Page 47 of My Cosplay Escape
“I’ll do any graveyard. Any other morning or afternoon. Any other night except—”
“Sarah, I want to help you out. And I definitely will do my best to make sure you make your study groups and classes, but my hands are tied this month. I’m already getting enough flack from the rest of the crew as it is for never scheduling you Friday and Saturday nights. You know what everyone is saying, right?”
“They’re saying that my study group is mighty convenient.”
“Mighty too convenient.”
I wince. “Which would make me more friends?”
“Friday night.”
Fine. “I’ll take it.” I don’t know how I’ll afford my phone bill, but I’ll take it.
* * *
Sometimes I wonder, mainly when I’m delirious after sixteen-mile runs, if I should wear a part of my suit when I call Adam about Catstrike stuff. Standing in my yoga pants and Lululemon top and purring into the phone seems… wrong. Fun, but wrong, I think, licking the chocolate amaretto gelato off my spoon. Mom’s been making vegan ice cream every night since the Santa Anas started.
“Sabine,” Adam answers cautiously. Not cautiously—that’s me projecting our basement-of-the-econ-building-party-with-Brenda-baggage into this phone call. He answers professionally. No bias. No feelings. No caution. All professionalism. I can be professional too.
“Adam. Things have… changed,” I say suggestively in my yummiest Catstrike voice. What? I’m a professional cosplayer. Owning my character’s flirtatiousness is professional in this instance.
I can hear the smile in his voice. “How so?”
“My Friday nights are no longer available.”
He groans. “This is not my day.”
I want to make a flirty quip about his nights but stop myself just barely. The discrete panels of my life, separated by careful margins of white gutters, are starting to bleed together. “Maybe it’s time to find another Cat—”
“I need another night, Sabine. Thursday? Can you do Thursday?” He sounds slightly frantic.
I check my schedule, which Mom has on a whiteboard. “For now.”
“Great. We’ll start next week. I’m going to need a different costume from you on Thursdays. You ready to go camp for me? I don’t care what color your hair is—”
“Okay.”
“Okay, you’ll do it?”
“Okay, I’ve got an idea.”
“Will you give me a hint?”
“Maybe. If you ask nicely.” I hang up before he can say another word. Shirley Temples, I have to finish my other costume.
* * *
It has been so long since I’ve worked a Friday night at the gym, I’ve forgotten how long and endless and boring it can be. I mean, working the escape room in a catsuit isn’t a giggle a minute, but working with Adam… It is stupid, but the nights he manages are always fun. Not that I waver from character and not that we say all that much to each other. Goldfish, I’m sounding sad and desperate. It beats a slow night at the gym, is all.
Nathan, a co-manager, and Alice, one of the personal trainers who occasionally picks up a regular shift, are the other employees scheduled with me for the night.
“You need a break?” Nathan asks.
I twist my dad’s old ring around my left thumb. “Maybe in another forty. You take yours. We got this. Right, Alice?”
Alice is with a gym member but gives me the thumbs-up.
Nathan leaves for some air and probably a cold drink. The Santa Anas are setting records all across San Diego County. My performance polo can’t wick sweat fast enough in this heat.
