Page 22 of My Cosplay Escape
“Like Soar? Cyborg-man? Black Morph?” I ask.
Stacey stares at me. “Yeah. It can be a lot of fun. Everyone loves it. Adam’s a cool guy. Eye for talent too. I never would have picked me or Frankie out as Fem Fantastic or Poison Hemlock, but we kill it every time.”
“If I do this, you won’t ever mention that we met in real life? I mean… you wouldn’t tell Adam about me? What I look like?” I get that Adam doesn’t know me, and doesn’t know my past. But I know me. I know I don’t live up to the cosplay, and for whatever reason, I’d rather not have Adam clued in to that sad little detail.
Stacey’s brow furrows. She takes a swig of her coffee. “I’m the last person in the world who’d ever out another girl in any way.” She flips over her phone. “I’ve got to run. I’ve got a study date. It was nice to meet you, Not Really Sabine. I hope I see you at work sometime. It’s a good hustle, especially if you’re going to be going here in the fall.” She winks and leaves.
* * *
My hands shake as I grip my transcript, but I know me. If I don’t do this now, who knows if I ever will?
I walk into the administration building, hopelessly lost but determined. Any open door will do at this point. I duck into the nearest.
“May I help you?” A woman with dyed, red hair looks up at me over her frameless glasses.
“I’m here to talk to a counselor or an academic adviser.” Really anyone who can help me figure out a path forward.
“Do you have an appointment?”
I smile my most winning smile. “I’m a walk-in.”
The woman folds her hands and takes in a deep breath. “I’m sorry, but all our counselors are busy. Would you like to make an appointment?” She wrangles her mouse into cooperation and clicks the computer into submission. “We have an opening at four thirty.”
“I’m working then.”
She blinks twice before continuing. “You can, of course, book your own appointment through the campus portal.”
I laugh nervously. “I’m a transfer student. Or I hope to be a transfer student. I just need to talk to someone—”
“It’s very simple. You can access our appointment page by logging in with your student ID.”
I grip my transcript tighter. The row of F’s and W’s wink up at me. “I don’t have a student ID yet. If you only knew the hoops I had to jump through to get my transcript printed out at the student center.” I feel my dream sliding away from me. I feel like I can’t breathe, and I have eight more miles to run before I reach the halfway point.
A door pops open, and a woman with dark black hair and a friendly smile steps out. An insulated cooler covered in kawaii lemons with rosy little faces is slung over her shoulder. “I’m off to lunch,” she says around bites of her granola bar. She stops and does a double take when she sees me. “Sarah?”
It’s Janet Stephens. Her son Evan is a regular at the Kids Club. “Hi, Mrs. Stephens. How’s Evan doing? Is the teething still going strong?”
“So bad that he’s been skipping his naps every afternoon, except the days when we get to the gym. Do you run a pint-size boot camp in there?”
“I don’t think so, but we’ve collected and hatched a lot of dragon eggs recently.” Evan is obsessed with dragons, and I’ve learned if we pretend we’re dragon catchers, he will not scream, throw things, or color on the walls. “We’ve had to outrun a lot of fire-breathing hatchlings.” I sound crazy, and my frantic energy isn’t helping.
“Ah, our post-gym errands are starting to make more sense.” She takes another bite of her granola bar. “You need some help?”
“But your lunch break,” my friend at reception says.
“It’s fine, Clare.”
Clare looks scandalized. If she’d been wearing pearls instead of a gaudy gold chain, she would have clutched them.
Janet props her office door open wide for me. “Come on in, Sarah.”
Janet brushes granola crumbs off her tweed pants before gesturing to the chair opposite her desk.
“I brought my transcript.” I’ve managed to crinkle it in my sweaty hand between here and the student union.
“Let’s take a look.” Janet marches over to her desk. Meanwhile, I’m dumbstruck by her gorgeous view—blue skies with big fluffy clouds framed by palm fronds.
“So you’re hoping to transfer, or you already have?” Janet grabs the glasses perched on the top of her head. The faint smile on her lips disappears when her finger lands on my sophomore year. “Seems like you hit a speed bump.”
