He shook his head, jostling the beads, bones, and coins I’d sewn into his wig. “Nah. What’s the point when I can’t eat the bun? I was, however, wishing I could have the Mediterranean bowl.”
“And you can’t because…?” Multiple signs on the stall proclaimed Loving Lentils was a vegan establishment. Surely there was something on the menu he could eat?
“Ordering food at events like this can be tricky. There’s always a chance of cross contamination. For example, look at number ten.” He pointed to the Thai crunch salad at the bottom of the menu. Underneath the product description was a red asterisk: CONTAINSPEANUTS. “Sure, there are options I’m not allergic to, but what if the cook makes my meal on the same cutting board he chopped peanuts on? For me, it’s not worth the risk.”
I frowned. “That doesn’t seem very fair.”
“How so?”
“Nothing here is safe for you to eat, but it’s against the rules to bring food in,” I exclaimed, shaking my head. “So what? You’re just supposed to go hungry?”
My indignation must have been amusing, because Xander finally cracked a smile. “If I really wanted to, I could’ve brought my own meal, gone to Guest Services when we arrived, and picked up an ADA wristband.”
“What’s that?”
“A disability bracelet. It allows me to carry in food.”
“Oh, I didn’t realize that was something you could do,” I said, feeling silly. “It still sucks though. That’s a lot of extra work for a basic necessity like eating.”
“Yeah, I suppose, but that’s how it’s always been, so I’m used to it.” He shrugged. “Seriously, don’t worry about me. I’m fine.”
“Are you though?”
Xander dropped his gaze. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you bolted out of line,” I said carefully. “I wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Of course I’m okay,” he responded, waving me off as if I’d overreacted. “I’m used to fending for myself when it comes to food.”
Not what I meant, I wanted to say, but I decided not to push the topic. The uncomfortable look in Xander’s eyes made it clear he didn’t want to discuss what had happened.
“If you’re sure…”
“I am.” A line of people was forming behind us, so Xander stepped away from the food stall and gestured to the designated picnic area. “Why don’t we go find somewhere to sit?”
It took us a few minutes of hovering next to a couple who’d already finished their meal for us to snag a spot, but once they left, we claimed the table and waited for the others to join us with their food.
“So do I get to see you on Tuesday?” Xander asked.
Frowning, I attempted to pull up my mental calendar. “What’s on Tuesday?”
Xander gave me a funny look. “The premiere for the final season ofImmortal Nights?”
Oh, right. Pretty sure Dad mentioned it a few weeks back, but no surprise I didn’t remember. I made a point of tuning out my family’sINconversations. And with the exception of Comic Con, I never went to the events. Not even one as monumental as the final premiere. “Wasn’t planning on it. Why?”
“The band was invited,” he answered. “I was hoping you’d be there.”
I felt my heart catch in my chest. “Well,” I said hesitantly, “I could always change my mind. That is, if that’s what you want?”
“Yeah,” he said, a brightness finally returning to his expression. “I’d really like that.”
* * *
“Oooh, look at this! Doesn’t it scream Sailor Mars?”
I glanced up from the striped shirt I was considering, which could work as the base for several potential costumes—a mime, a bank robber, a pirate—but each idea felt like a total cop-out. Sofia held up a red skirt for me to inspect.
“Actually,” I said, eyeing the pleats, “I’m getting a Velma vibe.”
