HI! MY NAME IS…
“Will I see you at the convention?”
The dastardly tween on the opposite side of the counter raised his eyebrow as I handed him his change. His eyes darted back and forth as he debated how it might come off to his friends. I only needed a single teenager to say yes, and we’d have a gaggle of disapproving teens. At this stage, any attendee was a victory.
“I don’t know. Sounds kind of lame.”
“Says the kid, claiming he’s buyingStarPoniesfor his little sister.”
His finger thrust out, pointing at a sign on the counter. “Comic shaming!”
I had been bested by a thirteen-year-old. The number one rule in my store—no comic shaming. “Marcus, my bad. Confession, I read them, too.” Everybody had their favorite, whether it be superheroes, cowboys, or even intergalacticponies, on a mission of friendship. “You’re going to love this issue.”
By confessing to liking the book, I’m positive I knocked it down a few points on the cool scale. Once he got to the scene where Unicornum showed up, he’d beg to reserve the next issue. I dropped his comics into a white paper bag with the Legends logo on the front.
He reached the door before he looked over his shoulder and took pity on me. “My sister might like your convention.”
Score. He left partway through my victory dance. I couldn’t imagine why? Years at the club, and I liked to think I had some pretty sick dance moves. Epic dance moves? Lit? Fire? What the hell did kids say these days?
“That’s one. Only need a few hundred more, and the Firefly Con will be a success.”
I picked up a stack of fliers and gave them a quick straightening before flicking a superhero bobblehead. It had been a busy day for a comic book store in the middle of nowhere, Maine. Parents brought their kids in for the new releases, and a group of teenagers spent their Saturday afternoon in the back of the shop playing board games. For the first time today, I savored the peace and quiet.
Behind the counter, I tripped over a half-emptied box. “Oh. What do we have here?” It appeared I had forgotten to put out some of the new inventory. Grabbing a handful, I shimmied and shook my way through the store until I reached the opposite wall. The mosaic of two hundred comics impressed me more than any work of art.
The long box-covered tables in front of the new release rack. I straightened a few issues poking out. When I got back to the counter, a smile settled across my face. Who would have thought the biggest geek in town would have a successful comic book store? It had been a gamble, but when they converted the first floor of the old mill into shops, I bought in. Okay, Mom and Dad helped.
Not only did I… my parents own Legends Comics, but the town’s planning committee agreed to host its first annual Firefly Con. We’d bring a slice of the big city to our small community and have a day dedicated to all things comics. If Merryville could hold Flannel Fest every year, then we’d wear spandex and masks.
Under the sense of pride lingered self-doubt that I had gotten in over my head. Having convinced Marcus to bring his little sister, I had hope. Of course, the thought of packing up and saying goodbye to Firefly had crossed my mind. If I wanted to partake in conventions and geekery on a bigger scale, it would mean moving south to Portland, or even Boston.
“I know what you can do!” I flinched as Amanda shouted from her studio.
Her proclamations always proceeded stomping feet. I tried to catch a glimpse of Amanda in the loft suspended over the rear of the store. My resident artist, desperate for studio space, hid upstairs most days while I worked. Usually, she illustrated in silence. If she had a deadline, she’d procrastinate by hanging out with me until the last possible moment.
The blur of neon-pink hair spiraled down the stairs until she flew through the aisle of video games. She waved her phone around as if I should understand her misguided attempt at Charades.
“I was doom scrolling, and?—”
“Aren’t you supposed to be working on a comic?”
Amanda poked me in the arm with her phone. Her eyes only came up to my chest, but I wouldn’t arm wrestle with her. In kindergarten, she landed in detention for putting me in a headlock. Neither of us remembered how we moved from me crying to being best friends. I’m sure she bribed me with a fruit roll-up.
“I’m going to put you on social media.”
“Nope.” I shook my head, throwing up my hands. “I prefer making a fool of myself one person at a time.”
“Jason!” She usedthetone. It meant I could argue until I ran out of breath. Amanda would get her way; she always did. “Let’s skip the arguing and agree that I’m a genius.”
“You’re a genius for using social media to be… social?”
The tone also came with a look. Narrow eyes, flaring nostrils, and the tiniest of frowns. It served as all the reinforcements she needed to push me over the edge. As much as I dreaded the idea, I’d suffer through the discomfort if she could get the word out about the convention.
Twenty minutes later, Amanda had set up a lamp and a tripod holding her phone. She pushed me in front of the new releases and gave my shirt a quick flattening. I wanted to ask if this genius plan served as a clever ruse to avoid working on the comic.
While she set up, I had written my script on the back of a receipt. I hated social media almost as much as I loathed being on camera. This was going to end in disaster, but at least she’d have plenty of bloopers for her followers.
“And, three, two…” She gestured as if she were a movie director. She mustbedetermined to avoid work today.
