one nobody else has ever seen, the one filled with drawings of the man sitting beside me.
The first image is of him as a warrior elf, striding toward the viewer, a bow in one hand, the other reaching over his shoulder to fetch an arrow from his quiver.
“Is that … me?” he asks, his voice hushed like he’s in church.
“Yeah.”
