Page 36 of My Cosplay Escape
“Moron.”
I roll my eyes. “Speed bumps, remember? How are things between you and Tony? Are you on again or off again?”
“Off again, which is why I’m so mad at you.” Gwen throws a pillow at my head. “How can I live vicariously if there is nothing to live vicariously for?”
“Can you stop with the pillows? You’re going to ruin my mani.” My fingernail stubs look almost pretty in the subtle shade.
Gwen walks on her heels to the kitchen and grabs a Diet Coke. “Kind of surprised Adam cosplays, actually.”
“If it was him,” I mutter.
Gwen slams her fridge door shut. “What? It mightnothave been him?”
“I don’t know. I mean, I think so. I thought so. I don’t know.”
“Woman, you are playing with fire.” But she’s not mad. She’s more marveled. Which is kind of funny.
I giggle in spite of myself and speed bumps. It’s not easy to surprise Gwen.
She clinks her can open. “Ifit was Adam, you know he went out and found a ’90s-era Nightbat suit just so he could match you.”
“Ha-ha,” I deadpan.
Gwen flops down on her sofa. “And then he spent all night hiding, watching you work, waiting to put his carefully-crafted plan into action.”
“You’re making him sound more than a little creepy now.”
“And now that he has, he’s spent the last three days sick in bed because he can’t puzzle out if you know it was him or not.”
I laugh and grab my head as if I have the worst case of brain freeze and do my best imitation of the Nightbat voice. “But if she knew it was me and kissed me, does that mean…”
Gwen nearly sprays her Diet Coke, she’s laughing so hard. “Does she like me for me, or does she like me for Nightbat?”
She sounds more like a caveman than Nightbat. I laugh until my sides ache. “Are you sure it is necessary to paint your nails before the first day of class even if you’re only taking one class?”
Gwen throws another pillow at my head.
“Again with the pillows?” I say, ducking.
“You told me you were taking two Open University classes. Did you chicken out?” Gwen demands.
The smell of the nail polish makes me dizzy. Or maybe it’s the last-night-of-summer jitters. “No. But online courses don’t really count. I’m only going to campus one day a week.”
“Online courses do count, dummy. And yes, I’m sure that painting your nails is absolutely necessary.” Gwen beckons me over to inspect my work. “You have to start the new school year off right.” She grabs a wooden dowel, twists cotton around it, dunks it in acetone, and deftly swipes at my cuticles until they are lacquer free. “Don’t suppose there’s any chance I can persuade you to wear something other than a hoodie?”
“Nope.”
She blows on one of my nails. “We’ll take what we can get.”
* * *
Gwen isn’t the only one concerned about my wardrobe choice.
“Is that what you’re wearing?” my mom asks the next day, minutes before my first (again) day of college departure. A frown tugs her lips down. Her eyebrows knit together. She is a portrait of dismay.
I look down at my slouchy jeans and old Padres hoodie. “What’s wrong with it?”
“Honey, I know you’ve been self-conscious about your figure ever since you gained that sophomore fifteen before your wedding—”
