Page 51 of My Cosplay Escape
She looks enviably wistful. “Monique’s good. We’re good. What about you? Dating anyone?”
I look up and catch an uncharacteristic blush on Stacey’s face before she winces then squints her eyes shut. “What’s going on?” I demand quietly.
“Look, don’t be mad. I won’t say anything if you’re not comfortable with it. Adam asked me to ask you. He’s worried you’re married or dating someone. He’s worried you’re ‘taken’”—she uses air quotes—“and that’s why you’re so paranoid about staying in costume.”
I feel myself turn bright red. I refuse to process this. I sense not just a speed bump but dangerous off-road territory. I retreat to safer, albeit unrelated, ground. “He told me Frankie was engaged.”
“She is. In fact, you’re invited to her bachelorette party, if you want to come in your real skin. She can’t wait to regale you with all manner of tall tales about our fearless leader and his merry band of cosplayers. None of which are ever true.” Stacey narrows an eye on me. “But we’re not talking about Frankie.”
“But we could be.” I all but squeak.
I can tell Stacey wants to laugh. Instead her lips press together and her head tilts to the side. “How well do you know Adam?”
“I know he’s an MBA student here at SDSU and TAs Econ 450.”
Stacey stirs her coffee. She seems to be struggling for the right words. “Backstory always gets complicated, especially when it’s not your own.”
“Come again?”
“I don’t know the specifics. I don’t even know if it’s true.” Stacey takes a deep swig of her coffee. “He was serious with someone who was unavailable, is what I understand. He didn’t know she was unavailable until it was too late. Look, Adam is a great guy, and despite how douchey it looks asking me to ask you if you’re single, I think it’s only because he is determined not to repeat history.”
“Stace. I’m not… That is, he’s not…” I’m not even sure how to finish this sentence. I could lie and say he is not my type. But you don’t fantasize and plot how best to drive a man nutty if he isn’t your type. And I don’t know him well enough to know if I am his type.
“Look, I’m not going to say anything. I won’t even tell Adam we met. In fact, I wasn’t going to even ask you. It’s just I happened to see you today. Cute dress, by the way.”
I stare down at my navy A-line. It appeared in my closet after Mom took a pledge last weekend to only thrift-shop, for the sake of the environment. She was already doing a lot of thrifting over the summer. The environment and I both are grateful. Although, I did hide the sequined tuxedo pants in the linen closet.
“Thanks,” I mumble.
“I’ll send Adam a text to grow a pair and do his own dirty work. Either way, I’m glad I told you. Now you won’t be caught off guard.”
The door to the Starbucks jingles open. Adam walks in. Classic.
“Look who’s here.” Stacey waves to Adam.
“Don’t do that!” I slouch down in my chair, aware that cross-hatching should be inked on my cheeks they feel so obviously red.
“It’d be weird if I didn’t. Don’t worry. I won’t blow your cover.”
“Hey, Stace.” Adam gives Stacey a one-armed hug. “Hey, Sarah.”
Stacey looks from Adam and then to me, completely puzzled. Then a cheeky grin spreads over her face. “How do you knowSarah?” she asks.
I shake my head. I try hard to communicate with my eyes, to beg Stacey not to ask.
“I was briefly Sarah’s Econ 101 TA,” Adam explains.
Stacey licks her lips and chuckles into her coffee. Then it turns into an outright laugh.
“Why are you laughing?” I ask as calmly as I can manage. Which isn’t calm. At all.
“So it’s true, the last story Frankie told me?” Stacey laughs until she cries.
“What did Frankie tell you?” Adam asks.
“Don’t say it,” I say, packing up my books.
“Oh no!” Stacey rises, towering above me. “Look, I’m sorry, Sarah. You don’t have to pack up. I’m leaving.”
